The Man who is not from this world
Sometimes I feel like I’m being watched. Somebody, afar somewhere, sitting at the corner of a giant curtained window with a powerful camera that has a long lens is critically watching me. Islamically speaking, this feeling of being watched is not something that I’m not accustomed to. We believe, I mean the people who have faith in Islam believe, that our Allah can see us and has employed angels to watch us over to protect, to guide, and witness our actions. My feeling, hence, is not unfamiliar to me yet it makes me uncomfortable because it’s not some angel I'm talking about. I’m talking about a real person.
When I would open a book, a tinge of sensation would flow through my nerves asking me to open the book in style. I would immediately try to tidy up my surrounding, fetch a mug of coffee for myself which would definitely go on the window seal nearby a potted plant and then I would gently make my fingers run through my undone hair with a calm and humbled gesture, very ethereal, very deep while opening the book about somebody’s life worth reading. The man sitting silently before that giant window would then take me seriously. Well, this tiny woman, a stay-at-home mom, whom I thought was not so special, has something mysterious about her that lingers, he would tell himself.
This man does not necessarily have to have charms. He has bigger eyes and a broader smile. That's about it. He was asked to watch other STEM girls, girls with degrees and impeccable careers, but he wholeheartedly declined just to take on the assignment of watching me. Because I am somebody he feels deeply about. If he could meet me, which he wants more often these days after endlessly assessing my personality, he would listen to me without interrupting and would applaud every time I make myself change the bed, wash the dishes, unload the washer or empty the trash bin.
It’s not like I don’t know the psychological aspects behind the way I have been feeling. In a sense, I’m like Madame Mathilde of Guy de Maupassant who was so obsessed with the imaginary wealthy life that she lost precious ten years of it trying to stay in that imagination. The only exception is that I don’t have cravings for wealth, but the thirst for recognition-You will notice me because I have nothing and that is attractive. At least that is what I feel that I can offer to the world, the state of nothingness. But my special aura, my subtle presence would tell otherwise. Yes, she doesn’t have monetary belongings to start with but what she has, is fascinating, and oh if we could name it!
Who doesn’t want to be recognized? This very question would instantly pull me from my imaginary status of pearl-like recognition to the level of your average Jane. This question startles me, it puts me in an uncomfortable shoe and makes that man with the fancy camera disappear. But he reappears on my dull and mundane days and motivates me to act special even when I’m changing my one year old son’s diaper. And to tell you the truth, I enjoy that man’s company. Now, don’t ask me who doesn't want to feel special. I would not answer your question.
