External Validation
25 November 2024
Haneef, Haq-Nawaz, Ghaffar, Khalid, Mansab, Latif, Khaqan, Jameel, and Siddique. These are some of my father's friends—those I can remember. During the brief time our family lived in Saudi Arabia with my father, these individuals were regular fixtures in our lives. So were their families, their lives, and their stories. My father was somewhat educated and surrounded mostly by blue-collar workers or those at a similar level. All of these individuals were Pakistani immigrants, though I hesitate to call them true immigrants, as most were on work contracts and eventually returned to their homelands.
What I remember most vividly is how involved these people were in our family's decisions. My father's job, like any other middle-class job, didn't pay enough. Traditional conservative values and living in a strict Islamic country meant that women could not work. All the families were headed by men who were also the breadwinners. But today, I want to talk about something else.
I distinctly remember that most of the names mentioned above were heavily involved in our family's decisions. My brother's choice to abandon his plans for a Master's degree and join my father in Saudi Arabia, my family's decision to move to Saudi Arabia in the middle of my school year, and many others. I vividly recall these men discussing the future careers of my siblings and even my own. My father regularly sought advice from his friends, even going so far as to forbid me from wearing shorts because he thought my legs were too bony to look good in them. Mind you, I was in 3rd grade. His friends were regularly referred to as “uncles,” and their children were considered my cousins, as is a long-standing tradition among Pakistanis. In many ways, this system kept families in check, and it worked vice versa—my father would also give advice to them, as would my mother. At one point, my father even conducted a financial review of one of his friend's children, who was studying abroad, and unsurprisingly, he found irregularities. :) Pakistanis are a very connected people—or at least, that's what I thought.
Now, let's skip ahead a few years to my current situation. My father passed away 16 years ago, and some of his friends have since passed as well. Some are still alive but have lost touch with our family. As the saying goes, “Life happened,” and indeed, it did. None of the people I mentioned earlier attended his funeral, nor were they present during his illness. Perhaps one or two came later to offer their condolences.
Today, I found myself listening to Steve Jobs' famous speech again, and it floored me. I suddenly felt the weight of it. Today, I carry the burden of others' choices—a burden from those who do not care and are no longer here to witness my life. This burden was passed down to me by my father, and I might pass it on to my children someday. It was a sad realization. People who disappeared, who perhaps were never even interested in us, have shaped us and our families into who we are today. We try to please society just to avoid momentary embarrassment. We stop our children from pursuing their dreams, we go against the will of God, and we go against our own wishes. We work tirelessly to maintain the status quo. I see this all around me—friends who have chosen careers to please their parents, and parents who chose their children's careers to please society. And yet, they all suffer the same fate. No one is truly happy or having fun.
Amidst all of this, according to my understanding of the Quran, we are never told by God to live this way. We have turned a beautiful world into an unlivable one with one simple element: we all seek external validation. So, today's lesson is: Please do not seek external validation. There is a long speech about balance, society, and how we are supposed to keep each other in check, which will come at another time. But not today. Today, I urge you—regardless of your beliefs—please do not seek external validation. Nothing good comes of it.