Voice of British Muslim Women

Yusra Dahri, Tilford

A global pandemic has broken global morale. 

Loved ones have been lost, education has been disrupted, and societal fabric has unravelled. Mental health – let’s agree that if we didn’t need help before, we need it now. For many of us, prayer is the only thing we have left.

We have been watching a car crash in slow motion, and there is no guarantee it will end now. The flames seem to be lasting so long that they are seared into our memory. Who knows when the ambulance will arrive, who knows when the pain will cease, who knows when we will recover. And after recovery – the world is still a scary place. The burn marks are everywhere.

Calling 2020 the ‘worst’ year gives us hope. It makes us feel like that no matter what comes next, it can’t be as bad as this. It won’t ​ ​be as bad as this. Unfortunately, this reminds me of how World War One was originally called ‘the Great War’ – they thought no war could ever be greater. 

Don’t get me wrong, we should never let go of hope. Without it, our wings freeze over, and we let ourselves fall to ground before we’ve even been shot. 

But, what happens if 2021 is worse? Say if all the cynics are right, what do we do then? Do we just keep hoping that the next year will get better? 

An idealism like that can only lead to bitter disappointment. The cycle will continue, until we crumple up completely, crippled by our own optimism. 

What are the criteria for a good year? Obviously one where there isn’t COVID-19, but the truth is, some people have already been experiencing their worst years, in an endless cycle. Is war better than a pandemic? 

Another truth is that some people have been barely affected by the coronavirus. For them it is not their worst year. Some individuals have flourished, whether through exploitation or genuine growth.

Equally, people have lost so much this year – if not their lives, then their livelihoods. The only choice we have is to point to the light, no matter how far away it may be, otherwise we will succumb to the darkness. And the darkness is real. It is breathing down our necks every chance it gets, its icy breath trying to numb the warmth of our throats. 

But:

We are alive. 

If you are reading this, it means you are alive. 

And that doesn’t mean nothing. Especially ​ ​now, that doesn’t mean nothing. 

In addition to that, it means you at the very least have access to technology, plus the internet.

As weak as you might feel, as desolate as the circumstances may be – as your ​ ​circumstances may be – think of the power ​ ​you hold. 

Not the phoney power that’s bred from ‘hustle culture’, but simply survival. Whatever it is, you have survived it. You have endured.

 It doesn’t matter how close you came to breaking, or how much you wanted to give up. Maybe you did almost fall off the edge. Maybe you’re covered in burns too. But you’re still here. As cold as your eyes have become, there is warmth in your blood, and your heart is sending it as fast as it can. You are ​ ​alive. 

And as we pull ourselves out of the frost, we can lend a hand to the people who really are trying to fight the fire. There might be seriously nothing they can do to quell the flames, but we know, we can. 

That’s ​our duty. If we can pull each other out of ice and fire, we unlock our strengths. There is a resilience we can lay claim to. It is because of this dark, terrible year: 2020.

 And, there were moments of light. The sun disappeared, so we​ ​ lit the candles to drive away the darkness.

There is no way to know what 2021 will hold. If it is dark, at least we have each other. We know God can see us. Let us walk into the New Year holding our candles together.