The Muslim Was A Communist

I believed in three principles:

1. Everything has a basis.
2. Everything is connected.
3. Everything changes.

This was my Marxist-Leninist following. I have practically lived with those tenets believing that these were all the be-all end-all of things. This is the Communist line of thinking.

I was not with the armed group. I belonged to the “negotiating arm” struggling around parliamentary rules of reasoning. Educating the masses. Empowering the workforce. Serving the people. I was not one of those in the mountains. I was in the urban system entwined with the regular peeps. But I can take arms if I had to.  I was trained to hold guns before I was a teenager. Guns were not a threat to me. It was a normal accessory of living. Being a granddaughter of Don Fabian and Donya Conchita, I lived a life of guns, goons, and gold. My family was part of the landowners’ class.

Before I was identified as one, I was thought to be a sophisticated socialite. I come from a Spanish school since preschool up to high school. Hence, I struggled to belong to the movement that defended the middle class. Simply, my nuclear family belongs to the Middle Class. That’s how my Dad chose to lead his life. That’s my upbringing.  But unlike the common notion on communists, I had a God-centered life. I feared less though knowing that I can hold arms and I was not afraid to shoot if I had to. Lives are cheap. Always priced at what they were worth. Very mundane.

Until I found my answers to questions I had and never had.

Now I understand my life’s purpose. Now I understand why we are living. Now I understand who I must serve. And now I understand that there is only ONE. The Alpha and The Omega. The All-Knowing. The One Who Knows. The Architect of our destiny.

I thought being a communist humbled me enough.  I was wrong.  Being a Muslim, I was not only taken down to my feet. I do not only kneel. But I prostrate to submit myself to glorify The Great One.  Allahu Akbar.

Ya Allaah! Ya Rabb!

Alhamdulillah!

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