My head hurts. I am not sure what exactly it is but the pain starts at the centre radiating with a strong throb to my right side and slightly to my left. With the little energy I have left, I drag my feet to a nearby couch at the back corner of the mosque.
“Allahu Akbar,” The prayer has just started.
But I feel so weak, so tired that at the instant I sit and lean on the couch, I doze off.
“Alisha, who is taking care of the logistics?” I hear a voice say.
“Alisha, what is the update on your group assignment?” Says another.
“Alisha, you have two hours to get this done,” Again. Says another.
I tried to answer but I couldn’t find my voice. I could feel my lips moving but nothing comes out. I am doing it, guys. Yes, no worries. I will email you one minute before the deadline. On the assignment, I think you can refer to my assistant for that. I have told her —
“Hello?,” I feel a strong grip on my shoulders, holding me tight as if trying to wake me up to reality only to realise that I was dreaming. In front of me is an elderly woman who looks so concerned.
“Are you okay?” she asks. I can’t quite grasp things yet. Not until she gives me another press on my shoulders that I realise I just woke up from a dream.
Oh. My hand goes straight to my head. I wince at the pain. “Yes, yes I am. InshaAllah.”
She looks at me. Unconvinced. A faint smile on her lips. “Take a rest,” is all she says. She jerks her head towards the few people praying at the front row. I nod weakly. I gather my strength to stand and proceed to take wudhu’. The feel of water on my skin is refreshing. Then.. I take my rest. Yes, solah is our rest.
As I finish my prayer, I sit for a little while. Thinking. I have had so much going on for the past two weeks that I could barely breathe. And more in the weeks to come.. I was seeking for rest in the form of.. well, less work or no work, assignments, projects. But every single day, I always have my rest. In fact, 5 times a day. At the very least.
Indeed, solah is our rest. Rest well, dear soul.