Dear Kobe

I have not written on this blog in years,  Not sure anyone is still following.  Losing Kobe compelled me to post on here. — The Only Son

Dear Kobe,

I didn’t know you personally, and never met you (watching you play live doesn’t really count) but you have been a part of my life since 1996. You were just a kid then, and in many aspects, so was I.

An 18 year-old playing for the Lakers. You were the personification of my childhood dreams. I would grow to have other dreams, but you would grow on me.

I am a die-hard Lakers fan, so you took some getting used to. Brash, cocky rookie who didn’t like passing to the savvy legend who scored 60 points in his final game. 4 air balls in the playoffs, I cringed whenever you touched the ball to the stone cold assassin that made me yell “Get the ball to Kobe!” at my TV when the games were tight.

I watched you play live in so many cities and you never disappointed, except that one time you got ejected in Seattle – You made it up to me by scoring 46 when I was there to see you again.

But you were more to me. You were my nephew’s first favorite player. He would soon love the game so much that it became a sacred bond between him and I.

My Mom wasn’t a basketball fan, but because of me she was a Lakers fan. She knew the one-name wonders – Kareem, Magic, Shaq. And she definitely knew Kobe. She didn’t understand the game much but she knew to question the coach’s decision whenever she saw you walking to the bench. She watched you as if you were her child. Your ability to draw people in transcended generations – 3 in my own family.

81 points. You scored that mere weeks after my Dad passed away. I didn’t watch the game. In my mourning, I took away, for a short period, what gave me pleasure. But, I couldn’t resist checking on my Lakers via the box scores. 81?! I had to read the game summary to make sure it wasn’t a misprint. “Geez, Kobe!” I shook my head and smiled for the first time in a long time.

You inspired me. You were so early to practice that you slept in your car waiting for the practice facility doors to be unlocked. You created the Mamba Mentality (and those hilarious “You’re welcome” ads). Going back further, you were “Kobe Bryant – Slam Dunk Giant” in the Sprite commercial. You were that warrior that walked back on the court after tearing your Achilles to shoot free throws; not for the 2 points, but to make sure you could come back into that particular game if you were at all able to, for your team. You didn’t flinch when Matt Barnes faked throwing the ball at your head – you were a true baller.

#8 dazzled me. #24 made me want to keep playing as I got older. The Black Mamba made me want to be better at everything I did. Your poem “Dear Basketball” brought tears to my eyes. And now, so will any thought of you.

Thank you for the memories, Kobe. I will miss you dearly. May Allah be with you (Ameen).

Love,

A die-hard Laker fan (Wajahat)

 

P.O.W. — a not-so-short story

I haven’t written anything in quite a while.  I had this story on a back-burner so I decided to dust it off and finish it.  It is very different from my usual writing style.  Let me know what you think of it.  – The Only Son

 P.O.W.

Year: 2005

Gary has been awfully quiet since he got back last year from his second tour in Afghanistan. Oddly, I was expecting this behaviour from him after his first tour, which was right after the attacks of 9/11 in 2001. He was never very talkative, more of the strong silent type. He played defensive back on the high school football team, earning himself a scholarship to university, but his grades were so low after two semesters they revoked his scholarship. At 20 years old, he felt his best option was to enlist. He had no trouble becoming a military officer. He passed the physical and all the aptitude tests with flying colors. Shortly after he got trained, the attacks on New York City took place. He was literally thrown from training straight into combat. Gary relished in this; he lived for action.

Growing up, we were close. I was the older brother, looking out for Gary. He’d follow my friends and I to the park. I’d make him stand on the side while we played tackle football. The rare time we let him play, he would do okay, until one day, when he was thirteen years old, he began dominating on the field. I usually played quarterback, and his job was to protect me.   I must admit, my playground football career was a success because of my kid brother. There eventually came a time when I no longer needed to look out for Gary. He became physically stronger than I am, and he’d bail me out of many bar fights when we went out drinking. But I was the studious one. I got good grades, finished my degree, completed my teaching certificate, and got a cozy job teaching high school math.

Demented

I wrote this years ago, mere days before my Dad (Abu) passed away. This is for those who have or have had a loved one suffer a stroke, or suffer from Dementia/Alzheimer’s and slowly watched that person lose their personality due to these horrifying circumstances. This is also for all those lively souls that spent the last days of their life confined to a hospital bed.

DEMENTED

What happened to you?
You used to be so vibrant
And now you are left with the drab colours of hospital gowns
You used to appreciate different scenic landscapes
And now all you see is the same tree out the window, where the only things changing are the people walking by 

Ramadan Memories: HALF-DAYS

In loving memory of my Ammi and Abu, who taught us how to pray, fast and respect Islam. Ammi, thank you for waking us up for every sehri meal and teaching us the meaning of Ramadan.  Also, recently, thank you for all the ludo games we played to pass the long days of fasting during the summer.  Abu, thank you for providing us with all the tools we needed to become better Muslims.  Your guidance and willingness to let us learn for ourselves has made us love our faith more deeply.  We miss you, not only during this Ramadan, but for eternity.
             Love,
             Your kids

 

                                                             Ramadan Memories: Half Days

I didn’t start fasting full-time (all 30 days) until I was 12 years old. Ammi and Abu felt that this was the right age for me, even though Moneeba and Fareeha had begun fasting the entire month as early as age 10. Prior to this age, at around 10 or 11, I was allowed to fast one day during the school week, and also from Friday through Sunday. As I got older, observing Ramadan became one of my favourite times of the Islamic calendar.

The last time Ramadan landed in the summer months was when I was much younger. As I noted earlier, I wasn’t allowed to fast when I was younger so I never fully realized how harsh these almost-19 hour fasts can be in the Vancouver area. In those days, when Khadaija and I were about 7 and 6, respectively, we would always want to be just like the older two siblings. It seemed so exotic and exciting that Moneeba and Fareeha were allowed to get up before sunrise and share an entire meal with Ammi and Abu, then not eat or drink all day, just like the grown-ups. They would commence the fast at sunset with more than the usual dates, pakoras, and fruit chaat. Abu would somehow sneak chocolate bars to the older two to reward them for fasting all day. Even though he would bring chocolate for Khadaija and I, we would look at it pathetically, as if we hadn’t earned the candy bars. Mind you, that was a fleeting emotion because we ended up eating our candy within moments.     

Until Further Notice…

On February 20, 2014, at approximately 10:35am, my world came crashing down. My Ammi, my mother, passed away suddenly.

I will not be posting on this blog for the next little while (I honestly don’t know how long I will need), but I hope when/if I return, that those following this blog will continue to do so.

More importantly, I would appreciate it if you can take some time out and send a prayer for my mother, Tasneem Bajwa, the best Ammi ever!  May Allah give her the best place in Jannat, forgive all her sins, and reunite my sisters and I with her and my Abu one fine day, for eternity (Ameen).

Until we meet again,
Wajahat (The Only Son)

A Housewife’s Funeral

I am back after a hiatus of almost two months.  Please read and comment on this poem.

A Housewife’s Funeral

As her body lay in the morgue
Her husband is on their bed
Gathering strands of her hair from her pillow
Her body getting colder
While her wailing children hold each other
In warm embraces

Happy New Year

To all the bloggers I follow, and those that follow this blog, I wish you all a very happy new year.  May 2014 be a blessing from Allah for all of us (Ameen).

As for this blog, I hope to be back in the new year, after having taken this month off.  Please keep reading.  I appreciate the support.