He Who Knows Himself

By Ratu Yousei

Dhia Afiq - Realm reflection (2021), Acrylic on Canvas, 91cm x 91cm
Image description: The painting portrays an abstract geometric scene resembling layered mountains. A light-orange circle in the upper left corner resembles the moon. The layered mountain-like shapes, alternating between dark-gray and light-orange, show parts of a person’s face and hands. 

When I was little, I spent afternoons attending Islamic school. It was there that I learned that God has 99 names, each one encompassing an attribute. But I also recall the ustazah telling us about Musa standing barefoot before a burning flame. Resounding throughout the valley of Tuwa, he heard the voice of his Creator addressing him, “Indeed I am Allah.” On another occasion, Musa stood firmly on a high point, asking to see the Lord. To appease this request, He revealed Himself to the mighty mountain nearby. As a result, the poor rock was flattened to dust and the Israelite prophet was knocked out cold. This story has always reminded me of the unfathomable character of God, infinite and uncontainable. But this infinity, including the 99, are all invoked the moment we call out His one true name: Allah.

I lie on my side in bed as moonlight intrudes through the clear window. It illuminates the stack of sundry books on my desk. I grab the iPhone beside my pillow, unlocking it and opening up YouTube. The thumbnail of the first recommended video is a tableau of men in tall caps and long white robes. The flow of their loose skirts captured in midair resembles the spiral arms of the Milky Way, inclining me to tap — animating the frozen figures. Accompanied by a euphony of instruments and reverent hymns, they begin to spin like Turkic ballerinas in music boxes, appearing to be put in a trance-like state. Their movements mirror the orbiting planets as they seek nearness in spiritual union. At some point, the video cuts away to an interview with one of the dervishes —

“This is the one, whatever the one is. It’s like another reunion story. You experience all the different feelings a person has inside them, but in a way which has never been experienced before. Our attachment to religion is what affects me most because after the Sema, you are somehow wrapped in love. Divine love.”

I turn to face upwards, pulling the bantal peluk close to my chest. If you ask someone for the cure to loneliness, they’d likely tell you to find a companion. Fromm thought differently. He wrote that to overcome loneliness, you have to lean into it. Sounds counterintuitive but the only way to be good at being with someone is through learning to be good at being alone. If you can’t handle your own company, how can anyone else? So here I lie alone with my eyes tightly closed, imagining that what I’m holding onto right now is Suresh. Maybe Emir or Arai. Or it could be Jia Wei. I haven’t spoken to any of them in months so I don’t know how they’re doing or where they are, but I do know what I’d confess if any of them were back in this room right now—even if it might scare them off.

I tighten my squeeze on the bantal peluk, stuffing my face into it for a few sniffs. Nothing will ever be a good enough substitute. Neither warmth nor scent will emanate from this inanimate bolster. No matter how much I pray, Allah won’t give me that miracle. I haven’t been chosen like Musa. What I’m left with instead is this longing for someone—anyone—to pick me. To be with me. To hold or be held by me. I don’t mind either. I’m quite flexible, except when it comes to negotiating space. I want none of it. No space should lie between us when we’re both lying on this bed. I want love. I want closeness. I want to press our bodies into One—forever. Anything less isn’t good enough.

Dhia Afiq - Serenity 2 (Work in Progress) (2018), Oil & Acrylic on Canvas, 182cm x 152cm
Image description: An abstract portrait rendered in shades of pink depicts different parts of a person who faces leftward. The person’s closed eyes, nose, ear, and two fingers are visible in the top half of the painting. The light-pink background is rendered in soft, wispy strokes. 

***

Now nothing is nearer to you than yourself, and if you know not yourself how can you know anything else?

The Friday azan fills the afternoon sky from the loudspeaker of the surau. Loud streams drum onto the floor tiles, gushing from galvanised iron taps. My face is wet with wuduk water as I adjust my songkok in front of the mirror on the outer wall, straightening my golden songket sampin and ensuring my black Baju Melayu is well tucked. I gaze into the mirror, noting the little imperfections that distinguish my body. The subtle hairs growing between my eyebrows I never knew existed until Megat mentioned I should get them trimmed. The teeth I never realised were slightly crooked until a cute guy told me that he likes a man with perfect whites. The bit of fat below my chin I never really cared about until some stranger on Grindr typed out for me— unsolicited, “Kalau kurus mesti hensem ni.” You’d be handsome if you were thinner. He didn’t even bother opening with a hi.

Al-Ghazali believed that we’re all rusty mirrors, and that our duty is to polish ourselves so that we may—if Allah wills—reflect even a photon of His qualities. Life is a journey towards Perfection, achieved only through strictly observing the divine laws with the purest intention. But I keep wondering, how does one purify their intention—

“The Bedouins say: ‘We have believed’. Say: ‘You have not believed, but say, We have submitted, for faith has not yet entered your hearts’.”

I recognise the khatib’s opening line. Stepping into the air-conditioned interior, I feel the coolness reassure me. I make my way through the congregation seated on the soft azure carpet, finding gaps to pass through like navigating an obstacle course, sauntering past the familiar sight of members of the workforce as they recharge from their draining nine-to-fives. Once I reach the frontmost row, I place myself in between an attentive bearded old guy wearing a kopiah and thobe, and a handsome young man dozing off in office clothes.

I’m trying to pay attention to the khatib speaking on the mimbar, but my eyes can’t help wandering to the right. His jaw is well-defined. His lips look soft and thick. His hair, luscious like a lion’s mane. Not a blemish can be found anywhere on his clean-shaven complexion. I notice a lanyard hanging from his neck facing my way. Squinting, I make his name out as Yusuf. Just watching Yusuf’s sleeping expression stirs something in me. My mind spends the remainder of the khutbah deciding whether it’s desire or envy.

“Aqimussalah.”

The iqamah startles Yusuf from his brief nap. We both stand up like every other attendant, packing ourselves tightly in our row and leaving no room for shaytan. Following the imam, we raise our hands while calling aloud, “Allahu Akbar,” before folding them to rest on our stomachs. I feel Yusuf’s arm pressing onto mine. His firm muscles are distracting but I muster all my mental strength to ignore them, focusing on my prayer and minding the most minute detail of my movements. I have to be fussy. If I’m not heedful of even the swinging of my index finger, I may never discern what pleases my Lord. I may never benefit from the blessings He might shower upon me. I may never know what it's like to open up the door and come home to Him—happy.

***

I’ve never been on a plane all by myself. It’s strange considering the innumerable flights I’ve taken. What’re the odds that I’d only experience my first solo air trip at 20? The aircraft is small, the kind that still has those old school propellers on the wings, which only adds to the sense of precarity, with people rushing into one another to fill in each row of two seats on either side. At the far front—because that was the only available place left when I checked in—I sit alone, flipping through a tafsir I borrowed from the campus library.

“When My slaves ask you concerning Me, I am indeed near.”

A puff of air escapes through my nostrils. I put the book down on my lap, intending to let my thoughts on that statement simmer when suddenly, I feel a tiny hand tugging on my hair—

“Rebecca! Let go of the abang’s hair!”

The casually-dressed middle-aged woman with a bob cut right behind me intervenes in the girl’s misbehaviour, apprehending her while trying to get her to stay quietly in her seat. In that simple white blouse, cream skirt, and neat bun, she looks about five or six years old.

“Ah girl, you apologise now,” she demands in a stern voice.

“I’m sorry,” Rebecca manages to squeak while looking down, visibly ashamed.

“It’s okay,”  I say, trying to cheer her up, “Just try not to do it again for the next hour, aight?”

Rebecca nods, looking a little less embarrassed.

“So sorry ya. She’s a bit excited since we’re going to see her mother who’s working in Langkawi.”

“Oh, I assumed you were the mother,” I blurt out.

“No la, I’m not even married. Her mother is my sister. I’m the one looking after her because my brother-in-law passed away when she was a baby. No one else can take care ma.”

“That’s nice of you,” I turn to face Rebecca, “You must be thrilled to see your mummy. Do you miss her a lot? I’m sure it gets lonely since she’s so far away.”

“Yes, but sometimes only,” her mouth forms a grin, “Ma always video calls every week and when we’re not calling, Auntie Peggy is there whenever I want to talk.”

“She’s very chatty one. Will talk talk all day if I don’t tell her to go finish up her homework first.”

I laugh with Auntie Peggy as the young girl sulks at the remark. We carry on with the pleasant conversation, discussing cheap places to eat on the island and the duty-free goods we plan on purchasing as Rebecca occasionally interrupts to effuse about how she can’t wait to swim at the beach. Cute kid. Was there a time I was doused in tenderness like her? After ten minutes, the flight attendant approaches to let us know that we’re moving. I return to sit in the proper position and buckle my seatbelt, but not before Rebecca asks me a question.

“Abang, what’s your name?”

“Wahid,” I answer, smiling.

The plane begins accelerating on the runway. The inertia emphatically presses my torso to the seat. I’m overwhelmed by the invisible force as if overcome by a familiar passion. Moved by habit, I whisper under my breath, “Subhanal ladzi sakhara lana hadza wama kunna lahu muqrinin. Wa inna ila rabbina lamunqalibun.”

It was when the flight took off that I realised: I still hadn’t been on a plane all by myself.

Dhia Afiq - Serenity (2018), Oil & Acrylic on Canvas, 182cm x 152cm
Image description: The painting, rendered mostly in shades of pink, features different parts of a  person portrayed upside-down. The person’s facial features and hands are visible in the top half of the painting.. The figure’s hand, rendered realistically, reaches towards the bottom right corner. The figure is surrounded by wispy, pink strokes and abstract, dark-purple blocks.

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Ratu Yousei is a writer from Kelana Jaya who is currently pursuing his undergraduate studies in English Literature with Creative Writing at the University of Nottingham Malaysia Campus. He has contributed essays regarding politics, religion, and philosophy on Solidaritas and has had his poetry published in Men Matters Online Journal. He also has a poem featured on the Strength and Solidarity podcast and translates local poems for the World Poetry Movement in Malaysia. Besides literature, he was once active in the independent music scene and has two singles available on all streaming platforms.

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Dhia Afiq, a Malaysian artist born in Klang in 1996, holds a BA (Hons) in Fine Art. Since 2015, he has been actively engaged in art exhibitions and projects. His artistic journey revolves around the exploration of emptiness and presence, delving into the profound meaning of these concepts through the interplay of space and form. Through his paintings, Dhia endeavors to comprehend his inner nature, striving to embody both "emptiness" and "presence." His artworks intricately merge space (emptiness) with human figurative form (presence), reflecting his quest for inward spaciousness and the elusive concept of "nonbeing." Dhia's artistic endeavors serve as a contemplative exploration of existential themes, inviting viewers to ponder the nature of self and existence.

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