I Remember the Falling Rain (pt 2)

I remember watching the raindrops shimmer before they cascaded by the wind towards my window. One by one, they slid down the glass and joined with other drops, sometimes reflecting iridescent splinters of light, before disconnecting. The drops formed long, vertical lines of water trails. They vanished out of sight.

I remember the exact arhythmic pattern of my heartbeat in the moment that my mortality could come to an end. I lay in bed, unable to swallow and struggling to breathe. For the moments I genuinely believed could be my last, I found myself distanced from the mundane and questioning what my existence had meant in past tense.

I remember the feeling of regret as I had remembered only worked for every waking hour of this day. I had fixated on the acquirement of wealth for pure intentions that, if I died in the next moment, could never come into fruition. My mind was always on the future — tomorrow I will save enough to pay all my student loans upfront, tomorrow I will donate to a worthy cause, tomorrow I will save up to buy a house without riba. Tomorrow I will plan for the dark road ahead into the afterlife; one unknown except as described by scripture.

I remembered the words of a religious lecture — how only our faith can guide us after we leave this world. I wondered if there was enough light in my soul to through the road, or if all I managed to do was avoid fusing without ever producing light of my own in a form of spiritual limbo. I prepared so desperately for a future that somewhere in the journey, I had started to believe that I was entitled to it — that I was somehow above death itself and could not die without redemption.

I remember opening my eyes again the next morning, waking to the blinding sunlight. If only I could testify to revelation about the meaning of my existence, but I am deep-seated in uncertainty and restlessness. If the next near-death experience will be my last, the events of yesterday may be predestined to repeat: the feeling of inherent aloneness in birth and death, my mind fogged with an estimated calculus of righteous deeds I consciously remember, stirred with anxiety at the prospect they may not outweigh the sins that live in my subconscious and out of memory.

I remember the falling rain and the pattern they left in trails of water on my window; long, vertical streaks. When they vanish, I am left wondering if they truly ever existed.

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