My Hajj Diaries.....

I recently returned from Hajj, and my thoughts are still scattered as I process the experience. I'm working on a short story inspired by the trip, but it will take some time to complete. In the meantime, I wanted to share some of my journal entries from that period. I avoided editing them much, mostly because I'm lazy, but also because I wanted them to stay true to my state at the time. I have a lot more that I'll publish later.

Unconditional love happens primarily in the context of children. This means that the only people we love unconditionally are those we either knew as a child, or as a parent in the presence of a child. We also experience this love with people with whom we have raised children, shared significant childhood memories. You get the point? There are very rare occasions in life when we get to glimpse the child within someone, such as through vulnerability or deep, empathetic connections. However, for the most part, cultivating unconditional love in an adult-to-adult interaction, without the presence or influence of children, is challenging. This unique bond often requires the innocence, openness, and pure affection that children naturally bring into our lives.

Arafat was the most difficult day because the electricity went out. When it's 52 degrees and there's no electricity, the day can feel apocalyptic despite its holiness. I dozed off, passed out, or slept for most of the day. During the short time I was awake, I fanned my sisters and sprayed them with water. When I was asleep, they did the same for me. On this holy day, in my dazed state, I'm reminded that nothing matters except for my sisters. Throughout all my life—whether asleep, depressed, cold, hot, or happy, on spiritual or materialistic adventures—it's always been my sisters by my side.

The idea of accountability is what keeps me holding onto religion so much. I see so many workers everywhere, collecting trash and cleaning for hours on end. I keep seeing the same person every day. It's really upsetting and unfair that if you are poor, the days are long but your life is short. What a calamity.

I'm having breakfast at 6am at the big communal table. It's mostly very old ladies who are up right now. Am I an old lady? The food at the cafeteria is the same every day. However, the cooking progressively gets better, or maybe my taste buds have gotten worse. I should be grateful. The old lady next to me has only one leg and is eating the same bad breakfast.