Lowkey
When I feel despondent, I watch YouTube videos of people like Lowkey.
I grew up listening a lot to people like Lowkey.
Soundtrack to the struggle was the daily anthem on my way to school.
An unapologetically radical primary text insightful for anyone seeking to understand British Muslim youth culture in the early 2010s.
I could write a book about the influence that Lowkey has had on my life.
I would speak about that day I went to his show with my mum and he came out to greet us at the end of the evening and offered us tea with warmth and hospitality.
One day I hope to share more, God willing.
Because when I hear brother Lowkey speak, I hear discipline.
I see a man of genuine moral courage.
A human being who speaks with eloquence and precision and heart. A sound heart. On the most important matters that we face but find hard to face.
When I’m feeling despondent - Lowkey’s example acts as a source of introspection.
A catalyst for tazkiya.
A summons to action.
May we learn and emulate from the best of what’s around us.
Ameen.
Ice & Lemon Slice
During my uni days, I used to visit this one coffee shop near Moorgate station on a regular basis. 8:15am. The table right at the back was mine. Facing away from the entrance. I would unpack my laptop case. Plug the charger in. Place my jacket on the back of the seat. Re-adjust the cutlery and salt and pepper shakes on the table. To increase the surface area of my workstation. My order was always a flat white and tap water. Tap water with ice and a lemon slice. Over time, the baristas knew my order by heart and the ordering process became an elegant dance. Many of the baristas were from Australia. I hear that coffee is a big part of the culture in Australia. This morning, I returned to the coffee shop near Moorgate station after a few months of separation - to write this piece. To my surprise, the barista remembered who I was. What’s even more ajeeb is that apparently a few days ago, I came up in conversation. “Where is that guy who always orders the same coffee and sits in the same seat? He hasn’t been here in a while.” It’s an honour to be seen. It’s a blessing to be remembered. Now I’m reflecting on all the people we co-exist with in life - who exist in our periphery. Who we admire for their consistent presence at a distance. If they were to disappear and return again. How would we welcome them?