Three years ago today my dad passed away so I can’t help the inevitable reflection that comes with this day and this time of year in general.

I was thinking about how my dad used to take a lot of pictures. We have albums full of pictures of family, friends, and some people who I don’t even recognize. In these pictures, you can see the evolution of my siblings and myself, from the cute baby years to the oh-so-awkward teenage years. We even have pictures from family trips to Pakistan where cousins who are now married and have children are all just little kids themselves.

I never really noticed when my dad stopped taking pictures and I don’t remember what exactly happened to that camera he used to lug around. He had a special bag to take it around with cushioned spaces for the body of the camera and for the flash, slung over his shoulder and ready to go when needed. Eventually, it gave way to an Olympus 35mm camera which I used a lot, taking pictures at mehendis and weddings of family friends since the mid 90s. In 2003, we were ready to join in on the digital camera craze and my dad tasked me to research and get our family’s first digital camera. Although it wasn’t technically mine (dad’s funds were used), I sort of took ownership of the camera and eventually branched out and got my own point and shoot, which eventually gave way to an entry level digital SLR a couple of years ago.

In the Bollywood movie Wake Up Sid which I just watched a couple of days ago, the main character finds his passion in life through photography. He found out that his dad used to be into photography too and when Sid asks his dad why he stopped taking pictures, his dad said it was because Sid grew up and didn’t have time for his dad to take pictures anymore.

I couldn’t help but think of my dad at that moment. One of my cousins once mentioned that I’m a lot like my dad since I always had a camera in my hand. Truth be told, I hadn’t made the connection. I had forgotten that my dad enjoyed taking pictures long before I even held a camera. While I wouldn’t categorize myself as an actual photographer, I love taking pictures and I would have loved to talk about pictures with him.

As I was recently digging through some old pictures, I came across this one of my dad. He’s either graduating from high school or college. In all honesty, I don’t know but I thought I would share:

I’ve decided to slowly start scanning in all those pictures my dad took over the years to help preserve all the memories he captured. It’ll take a while and I know that there are companies that can do this kind of thing, but I’m going to try to do it on my own.

There’s this phrase that Muslims use: “Allah is the best of all planners.” If you’re not meant to do something or go somewhere, it’s not going to happen if God didn’t will it. I believe people of different faiths have something similar.

This concept was really brought home last weekend as I had so many things I needed to get to but never did. Instead, life was essentially put on hold as my family and I dealt with something personal. Although everything turned out ok, or as ok as things could possibly get under the circumstance, it still made me stop and think and think about the above phrase.

So anyways folks, even the best laid plans may never come to fruition if it’s not meant to be.

Oh, and go hug your mom.

Two years ago today my dad passed away and I realized something: There are still a few things I need to come to terms with.

I still harbor some bitterness inside and I need to do my best to get rid of it. I still think of things that happened during that time, things that people said and did, things that people didn’t say and didn’t do, and realized I need to move on from that.

I’m still striving to be a good person, the kind of person my dad would be proud of. Here’s hoping for a new year in which I can be that kind of person, Insh’Allah (God Willing).

Around this time last year, my brother got married. Ok, ok, technically, he was already married in both the civil and religious sense, but the receptions were at the end of December last year. Yeah, receptions, plural. One from the girl’s side and one from the guy’s side.

The reception from our side was on a Sunday, two nights after the other one. I was so happy that we had a day of rest between receptions except for one thing: there was still a ton of stuff to do. I put together a slideshow  while everyone else tended to equally chaotic activities. The day of, there was the cake to pick up, the decorations and flowers to worry about, wondering if the reception hall folks would be finished setting up in time, hoping that the last minute DJ we got would work out well, worrying if people would come on time, if the the photographer would take good pictures, etc, etc, etc.

Oh yeah, and I was sick.

You know what I dislike the most at a wedding reception? When one doesn’t even feel like they are at a momentous occasion, that is just some fancy dinner. Since we were the hosts, I wanted to make sure that everyone felt welcome and that we were truly happy for them to be there. So at times when I wasn’t MCing (during dinner, dessert, etc) I went around to different tables, talking to aunties and uncles and other people to see how everyone was going. Even when I sat down to eat dinner with my friends, I rushed through that so I could go around and talk to everyone and make sure everything else was fine. All while wearing a sari, of course.

I have to say, I was pretty happy when it was all over.

The next morning, I took my time getting up, reveling in the fact that there was nothing pressing to attend to. I had slept on the floor of my little sister’s room because we had a guest over for the wedding who was sleeping in my room and so I just lay there on the floor, staring up at the ceiling for quite a while before I could muster up the energy to do anything. I finally reached for my phone and texted my cousin in my haze of exhaustion to let her know how things went:

“Reception last night went well. Remind me to elope.”

The following includes views on death and religion so if you’re not interested in either subject (which is fine) step away from the entry…

Yesterday, my brother in law’s (Vasim’s) father passed away. He’s had some sort of cancer for a few years now and in these past few months, he took a turn for the worse. He finally succumbed to his sickness yesterday after being bedridden for a while. He had suffered quite a bit all the way up until the end.

We have this thing in Islam that 1) everything happens for a reason, even if you can’t see why and 2) and any kind of suffering endured in this life - which could be something as simple as hurting yourself when walking into a door - is less suffering one has to go through in the afterlife for his/her sins.

Trust me when I say that the above makes dealing with things a lot easier.

At the funeral prayer yesterday, people were making the obvious comments of comparing him to my dad - their sicknesses, how it all ended, etc. I understand that it’s not always about my dad and he’s not the father to die and all that, but I just couldn’t help thinking about him yesterday and missing him so much.

I remember that when my dad died, I took solace in the fact that he wasn’t suffering anymore. It was so hard to see what he had become in a span of 3 months and I knew he hated it. The only way I was even able to deal with what was happening to him was my belief that things happen for a reason and therefore there was some reason he had to endure his tumor and subsequent suffering.

I saw Vasim’s mom yesterday and my heart went out to her. It will be a while for her and her family to be able to move on. I wish their family the best right now and hope that things get better for them, InshAllah (God willing).

I never thought myself much of a baby/little kid person until my nephew was born a bit more than two years ago. I remember being at the hospital, looking at this baby and overwhelmed by the fact that he was my nephew. He fell asleep in my arms the first time I held him. Two years and a few hundred pictures of Raza later, he has grown into quite the cute kid.

And now, we all have to deal with his ‘tude.

Yesterday, I spent more time with Raza than I had in a while and discovered a few things that seemed to have come up just recently: He doesn’t like being called “baby” and he really does not like being laughed at, two things that didn’t seem to be a problem just a few weeks ago for his Bushra Khala (Aunt Bushra) to do.

So yesterday he and my sister were over at our place and I was hanging out with Raza when he picked up something off the floor. Realizing he was going to stick it in his mouth at some point, I asked for it. He gave it to me but then asked for it back soon after. I pretended not to have it and he took my hand and checked it thoroughly. He asked me where it was and I feigned ignorance.

“I don’t know,” I told him, shrugging my shoulders. He then looked at me with a knowing smile, and said, “Bushra Khala use magic?”

I couldn’t help it, I laughed. Then something completely unexpected happened: he took offense. His brow furrowed and he walked away from me towards my sister. He pointed a finger at me and said “baby!” as an insult and proceeded to seek comfort with my sister. I apologized but he continued to ignore me and after following him around for a while I told him that every time he does something and apologizes, I accept the apology right away. And yet, he doesn’t accept my apology? (I had fake tears in my eyes at this point). He looked at me, said “sorry” and gave me a hug.

All was well.

I made a mental note that he can now tell when I’m mocking him.

A while later, my sister said something about bubbles so I chipped in with a “Bubbles is a character in The Wire”. Raza comes up to me and says “Bushra Khala, can you show me the bubbles in the water?” It was obvious he misheard me. So I laughed.

Oops.

It took me a while to get back in his good graces again.

Yesterday was the 3rd of January. The clouds were threatening most of the morning and finally, by lunch, it started raining. The 3rd of January last year started much the same way. That was the day my dad passed away.

January 3, 2007 It was the most surreal day I had ever experienced, from the moment I woke up at 2:45 am to find that my dad had passed on to the moment he was laid to rest, at around 3:30pm.

I had been afraid it was going to start raining but after the janaza prayers at the mosque, the prayers that are performed for a person who has passed away, the clouds opened up and the sun literally started shining down as my dad’s casket was put into the hearse. I know, I know, it looks like I’m trying to paint a pretty picture, but that’s what happened. We all then followed the hearse to the Muslim cemetery in Livermore with our orange FUNERAL stickers stuck to our windshields and our headlights turned on, procedure for following a funeral procession.

My dad (or as I called him, “Abu”) was bedridden his last 3 months so we all spent time sitting and talking with him. As he realized the end was coming, he told us his regrets in life. One time, he was really upset with himself - he didn’t think he amounted to much in life and thought of himself as a failure. This was completely untrue but it was hard trying to convince him otherwise. “Look Abu,” I finally told him, “you helped raise 4 mostly sane kids and none of us have any weird piercings or tattoos. That’s got to mean something.” He laughed at that. Hopefully by all of us being there for him, we were finally able to convince him that he meant something.

I used the following picture in the slideshow my brother’s wedding reception last week. It’s from my sister’s wedding reception on December 29, 2002 and it’s the last one of all of us together:

Clockwise from left: Me, my dad Hasan, my mom Surayya, my brother, my little sister, my older Aaisha, and my brother-in-law.

Take care Abu. It’s been a really weird year without you.