Hamdoulilah
In the Moroccan Arabic dialect, there is a word, Hamdoulilah, that translates directly to “thanks be to God.” Traditionally, however, Moroccan’s rarely use it for its precise meaning. For the people of this country, the word is more so a reflection of a higher power being present in each of our lives, looking over us and reminding us that (as cheesy as it may be) everything happens for a reason. Saying hamdoulilah is much like thanking such a force for being by your side, through the good and the bad, even if (and often even more so when) despair and sorrow arrive at your doorstep. Hamdoulilah is a subtle reminder to be grateful for both the good and the bad, and even though we may rarely understand why the bad is pushed upon us, there is nothing that happens without reason. It can be said in such a vast number of settings — as a casual whisper under the breath, in response to greeting a loved one, before sharing a hearty, communal meal. It is universally understood — and it’s meaning cannot go understated.
In my final blogpost regarding the time that I spent with ASILA in Morocco, I feel more so than anything else an overwhelming sense of hamdoulilah.
Just as our trip began, in a whirlwind of activity, my plane landed in San Diego at 8:45 PM on Saturday and I was taking off for the 8-hour drive to Santa Clara just 12 hours later. Lucky enough to have done some traveling in Spain between leaving Morocco and returning home, I don’t know that the culture shock hit me in the same way as most. I certainly experienced odd moments for the first few days after arriving in Spain and then again arriving home — I think the first sentence I uttered in the Madrid airport was some strange, probably very confusing combination of French, Spanish and English, and I still have trouble bringing myself to use sink water when I’m brushing my teeth — but all things said and done, I’ve been able to jump back into my life in Santa Clara with a fair amount of ease.
That said, I feel as though I have been processing my time in Morocco in rather small, bite-sized pieces — every time someone asks me about the Global Fellows program, every time it comes up in casual conversation, I understand and am able to communicate just what I learned in Morocco a little bit more. To some extent, I imagine that I will continue to do so for a long while, but to the best of my knowledge, this is where I am at now:
It can be exhausting to be a part of this generation. Between societal pressure and personal expectations, I cannot begin to number the times that I have felt stretched beyond belief, pushing myself beyond the boundaries of both my mental and physical health. Our society does an excellent job at capitalizing on numbers: your SAT score, your college GPA, the number of internships you’ve held and scholarships you’ve earned likely often characterize you more than other (probably more important) facts about you. I don’t believe that I speak for just myself when I say that I have gone through much of my education focusing solely on numbers. But they’re just numbers.
For years I have known that I want to combine engineering with international impact upon leaving Santa Clara. But until now, I have not known what it feels like to be truly passionate about a cause. For years I have known that I love biology and linear algebra, but until now, I have never come to terms with being creative and a good listener too. Looking back, I feel as though I have spent the last three years comparing myself to everyone else — comparing my numbers to everyone else’s — without coming to terms with the fact that I’m interested in such vastly different things than everyone else, that I don’t want to follow the traditional path through research and industry internships. Until now, I have never come to terms with the amount of effort it is going to take to pursue a career, as an engineer, in a non-traditional setting. But, if Morocco taught me anything, it’s that I cannot imagine doing something I am not completely passionate about.
