Delightful interruptions of nappy changes, paint explosions, tickle-fights, snack times and an ever-more- intreaging list of mum-tasks means writing one small blog post can take hours, sometimes days. Frustrating though that might be, to keep stepping away means to constantly step back; to step back is to rethink your thoughts and the past two weeks while this blog hasn’t been somewhere I’ve wanted to stay from, it hasn’t offered sanctuary either. The internet in all guises is (temporarily inshallah) a place leaden with reality, our hearts heavy with the mixtures of these.
After I became muslim, and in particular after hijab, many things changed in our lives in ways we hadn’t -though perhaps should have- predicted. One of those was our (joint and separate) social circles and the ways we now interact within them. The diversity we experience illuminates our lives as many ways as it complicates it, and though the notion of flitting from wine drinking garden parties to segregated afternoon teas doesn’t seem to fit on paper, in reality it is a pleasurable blend – albeit it one that’s taking time to reconcile all aspects. Day-to-day interactions and idealist thoughts though are two very different concepts entirely and when things go awry social media illuminates the fractions between these realities in super-quick time.
A week or so ago that my Facebook status noted that “when any group turns to thinking that politics and religion are intrinsically intertwined, the fascism demonstrators deride risks being replaced with fascism of a different kind.” And sadly in the time since I wrote that ’til now many more conversations have played out to reinforce this belief, from every flipped side of the ten-sided coin. Right now our timelines are flooded with friends feeling ostracised and threatened and demonized and forgotten and liberated and just and more so that when we read the news headlines, their multifaceted words spin round in our heads and our brains ache with the effort of trying to reconcile the pieces in a beautiful, if fragmented, life.
The past week, as I stepped to and from this blog page to nurse the little one or rescue toddler boy from the space he’d (literally) squeezed himself into (again), I failed to find the plateau of words on the page that my thoughts are demanding. Instead, the constant interruptions provided catharism to process to de-anger or reignite and finally realise that of all else I want to write blog posts about it is none of that I want to see here. If the deja vu I’m sensing now is anything to go by there’s a similar sentence somewhere in these archives, nonetheless, this space is about compiling memories and tit-bits for my children and though the negatives -and positives- from the events of the now are important, I’d rather let the impacts speak unspoken as they’re revealed and step back to relish in the lightness of here. Summer’s brought her gown out, my boys are glowing and growing and we’re healthy and free to enjoy them – that’s more than enough of a lesson.