Rain can be a beautiful thing; the gentle rapping on my window often soothes and calms any grumpiness that the cold weather brings upon me. If I’m sitting on the windowsill a flood of childhood memories will rush through me, sending me into moments of stupor as I think of how much of my innocence I have lost. Most of all, rain is a blessing from Allah ta’ala - something that we a rarely grateful for.You see, today I had to pray Jum’ah in the rain.I’ve only recently moved back to my hometown. The bus service is way too slow where I live, so I decided to walk. It takes me about 50 minutes to walk to my nearest Masjid, which today I annoyingly extended by somehow getting lost on the way. So I came late for Jum’ah. Not that late, but late enough to have the privilege of praying in the masjid car park.As soon as the salah has started, it started it to rain. Usually British rain tends to start of as a drizzle, then get heavy, then become drizzle again. We seemed to have altogether missed the drizzle parts for salah today.

It wasn’t that bad though; the weather was not biting cold, nor was the rain of the stinging variety. In fact, I felt a somewhat humble. The rain tends to silence my inner thoughts, so I can at least concentrate on praying and not wonder why the next man is practically standing on my feet (another level of “feet-to-feet brothers”).

Afterwards, I waited around to see if there were any brothers distributing anything. I didn’t see anyone. But I could hear the hushed murmurs and grumblings. Whether it was an elder, taxi driver or a “ËœG’, the same grievances about the rain and about the Masjid not having adequate facilities could be heard.

Now I’m not having a go at anyone (maybe another day I’ll try to psycho-analyse the philology of “gangsta youth” language), I’m just wondering at times how individualistic I can be. Because in the back of my mind I was going through the same thoughts.

I was annoyed at the rain for putting a big puddle in my shoes, I was annoyed about why there wasn’t a roof for us, I was annoyed that the Imam had incorrect tajweed, and I was annoyed at why those of the same age as me couldn’t speak proper English.

Maybe it was just the long walk that made me so corrupt in my thinking or maybe it’s that I’ve been living in the land of the dead for so long that all I care about is myself.

The above described is not the status quo for me; I mean I try hard to be a better Muslim, but these short lapses of degeneracy make it clear how hard a struggle it is just to even think like a Muslim - especially when you live in society that pushes to you be individualistic.

Inshallah next time and now: I’ll make dua when it rains, I’ll shake the hands of the elders, I’ll give Salaam to the youth I don’t know, I’ll overlook the mistakes of others and I’ll use my education and wealth to help our communities in essential projects like Masjids and schools.