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  • The Keeper: Severus Snape

    Cinematic night scene of a tall lighthouse on rocky cliffs with two small glowing silver does at its base and a rowing boat on the dark sea below.
    June 17, 2026

    From time to time on this blog, I will be writing about keepers. The people who kept the light on for someone else and never asked for credit. The ones who were misunderstood for it. Hated for it. And did it anyway. When I find one, I will add them to a wall on this blog. One face. One line underneath. Permanent.

    The first keeper is Severus Snape.

    You know his story. The childhood. Lily. The word he should never have said. The side he should never have joined. The prophecy he should never have shared. You know how he lost her. You know what came after.

    What I want to talk about is what he built in the dark.

    He created five spells. Wrote them in the margins of a textbook that was not even his. Nobody asked him to. Nobody knew he did. His best work, scribbled between someone else’s instructions, uncredited, unsigned.

    Sectumsempra — always cutting.
    Levicorpus — lifting others.
    Liberacorpus — freeing them.
    Muffliato — silencing the noise so he could work.
    Langlock — shutting mouths that said too much.

    That is where keepers begin. In the margins.

    Then came the work nobody saw.

    He counter-cursed Harry’s broom in his first Quidditch match while Quirrell was trying to kill him. He was accused instead of thanked. He brewed Wolfsbane Potion for Lupin every month so a werewolf could safely teach at Hogwarts. Nobody noticed. He taught Harry Occlumency to protect his mind from Voldemort while the boy despised every second of it. Nobody understood.

    Then came the work that cost him everything.

    He killed Dumbledore because Dumbledore asked him to. He became the most hated man in the wizarding world so that the plan could survive. He fed information from inside Voldemort’s inner circle, risking death every time he returned. He sent the Sword of Gryffindor to Harry through his Patronus when the moment came. And he revealed his truth only at the very end. In a single tear.

    Seventeen years. Every single day. The light stayed on. And nobody knew who was keeping it.

    He was not the Half-Blood Prince. He was the keeper.

    Even his name knew. Severus from the Latin secare. To sever. He severed himself from everything. From the Death Eaters. From Lily. From Harry. From his own reputation. From every chance at a normal life. He cut it all away so the light could stay on. And the one thing he could not sever was the one thing that proved he was never the villain they thought he was.

    His Patronus. A doe. The same as Lily’s. After her death. After her marriage to someone else. After raising her son in secret while the son hated him for it. After seventeen years of silence. The shape of his deepest protection never changed.

    Dumbledore saw the doe and asked: after all this time?

    Always.

    Write in the logbook
  • I Solemnly Swear

    Vintage parchment-style magical map of London showing Harry Potter locations including Platform 9¾, London Zoo, MinaLima, the Ministry of Magic, Millennium Bridge, and Diagon Alley.
    June 16, 2026

    London is the rain, the wind, and the discrepancy between weather apps and the truth. London is the street food, the restaurants, the ready-made trifles at M&S. London is the culture, the museums, the bookshops, the theatre. London is the Tube, the double-decker bus, the black cab. London is Harry. And I do not mean the ginger Harry but the Harry with the ginger friend. The chosen one Harry.

    JK Rowling perhaps did not do it on purpose. But she created the greatest tour guide London has ever had. Harry Potter did not only touch billions of people. It made them love London. I would go a step further and say the wizarding world made people forget that Britain once colonised half the planet. She made London a capital for all.

    And it is. It does not belong to you know who. And by you know who I am not referring to Voldemort. I am referring to the likes of Tommy Robinson, Nigel Farage, Katie Hopkins, and ironically JK herself. London belongs to all. And do not worry about what Rita Skeeter is writing. She will pick the one number that scares you and ignore the ten that don’t. In 2025, London recorded its lowest homicide rate since records began. Lower than New York. Lower than Berlin. Lower than Milan. Yes, she will wave the pickpocketing stats at you. But she will never tell you that London is safer today than it has been in a generation. It does not fit her headline.

    So grab on and come with me to a Potter London tour that will make Potterheads, Tolkienites, and Jedis fall in love.

    Day 1 — King’s Cross

    You land. You check in at noon. And the magic starts before you even unpack. Your hotel is St Pancras, and its Gothic frontage is the exterior used as King’s Cross in the films. Harry and Ron flew past it in a Ford Anglia. You are walking through the same door.

    And if St Pancras is fully booked, do not panic. The Standard and The Megaro sit right across from it. Sometimes the best way to love a castle is not to live inside it but to wake up every morning and see it from your window. Hogwarts was always more beautiful from the lake.

    Afternoon, Platform 9¾. The trolley. The photo. The shop. The wands, the robes, the Butterbeer. Get it out of your system early because you will be back on day fourteen.

    Brunch at Caravan in Granary Square. Pancakes, date porridge, all-day brunch done properly. And never never forget their flat white which is simply done right. Then walk off the food at Coal Drops Yard, converted warehouses turned into shopping lanes.

    End the day gently. You have just landed. You are tired. Unpack. Settle in. But before you close the curtains, take a short walk to St Pancras station. You will be passing through this area again and again over the next fourteen days, the way Harry passes through King’s Cross every September. It will become your station the way it became his.

    Stop at M&S inside the station. Pick up a strawberry trifle, an Avocado, Feta and Grain Classic Salad, and a Wensleydale and Carrot Chutney Sandwich. This is your light dinner tonight and your backup breakfast tomorrow morning in case you do not feel like sitting down for St Pancras’s custardy brioche and berries or Megaro’s bread and homemade butter. You do not need a restaurant on night one. You need a bed, a trifle, and the knowledge that the Hogwarts Express is parked somewhere beneath you.

    Day 2 — King’s Cross / Islington

    Stay local. Walk to Central Saint Martins, the art school, student exhibitions, canal fountains, Aga Khan Centre for the Islamic Garden. Then Gail’s Bakery If you passed on the St Pancras brioche and the M&S haul from last night, you must try their overnight oats. It does not get better than this. But do not worry if you are full. Gail’s is all over London. You will pass one every other street. And if the oats are not calling, share a carrot cake or a cheesecake if they have them. You will not regret either.

    Afternoon, Claremont Square. A quiet Georgian square with private homes.You would walk past it without noticing. But this is the exterior of 12 Grimmauld Place. Sirius Black’s house. The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Stand there and imagine the buildings splitting apart to reveal what is hidden between them.

    But to be honest, the area is full of identical Georgian buildings and you might stand there feeling nothing. So instead, walk toward Brunswick Centre and pass the Banksy Rat artwork on the way. And if you want to make it a game, treat Banksy’s street art the way Harry treated Horcruxes. They are scattered across London. Hidden in plain sight. No map tells you where they all are. Some have been painted over. Some have been stolen. Some are still there, waiting. The Rat is your first one. See how many you can find by day fourteen.

    Then end the day one of two ways. Either sit in Russell Square and let the evening settle around you. Or do one of my favourite things in London. Walk into the British Museum, find Norman Foster’s Great Court, take a bench, lie down, and just look up. Do not read anything. Do not visit any exhibit. Just lie there and stare at that glass ceiling. It is one of the most beautiful things a human being has ever built and it is free and it is quiet and it will make you forget you have legs.

    Quiet dinner near the hotel. No recommendation but by now you know the drill. You will need the energy tomorrow.

    Day 3 — West End

    Carnaby Street in the morning. Trendy and metal rock shirts, shoes, sports gear. Crème for their famous miso cookies.

    Then Liberty and Hamleys. A mock-Tudor department store and seven floors of toys. After that, House of MinaLima. Four floors dedicated to the graphic designers who created every visual prop in the Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts films. The Marauder’s Map. The Daily Prophet. The Hogwarts acceptance letters. All of it designed by two people and displayed across four floors.

    Cutter and Squidge for a Hubble Bubble Potion and Unicorn Tear Tea. Fortnum and Mason for scones. And I mean scones with coffee, not tea, because I am not British.

    End at Piccadilly Circus. M&M’s World. Chinatown for dinner. And stand at the crossing where Death Eaters attacked Harry, Ron, and Hermione after the wedding in Deathly Hallows. Now this is the day where you shopped and had the best food and snacks that London can offer. Those 3 days are enough for anyone to love London.

    Day 4 — City and Bankside

    Do not eat breakfast. Finish the leftovers. Today is Borough Market day and you will need every inch of space.

    Start at One New Change for the free rooftop view of St Paul’s Cathedral. Inside is the geometric Dean’s Stair, used as the Divination Tower in Prisoner of Azkaban. But I would not go in. Sometimes it is better to overlook beauty than to be inside it. And especially if you are the type still affected by Elton John’s Candle in the Wind. You will walk in for a staircase and walk out carrying feelings you did not budget for.

    Walk across the Millennium Bridge. The one Death Eaters destroyed in Half-Blood Prince. Still standing. Barely.

    Tate Modern. Shakespeare’s Globe. Then Borough Market. Bread Ahead doughnuts. Kappacasein cheese toasties. Humble Crumble. Monmouth coffee. This is not lunch. This is a pilgrimage. The market is often cited as Diagon Alley inspiration but it is not a confirmed filming location. I am being honest with you. But with a cheese toastie in your hand, you will not care.

    End the day at the Shard. Top floor. London at your feet. If you still have legs, walk to the Tower of London. The Crown Jewels are inside and they make whatever Gringotts was guarding look like costume jewellery. Keep walking to Tower Bridge. Not London Bridge. London Bridge is the boring one next to it. Millions of people have captioned the wrong bridge. Do not be one of them. And if you are lucky, you might catch it opening for a tall ship. It still happens. Still magic. Just a different kind.

    Day 5 — Greenwich

    Cable car over the Thames in the morning. iFLY, Up at The O2, and VR experiences if you want them. Gordon Ramsay Street Burger for lunch inside the O2 or Gaucho. If you are Kuwaiti and you remember Gaucho, I am sorry for reopening this wound. The chimichurri steak and the scallops left Kuwait but they never left us.

    Then take the ferry from North Greenwich upstream to the London Eye. The stretch of the Thames you cross is the same broomstick escape route from Order of the Phoenix. Canary Wharf, Tower Bridge, Parliament, all from the water.

    End at the London Eye. Big Ben and Parliament at dusk. This is the photo you came for.

    Days 6 and 7 — Soho, Covent Garden, and Shoreditch

    Two days. One energy. Covent Garden piazza in the morning. Market, performers, boutiques. Walk into Floral Court and do what you did at the British Museum. Find a bench. Sit down. Look up. Let the glass ceiling and the flowers and the noise of the market disappear above you. London rewards people who stop and look up more than people who keep walking.

    Then Cecil Court, the old-book and occult-shop lane off Charing Cross Road that is widely cited as the inspiration for Diagon Alley. Harry and Hagrid walked this way in Philosopher’s Stone. Around the corner, Goodwin’s Court. A hidden gas-lit seventeenth-century alley with bowed windows that producers reportedly measured for the Diagon Alley set.

    Neal’s Yard for the photo. The coloured buildings in the tiny courtyard that everyone has seen on Instagram but nobody believes is real until they stand in it. Then Neal’s Yard Dairy for Montgomery cheddar without the rind and Harbourne Blue. If you do not like cheese, skip this sentence. If you do, you will not leave.

    Éclairs at Maître Choux. Meringues at Aux Merveilleux. Red velvet at Hummingbird. Wahaca for frijoles. Then back to the hotel.

    The next day, Spitalfields Market in the morning. Climpson’s coffee and Gail’s again because some things deserve a second visit. Dishoom for their Jack Fruit Biryani, Chai, and not one but the three Kulfis. Dark Sugars for the best hot chocolate in London. Redchurch Street for boutiques. Boxpark for pop-up containers. Then back to the hotel. Quiet dinner. Rest.

    Day 8 — Watford

    Train from Euston to Watford Junction. Shuttle to the Warner Bros. Studio Tour. The Making of Harry Potter. The real Great Hall. The real Diagon Alley set. Privet Drive. The Forbidden Forest. The animatronics. The full Hogwarts castle model. Butterbeer from the source. The largest Harry Potter shop in the world.

    This is the day. Everything before this was appetiser. This is the meal.

    Train back. Easy evening. If there is time and you want a calm evening go to Tavistock Square Gardens. A magical spring blossom tree might be waiting for you with a seat under it. You should know the drill by now. Sit. Look up. Take an adventure.

    Day 9 — South Kensington and Chelsea

    South Kensington has its own golden trio. If you are a Hermione, the V&A. Art, design, fashion, and the kind of history that comes with reading every single plaque in every single room. If you are a Harry, the Natural History Museum. Dinosaurs, creatures, and the closest thing London has to the Forbidden Forest. If you are a Ron, the Science Museum. Buttons to press. Things that move. Stuff that almost explodes. And it is free so you will not feel guilty about spending ten minutes on one exhibit and then looking for the cafeteria.

    All free. All next to each other. All worthy of a full day on their own. You will not finish all three. Do not try. Pick the one that calls you and give it your morning.

    Hyde Park for a Pret tomato-and-cheese croissant on a bench. King’s Road in the afternoon for boutiques and unique kids’ clothes. Rose Bakery for carrot cake.

    No Harry Potter today. You already met the golden trio. Just London being London.

    Day 10 — York

    Train to York. Two hours. Worth every minute. You step off at York Railway Station and the magic starts immediately. This station is actually in the films. Harry and Hagrid cross a bridge here to catch the train to Hogwarts in Philosopher’s Stone. You just arrived at the same platform.

    Walk to the Shambles. Because if Cecil Court and Goodwin’s Court felt like Diagon Alley, the Shambles will make you forget they exist. A medieval cobbled street so narrow the timber-framed buildings nearly touch overhead. It has never been officially confirmed by Rowling as the inspiration for Diagon Alley. But stand at the entrance, look down the lane, and try to tell yourself it is not. You will fail.

    The Shambles has more wizarding shops per square metre than Hogsmeade. The Shop That Must Not Be Named for wands, robes, and a broomstick rack outside that you will photograph whether you want to or not. The Boy Wizard for prop replicas and goblets. The World of Wizardry for house-specific merchandise, time-turners, and chocolate frogs. And The Potions Cauldron, where you brew your own potions with a master potion maker. The one in London closed. This one didn’t. Make the most of it.

    Between the magic, find Spring Espresso for one of the best flat whites outside London. Goji for a calm lunch. Coffee Culture if you need a second cup and you will. Mulberry for something beautiful to carry home. And the Antique Centre for the kind of things Dumbledore would have on his shelf.

    York definitely needs two days. One is not enough. If you decide to extend, stay at Hocus Pocus, a tiny themed hotel that feels like sleeping inside a spell. Or if you prefer your magic with a bigger bed, Hotel du Vin, where the beds are custom-made and oversized and you will understand why the moment you lie down.

    Train back. You will sleep well tonight. Wherever you sleep.

    Day 11 — City and Strand

    Leadenhall Market in the morning. The Victorian covered arcade that is the entrance to Diagon Alley and the Leaky Cauldron in Philosopher’s Stone. Bull’s Head Passage. Stand there. Look up. You are inside the film.

    Australia House in the afternoon. The grand chandelier-lit banking hall that is the interior of Gringotts. You can see the exterior. Interior access is limited but the façade alone is worth the walk.

    Sky Garden for the free rooftop garden. Buns from Home for cheesecake buns. Dinner in the City.

    By now, you are no longer a tourist. You are a Londoner with a hotel key. You know which Gail’s is closest. You know which Tube line to avoid. You have a favourite bench. You have opinions about coffee. So from here, the itinerary loosens. If there is a place you rushed past and wished you hadn’t, go back. If there is a museum you chose against on day nine, today is your second chance. If Borough Market is still calling, answer it. London rewards the second visit more than the first.

    Day 12 — Westminster

    Great Scotland Yard in the morning. The exterior used for the Ministry of Magic. The telephone-box entrance where Harry and Mr Weasley descend into the Ministry in Order of the Phoenix and Deathly Hallows. Then Westminster Underground, where Mr Weasley marvels at the ticket barriers.

    Trafalgar Square in the afternoon. Where the final film had its world premiere in July 2011. Then Charing Cross Road. The road the Knight Bus speeds down in Prisoner of Azkaban. The bookshop street where you will lose an hour and not regret it.

    End the night at the Palace Theatre. Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. The official sequel. Harry’s story nineteen years later. Two parts. Long. Worth it. Check the 2026 schedule.

    Day 13 — North London

    Regent’s Park in the morning. Queen Mary’s Gardens. Roses, lawns, silence. Then London Zoo. Specifically, the Reptile House. Where Harry sets a boa constrictor free and discovers he can talk to snakes. Philosopher’s Stone. Chapter two. It starts here.

    Camden in the afternoon. Stalls, street food, the Regent’s Canal towpath. Philippe Conticini for the supreme croissant. Camden dinner.

    Day 14 — Bloomsbury and farewell

    British Museum in the morning. Rosetta Stone. Mummies. The glass-roof court. Lamb’s Conduit Street for independent shops. Oxford Street for last-minute shopping.

    Then one last visit to Platform 9¾. Final photo. Final souvenir. Final crossing.

    And then departure. Eurostar or Heathrow. Whichever train takes you home.

    A note to all. With London, expect the unexpected. There might be no tickets. Or another Tube strike. Or a road closure. Or an unexpected heat wave and storm on the same day. But that is what makes London London. It is not a city you visit. It is a city that happens to you. So enjoy it.

    One more thing. I left out the Forest of Dean. On purpose. Some places are not meant to be on itineraries. Some places are meant to stay hidden, quiet, and protected. The way they were in the story. The way they should stay in real life. If you know why it matters, you already understand. If you don’t, that is exactly the point.

    Write in the logbook
  • Hogwarts Week

    Cinematic fantasy poster showing a glowing lighthouse on rocky cliffs above a dark lake, with small lantern-lit boats approaching and gold text reading “Hogwarts Week.”
    June 15, 2026

    This week is Harry Potter Week.

    Said no one ever. But kaifi. It felt right.

    And while I was typing “Harry Potter Week,” I realized maybe that is not even the right name. It should be Hogwarts Week. Because Hogwarts was never just about Harry. Hogwarts was the place. The escape. The home. The school that smelled like old books, pumpkin juice, wet cloaks, and secrets behind every wall.

    And this week feels like Hogwarts because it is summer vacation. Students leave their schools. No more timetables. No more waking up early. No more pretending to listen or asking permission to go to the bathroom. Just playing. Just sleeping. Just eating. Just being children again.

    So I am declaring it. Not officially. No owl arrived. No professor announced it in the Great Hall. But in my head, it is decided.

    If you are a Ron, maybe this is the week to be a little less loud. Not silent. Never silent. Just less loud in the places where people around you are asking for peace. Ron is funny, messy, hungry, dramatic, and somehow always wanting more. More food. More attention. More proof that he matters. More space in a world where he often feels like the spare one.

    But maybe Hogwarts Week is when Ron stops chasing more and notices what is already around him. The people who stayed. The table that is already full. The family that is already loud enough. The friends who do not need another joke, another complaint, another performance. They just need him to sit down, calm down, and be there.

    So if you are a Ron, keep the humour. Keep the appetite. Keep the foolishness that makes life lighter. But do not let it become a way of avoiding seriousness. Sometimes the bravest thing Ron can do is not make the room louder. Sometimes it is to stop, look around, and realize that enough is already here.

    If you are a Harry, maybe this is the week to rest from being the chosen one in your own life. Stop carrying the whole world on your shoulders. Stop thinking every problem is yours to solve, every person is yours to save, every silence is your responsibility to fill.

    Harry’s heart was always at Hogwarts because it was the first place that felt like home. But maybe part of growing up is realizing that home cannot only be one castle, one school, one old wound, or one memory you keep returning to. Your roots can come with you. They do not have to trap you in the same place forever.

    So if you are a Harry, leave Hogwarts for a while. Not because you do not love it. Because you finally can. Find a life outside the battle. Find a quiet room. A street that does not know your name. A garden. A small routine. Maybe even a dog. Something ordinary enough to remind you that not everything has to be destiny. Some things can just be yours.

    If you are a Hermione, maybe this is the week to stop trying to fix the whole world before breakfast. Hermione is brilliant, serious, loyal, and always ready. She sees the problem before everyone else. She prepares for disasters no one asked her to prepare for. She cares so much that she sometimes turns care into pressure.

    But Hermione also lives in assumption mode. She assumes she must know. She assumes she must be right. She assumes that if something goes wrong, it is because she missed a detail, failed to prepare, or did not try hard enough. She is there for everyone, but not always gentle with herself.

    So if you are a Hermione, rest your mind. You are already smart. You do not need to prove it every day. You do not need to correct every mistake, carry every cause, solve every injustice, or build a perfect little utopia with your bare hands. Every choice you make will not be perfect, and that is fine. You can be wrong and still be wise. You can make mistakes and still be Hermione.

    Because Hogwarts Week belongs to the feeling. The feeling of school ending. The feeling of summer beginning. The feeling of finally having time to work on the one subject that was never on the timetable. Yourself.

    All year long, students study material that has nothing to do with who they are. They memorise. They pass. They move on. But no class teaches Ron to be still. No exam tests whether Harry has learned to let go. No grade tells Hermione she is enough without being perfect.

    Summer is when that work begins. Not in a classroom. Not for a grade. Just quietly. For yourself.

    So before we begin, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Rest. Eat. Read. Forgive. And let Hogwarts Week begin.

    Write in the logbook
  • Close the Laptop

    High-contrast red, black, and white anime-style illustration of two silhouetted figures crossing swords in front of a tilted lighthouse with a small rowing boat below.
    June 14, 2026

    My little rascal has had quite a share of posts. The reason is simple. He is the love and joy of my life. He is the one I write about. He is the one who melts me. He is the one whose five words run the entire household. He is the one who gets images and song lyrics and metaphors.

    I do have another son. An older one. But I don’t write about him.

    I don’t dedicate posts to him. I don’t describe his words or his habits or the way he enters a room. I don’t talk about what he does to my heart. I don’t mention him by name or by reference or by anything. He is absent from this blog the way background noise is absent from a recording. You know it exists. You just don’t notice it.

    And that is because I don’t like him.

    Yes. I don’t like you.

    Gotcha.

    I know you have been reading. The keyboard is placed in different positions every time. My blog traffic shows that my posts were viewed when I was not on my laptop. And the browser history. You didn’t erase it last time. You forgot.

    But I don’t. I never forget you.

    I might not have dedicated posts to you. But I never forget.

    When I first received news about you arriving, which came through a letter delivered by a stork just like you did, I was not happy. I was not joyful. I was in a place I never knew existed. I usually take my sajdat shukur whenever things like this happen. But this time around, the joy didn’t take me to the ground. It took me somewhere else entirely. It took me to a whole adventure. And in that adventure, I lived an entire life with you.

    We rode bikes and fell off them. We wrestled and I let you win. We fought and I didn’t. I wore the Zorro costume and you wore your Link costume and we had a sword fight in the living room that ended with a broken vase and a mutual agreement to never tell your mother. I bandaged your knees when you were injured and told you it was nothing when it was something. I taught you the night before your test after reading pages of the material. I didn’t get angry when you failed it and blamed my teaching, despite me winning teacher of the year award twice in a row, and despite you sleeping halfway through. We flipped pancakes and I ate all of the ones that didn’t make it because of you. I made you eat caviar, grasshoppers, ostrich, and a long list of things you will never forgive me for. I was there when you left us to study abroad, hiding my tears from you. I was there when you returned with your degree, showing my tears to you.

    I went with you when you decided you wanted to marry the love of your life despite me not approving. And not because she was ikhwanchiya u ma tadri. But because I wanted you to be sure. Double sure. Triple sure.

    And because I didn’t want to lose you.

    You called your mother first when you had your firstborn. But you lied and told me I was first. You tricked us by naming him a name other than mine, then surprised me later when it turned out to be mine. Even spelled like mine.

    You took care of me when I was sick. You pushed my wheelchair to the mosque. To the jam3iya. To the chalet. To everywhere I used to walk to without thinking. You took care of me like no one ever did. And whenever I told you go home, don’t stay, you told me that I was your role model and that I was the person who wrote the book “Guide to Taking Care of Your Parent.” You listened to every story as if you heard it for the first time. You reminded me to read المعوذات and athkar al-masa wal-sabah. And as my tongue became heavier, you always reminded me to say أشهد أن لا إله إلا الله وأن محمدًا رسول الله.

    You are sneaky. You always will be sneaky. And you will always be my first.

    Don’t tell your little criminal brother.

    But yes. You are my number one. No matter what and how many will come after you, inshallah.

    Now close the laptop. Delete the history. Or if you are using incognito mode, do not close my other opened tabs because I probably forgot to save.

    And go to bed.

    Goodnight.

    Write in the logbook
  • Week 10 (100%)

    Pencil sketch of an older mother with a cane standing beside her exhausted son on wet rocks after a sea rescue, with an orange life preserver, a wrecked boat, and a glowing lighthouse in the distance.
    June 13, 2026

    Amidst my storm, I entered another storm. Like two tornadoes colliding. The smaller one swallows the larger one whole. Because force has nothing to do with size. The real weight of a storm is only known to the person standing inside it.

    I thought all this time that I was carrying a lot. That my load was so heavy it made me stuck. Could not move forward. Could not go backward. Just stuck. I wrote about it. I named it. I almost made it my identity.

    Then today, all of that went away.

    I stepped into the storm my mother has been carrying for the last five years. I knew about it. Saw it. Stood beside it. But standing beside weight is not the same as lifting it. The moment I did, even for ten minutes, my own storm vanished. I forgot about every single one of my issues. Ten minutes of her load erased all of mine.

    Because what she carries is not her responsibility. These were never her responsibilities. She made us. Raised us. Shaped us. Built us. Helped us. In return for nothing. But there should have been a return.

    She is almost eighty. She should be at the Avenues with her friends arguing about whose grandchild is the fattest, whose knee replacement was more dramatic, whose facial hair is growing faster than their husband’s, and which blood pressure medication makes you dizzy and which one just makes you angry. She should be in bed whenever she wants and awake whenever she wants. She should not have to think about who is coming this Thursday because her children should be there every day. On Saturdays she should have lunch at a different restaurant, ordering the same Quinoa salad and every dessert on the menu, with enough spoons to try a bite from each, then leaving the restaurant with photos shared to every WhatsApp group she is in. Even the one she was added to by mistake but never left. The one with my father’s bearded mulla friends who send hadiths, reminders of sa3at istijaba, and the group reminder to fast ayam al-beedh a day or two before, every single month.

    And speaking of hadiths and ayat and reminders, I reminded myself.

    ﴿وَاخْفِضْ لَهُمَا جَنَاحَ الذُّلِّ مِنَ الرَّحْمَةِ وَقُلْ رَّبِّ ارْحَمْهُمَا كَمَا رَبَّيَانِي صَغِيرًا﴾
    سورة الإسراء: ٢٤

    Lower for them the wing of humility out of mercy. The scholars explain this image beautifully. Ibn Uthaymin says: even if you are soaring high like a bird, lower your wing for them. Come down. Not out of weakness. Not out of obligation. Out of mercy. The kind of mercy that comes from knowing that everything you are started with them. And the word الذل here is not the humiliation we fear. It is the humility we owe. It is the quiet softening of your pride in front of the person who built you before you were anything.

    And the hadith:

    «رَغِمَ أَنْفُهُ، ثُمَّ رَغِمَ أَنْفُهُ، ثُمَّ رَغِمَ أَنْفُهُ، قِيلَ: مَنْ؟ يَا رَسُولَ اللهِ، قَالَ: مَنْ أَدْرَكَ وَالِدَيْهِ عِنْدَ الكِبَرِ، أَحَدَهُمَا أَوْ كِلَيْهِمَا، ثُمَّ لَمْ يَدْخُلِ الجَنَّةَ»
    صحيح مسلم · ٢٥٥١

    Disgraced. Then disgraced. Then disgraced. The Prophet ﷺ said it three times. Who? The one who reaches his parents in their old age, one or both of them, and still does not enter Paradise. Ibn Uthaymin explains: this person was handed the widest door to Paradise, the door of serving his parents when they need him most, and chose not to walk through it. And Ibn al-Qayyim calls it the noblest gate of Paradise, the one you enter by simply being there for them. To lose that gate is to lose what cannot be replaced.

    This is what I understood today. Not from a book. Not from a lecture. From ten minutes of carrying what she carries every day.

    This world is فانية. It will pass. Every storm I am drowning in will pass. But the chance to be there for her will not come around again. And I should be ashamed if I am the one the hadith describes. The one who had them, right there, in their old age, and still did not make it count.

    So yes. I finally got it. The call I was waiting for. It is late. But better late than never. And like everything else in my life, from injuries to bruises to wounds to every scar I earned and every scar I did not, the storm went away. Not because of time. Not because of patience. Not because of anything I did.

    Because of her. The woman who built me. Still building.

    This might be my last post for a while. I will not be playing the progress social experiment anymore. I might post once a week. Maybe once a month. Maybe less. But it does not matter. Because my progress for this week is 100%. I am finally here. I finally made it. I am not swimming in the deep anymore.

    My mum threw me a lifeline.

    Write in the logbook
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