The Tunnels

This is the McCord Museum’s Urban Forest; a street off of Sherbrooke lined with ‘trees’ with leaves made of satin ribbon. Shortly after I took this photo, this woman pulled out a cosmetic mirror to fix her make-up. By her self, she was happily enjoying us passers-by, smiling and nodding. I don’t believe she was waiting for anyone, which is what made her even more interesting. I hope she had a lovely evening.

Earlier this week, she said she was just looking for the light at the end of the tunnel. I understand this, because we all have made this same error in perception. It’s a shitty idiom that, though it works individually on fragments (perhaps shards is a better word here) of life, it doesn’t apply to life itself. The only light at the end of this tunnel is His.

I’ve learned that we set ourselves up for disaster when we believe there will in fact be any kind of light, once and for all, in this dunya. What we have instead is a movement from one darkness to another, along which we find lightness and sparkle.

As example, take acknowledging that I am bored of dealing with the tunnel of dating, and am ready to trade it in for the tunnel of a commitment. Here, there is no illusion that the ‘light’ at the end of a dating tunnel is a relationship; rather, it is acknowledging that a relationship is a different kind of shit-show with it’s own traumas and challenges. Along the way, I’ll find a little bit of sparkle, inshAllah, but I’d be a fool to assume the tunnel is behind me.

Let me know if you think I am too pessimistic.

Today, I am grateful for:
1. Quiet evenings, book-filled, and tree-lined.
2. Ice cold water bottles against skin heated at 42°.
3. Zizou, once again next to me for sleep cuddles.

Montreal | Day 237 | July 25, 2019

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