The I, The Me, The Myself

By Farhan Noor (Editor, Critic Magazine)

I understand, not for the first time, and perhaps why I do, and probably why it grieves me, ails me, and consumes me, day after day, night after night. Perhaps I am no longer the man I used to be let alone the one I want to be or wanted to be. I understand why it happened the way it happened. I understand completely, absolutely, entirely; I understand perhaps because there was nothing to know about—it was all a matter of time, and I knew it, right from the first mistake: when I deliberately misunderstood. Lo, and behold, for, indeed, ignorance is bliss and in that bliss, sinning is sweet. It is. I know because I have bathed in that joy, sunshine and storm. I have, and now I am drowning.

I understand, not that you don’t, how I feel, not because you may or may not be drowning like myself, but because you are like me—a human—a soul entrapped in a body of an animal calling out to an angel. I know you understand exactly what I mean. Or perhaps not. I would rather vouch on my staunchest enemy that too on my life and what more, on my soul, that fallen Djinn Iblees, who we popularly refer to as the Satan. To understand me better, far better, without any beginning, without any end, no holds barred, than I would ever. I confess: I don’t know myself. This thought ascends from the deepest voice in my heart, the very place where the conviction is grown from seeds of belief and knowledge. What more, I have belief, and I have knowledge. But I don’t know myself, not because I am lost, or confused, or wounded, or astray, but because I fear of finding the ultimate Truth about myself. I, after all, am my greatest enemy; am I not? Aren’t we all?

I understand, however, that I did once summon the spirit, the enthusiasm, the curiosity—or was it all just destiny—to explore myself. I was first pleasantly surprised, then excessively ecstatic, and finally tearfully overjoyed, in what, or rather who, I had found: I had found God. For a traveler having journeyed a thousand miles and knocked on a million doors, to find something, or rather someone, this Grand, this Great, and this Glorious, was a life altering breathtaking moment. Hands down; in fact, it was the whole body, down, in prostration, in submission, every spark in the nerve and every muscle fiber in the flesh. It was a day I will never forget—sadly—sadly because that was the closest and the nearest I got to Him before I just turned my back and walked away—just like that, not a thought, let alone a word, forget any reason, don’t kid me for logic.

I understand that was the day when I first thought I didn’t know any better when in fact I did. I knew it so beautifully and so perfectly that it would have had made my teacher and my mother blush, yet, for some reason, which I have no idea about, I pretended I didn’t. I just convinced myself, though rather poorly, but nevertheless effectively enough to throw my conscience in a state of confusion and commotion, and chaos. Alas, as I sit here and contemplate upon my decision, as I have for the past four and a half years, every second in the minute that makes the hour and completes the day, I understand that I understand nothing new and never will. Perhaps that is the source of all my pain and agony. I have nobody to blame. I know all the answers but don’t know to which questions they belong, and that is where it hurts: I know because I understand who I am and what I did and why and yet I pretend I don’t.

I understand it is a struggle between the I, me, and myself, and not knowing which is who and who is I and whether there even is one, or not. All I know is that I yearn for unity and belonging with myself and with my Creator, but this self-inflicted inability, this paralyzing state of mind, and this inhibiting mindset is demoralizing my efforts. I have had enough of it, actually, honestly, frankly, believe me, and I am sick of it, trying to pretend as someone who I know I am, cent for cent—talk about irony—speak of insanity. Speak of sense, of all the people I could be, can be, if I had the chance to be, I’d rather be myself. I would rather prefer being a person I did not know to anyone who I did, or think I do, or would, or even might.

I understand that I have lost Allah and that I need to find Him. I need to set off on a journey of patience and thankfulness; traverse the valleys of doubts, of diffidence, of distractions; fight against the voices in my head which implore me for rest; climb the mountains of adversity, in rain, or hail, or tempest; and overcome the lure of the self. I understand I need to pay a price to get priceless: the experience of being one with the One and the Only. I need to lose myself to gain Him for there is room for one and one only. You have no idea how I feed this void and vacuum I am with this artificial life that is devoid of His proximity. I stuff my belly with hunger and fill my body up with the thirst to keep myself afloat, alive, awake, and more importantly, sane. I have considered suicide, have attempted it, and failed every time. Sigh, I have yet to set off—in life or death—on this journey of self-realization and ultimately self-actualization. The sad part is that I probably might never—why? It is perhaps because I understand the why though I may keep pretending I don’t or might never will; help me.