My Impressions of a Living Sufi [2 of 3]

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 I asked non-sense questions, obscure, chaotic. How could anyone understand or answer my chaotic questions, asked out of obscurity of life? To my all questions Bilal who is Assistant and a Murid of the profesor, had one answer “call my teacher”. I damn cared about the teacher. 
I had met so many writers, poets, educationists, my own teachers, they were my intellectual friends but nobody could satisfy me. I wanted to discover the magic and he was referring me to another person again and again.
He insisted so much that I thought of making a call to that man. What good a person do on a telephone, Idea seemed quite stupid to me. Mr. Bilal was so confident and so sure “just make a call and it will be a three minute call and you will see”. 
I liked one thing about his teacher. He was a man of literature, a professor. I liked it. I was looking forward to discuss nothingness…, of Sartre with him. The man, his teacher, lived some where near Pindi and there did I meet the living Sufi, the teacher named Ahmad Rafique Akhtar
·

THE TEACHER

·

by Farah Karamat Raja 

 ·

I was beautiful, successful, independent, free and highly appreciated but I was not happy, in fact I was dead. Yes! I had buried myself in books, studies, creative writing, sometimes painting, fashion parties, lipsticks, styles and all that, but I knew I was dead. I wasn’t alive. But I had to live. Hamlet had a course of avenging but I had none. Life was without any purpose. I agreed with Macbeth life was a tale told by a stupid.

I had read minds, emotions, thoughts, passions, love, I had been practically in all this but there was no clarity, or order, complete obscurity and chaos. I kept on dragging my dead self, I put some order by praying five times a day and in extreme depressions when I was in a state of complete horror at the emptiness of life and nothingness of human being, I read Quran the only medicine which was keeping me in the society.

I was afraid I knew some day I will end in some mental hospital, electric shocks, and pincers, nobody will listen. I was horrified at the core of my being. I was all alone, isolated, with almost no communication because I knew I will end in there, in the hospital. There were people every where but they were skeletons, instead of seeing their faces and dresses I always had a vision of their skeletons, all were dead bodies like me clad in beautiful textile designs and expensive make ups. I felt I don’t belong to this country. I don’t belong to Islam I wanted to be a nun in a convent, or I wanted to run away in search of peace like Buddha, or I wanted to runaway to New York, where I had no identity, a lot of work, roaming like vagabonds perhaps drinking, sometimes or taking hashish, totally lost, no recognition of self.

But I could do nothing out of this because I was scared and afraid so I pretended to be sane. Though my mother was quite suspicious of me, when at one o’clock of night, I recited Holy Quran, and kept doing that till morning. I had extreme feelings of hollowness and to find some purpose in life. I had a string of Quran and prayer of five times to find order and peace of mind.

I asked non-sense questions, obscure, chaotic. How could anyone understand or answer my chaotic questions, asked out of obscurity of life? To my all questions he had one answer “call my teacher”. I damn cared about the teacher. I had met so many writers, poets, educationists, my own teachers, they were my intellectual friends but nobody could satisfy me. I wanted to discover the magic and he was referring me to another person again and again.

He insisted so much that I thought of making a call to that man. What good a person do on a telephone, Idea seemed quite stupid to me. Mr. Bilal was so confident and so sure “just make a call and it will be a three minute call and you will see”. I liked one thing about his teacher. He was a man of literature, a professor. I liked it. I was looking forward to discuss nothingness…, of Sartre with him. The man, his teacher, lived some where near Pindi.

I called him three times but he was not available. After a few days I called Mr. Bilal. He told me that his teacher was here and I should talk to him. In a few seconds the teacher was on the line.

Hello ! I heard a sparkling voice.

I : Asslam-o-Alaicum

Teacher : Walaicum Assalam

(a pause, he waited for me to speak)

I : Sir ! I am Farrah Karamat and I’ve done masters in English literature and (long silence) Mr. Bilal gave me your number, and asked me to call you.

He :   Yes! Then

I :   Sir, then you are supposed to talk.

He :   What ? (There was a surprise).

I :   Sir, Mr. Bilal said that I will just have to tell you my name and you will do the rest of the talking.

He :   This time a cheerful laughter was heard and then all at once said seriously, “There is no point talking to you Farrah, you are so strong minded and stubborn. You think so much and you never consider any suggestions. You do what ever you think is right. You have strong liking and disliking. When you have got some idea then it almost appears in your dream and you feel you are right, your digestive system is highly sensitive. You‘ve less appetite, sometimes you sleep less even”.

I wanted to interrupt him in the middle but he gave me no space. Finally he recommended me Tasbeehat, as Mr. Bilal did also, and said these will bring peace to you:

ya Salaam, ya Mumin, Ya Allah               300 times

ya Rahman, ya Rahim, ya Karim             300 times

Ya Wali, ya Nasir                                          300 times

“God bless you” and the phone ended.

I kept staring at the telephone. His voice and words were fresh and alive in my mind. The very first idea that hit my mind was that Bilal would have briefed him about me. I immediately called Bilal and said him so. I couldn’t understand it. I kept on thinking the whole night. In the morning I was definite the man is an expert of examining personalities out of voices.

It was so surprising, how could he do this, he has some jin or what? I kept on thinking. I discussed it with my colleagues and when I returned home I called my friends but the thing which perplexed me most was how could he know the colour of my dreams, my fantasies, shadows of my thoughts, but how come he understand, knots of pain in my stomach, or my revenges and how can he understand my digestive system and all this in a second. He spoke to me for two minutes only and he described me “myself”.

I was determined to see this person. I went there with my friend. It was a nice place; women and men were sitting in separate rooms. And all of them had an educated, sophisticated and modern look.

Mr. Bilal had a long list of appointments, the teacher seemed quite a busy and sophisticated person, and he was inside the closed room. Mr. Bilal had a cordless telephone in his hand, which kept ringing again and again. He had printed appointment paper on which he was writing schedule and fixing time. Teacher was too much busy. We waited almost for two hours.

I was too much anxious to see the person, I was restless, and impatient; I had no problem, or issue to discuss but I wanted to discover him. Finally our turn came of seeing him but he got up for Namaz.

I said to my friend I think this man hates my chemistry that’s why he ignored so much on telephone and now he is delaying the meeting. My friend could not understand this cosmic connection, chemistry and delay. She only gave me a vague look and said, “you are very impatient. He is a big thing that’s why so many people are here. He is so busy”. “Yes! How much big ? I want to discover”, was my determined answer.

A man came out from the room, tall, fair, well built with a beard and he went to offer Nmaaz in the room, I impatiently asked Mr. Bilal, is he the teacher? He said “No”. Another man came, simple, ordinary, this time I didn’t bother to have a look at him. He said, “Asslam-o-Alaikom” and went to another room. Bilal told me he was the teacher. I blinked my eyes, so ordinary and simple, he doesn’t seem to belong to this aristocratic place but there was something in the air around him, which commanded grace.

Finally we got the turn. Mr. Bilal told us to go inside, we could go separately or together as we would like to. We went together. I don’t know why I put off my shoes outside the door, may be because of his respect, he was a spiritual teacher, but I was not sure then. But when I went inside the room I was bewildered, he was sitting behind – a big modern, sophisticated table, burgundy in colour  with cordless telephone sets,  white curtains, room was carpeted, sofas, luxury office seats and he was sitting in an expensive revolving comfortable office chair. Office did not give the look of a Sufi or a mystic. It was rather an office of a big businessman.

To me the place seemed to be a room of psychological clinic with complete privacy, a proud doctor sitting on the other side of a large table, which had expensive mirror on it. But there was harmony and calm and peace, it had a soothing effect. I thought he is going to play some hypnosis now but I was speechless, my brain was clear though. I had nothing to say to him. He asked me my name. I told him Farrah. He told me that I am suffering from deep depression and almost the same things he had told me the previous day on telephone. I said to him, “Sir, I called you yesterday”. There was another surprise for me, his memory was excellent, and I heard a brilliant chuckle.

“Oh ! so that was you”. He called Mr. Bilal and asked him to bring his pen and paper; he wrote my name on that. The things he said were absolutely right but I had disgust, so he is just a man of numerology. Now he was attentive to my friend. Her name is also Farha, she started to describe her problem, she thought she had a jin, or black magic after her, in the half way she broke into tears and sobs, rest of her story was completed by Sir Rafique. Yet the analysis he made of her was excellent, true facts, the root causes of her personal complexes, her personality clashes, her personality riot, and confusion, he was speaking and she was saying yes!  yes! yes! and yes! and I was bewildered.

Then he gave her Tasbeeh as well and said “God bless you”. We got up to leave, “Listen “ then all of a sudden he said, my hand was at the door knob, we turned to round to face him, he said, (Aurat wali ho sakti hae)”Woman can be a complete mystic”. I was stunned – this question was in my conscious but I had no intention to discuss it with him. But I had a long debate on the topic with my literature friends, and I had convinced them that there is a biological hindrance and woman cannot be a complete mystic.

He was able to scan my mind and thoughts of past.

And we came out. We looked at each other in surprise, but then there was sure trust, deep trust, confidence and high hope – she was lost in the analysis because for the first time she had discovered the truth about herself and the artificiality of the so called warm security and love, for the first time she had got a formula to understand herself. But to me the matter was different, I was not sure about the man, however, I was extremely happy. I had a big smile for no reason and I was impressed by his excellent memory.

Contd…

Next: My Impressions of a Living Sufi [3 of 3]

Previous: My Impressions of a LivingSufi [1 of 3]

Page 1 2 3

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This post is based on first two chapters of a biography of Professor Ahmad Rafique Akhtar, written by Farrah Karamat Raja.

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“God bless you” and the phone ended.

I kept staring at the telephone. His voice and words were fresh and alive in my mind. The very first idea that hit my mind was that Bilal would have briefed him about me. I immediately called Bilal and said him so. I couldn’t understand it. I kept on thinking the whole night. In the morning I was definite the man is an expert of examining personalities out of voices.

It was so surprising, how could he do this, he has some jin or what? I kept on thinking. I discussed it with my colleagues and when I returned home I called my friends but the thing which perplexed me most was how could he know the colour of my dreams, my fantasies, shadows of my thoughts, but how come he understand, knots of pain in my stomach, or my revenges and how can he understand my digestive system and all this in a second. He spoke to me for two minutes only and he described me “myself”.

I was determined to see this person. I went there with my friend. It was a nice place; women and men were sitting in separate rooms. And all of them had an educated, sophisticated and modern look.

Mr. Bilal had a long list of appointments, the teacher seemed quite a busy and sophisticated person, and he was inside the closed room. Mr. Bilal had a cordless telephone in his hand, which kept ringing again and again. He had printed appointment paper on which he was writing schedule and fixing time. Teacher was too much busy. We waited almost for two hours.

I was too much anxious to see the person, I was restless, and impatient; I had no problem, or issue to discuss but I wanted to discover him. Finally our turn came of seeing him but he got up for Namaz.

I said to my friend I think this man hates my chemistry that’s why he ignored so much on telephone and now he is delaying the meeting. My friend could not understand this cosmic connection, chemistry and delay. She only gave me a vague look and said, “you are very impatient. He is a big thing that’s why so many people are here. He is so busy”. “Yes! How much big ? I want to discover”, was my determined answer.

A man came out from the room, tall, fair, well built with a beard and he went to offer Nmaaz in the room, I impatiently asked Mr. Bilal, is he the teacher? He said “No”. Another man came, simple, ordinary, this time I didn’t bother to have a look at him. He said, “Asslam-o-Alaikom” and went to another room. Bilal told me he was the teacher. I blinked my eyes, so ordinary and simple, he doesn’t seem to belong to this aristocratic place but there was something in the air around him, which commanded grace.

Finally we got the turn. Mr. Bilal told us to go inside, we could go separately or together as we would like to. We went together. I don’t know why I put off my shoes outside the door, may be because of his respect, he was a spiritual teacher, but I was not sure then. But when I went inside the room I was bewildered, he was sitting behind – a big modern, sophisticated table, burgundy in colour with cordless telephone sets, white curtains, room was carpeted, sofas, luxury office seats and he was sitting in an expensive revolving comfortable office chair. Office did not give the look of a Sufi or a mystic. It was rather an office of a big businessman. To me the place seemed to be a room of psychological clinic with complete privacy, a proud doctor sitting on the other side of a large table, which had expensive mirror on it. But there was harmony and calm and peace, it had a soothing effect. I thought he is going to play some hypnosis now but I was speechless, my brain was clear though. I had nothing to say to him. He asked me my name. I told him Farrah. He told me that I am suffering from deep depression and almost the same things he had told me the previous day on telephone. I said to him, “Sir, I called you yesterday”. There was another surprise for me, his memory was excellent, and I heard a brilliant chuckle.

“Oh ! so that was you”. He called Mr. Bilal and asked him to bring his pen and paper; he wrote my name on that. The things he said were absolutely right but I had disgust, so he is just a man of numerology. Now he was attentive to my friend. Her name is also Farha, she started to describe her problem, she thought she had a jin, or black magic after her, in the half way she broke into tears and sobs, rest of her story was completed by Sir Rafique. Yet the analysis he made of her was excellent, true facts, the root causes of her personal complexes, her personality clashes, her personality riot, and confusion, he was speaking and she was saying yes! yes! yes! and yes! and I was bewildered. Then he gave her Tasbeeh as well and said “God bless you”. We got up to leave, “Listen “ then all of a sudden he said, my hand was at the door knob, we turned to round to face him, he said, (Aurat wali ho sakti hae)”Woman can be a complete mystic”. I was stunned – this question was in my conscious but I had no intention to discuss it with him. But I had a long debate on the topic with my literature friends, and I had convinced them that there is a biological hindrance and woman cannot be a complete mystic.

He was able to scan my mind and thoughts of past.

And we came out. We looked at each other in surprise, but then there was sure trust, deep trust, confidence and high hope – she was lost in the analysis because for the first time she had discovered the truth about herself and the artificiality of the so called warm security and love, for the first time she had got a formula to understand herself. But to me the matter was different, I was not sure about the man, however, I was extremely happy. I had a big smile for no reason and I was impressed by his excellent memory.

He had a spell in his personality. That commanded respect and obedience yet gave the freedom, to think and to blink. There was friendliness and trust in the air. I discovered all this at least after twelve hours before that I was convincing myself he is some ordinary palmist, who knows numerology.

The man was indigestible. I talked to him thrice as well but I don’t remember the talk, it was made out of so much excitement and confusion. I discussed with my colleagues and friends again. There was something in the man, I was trusting him but I didn’t want to trust him. I decided to see him once gain. And my question on the very outset was, I want to know why I am trusting you ? Give me the reason. He laughed and said, “you don’t know the answer to this simple question?” You are trusting me because you are at a point in your life where you need to trust some one either in me or someone else. It’s not that I am trustworthy; it’s your need that is making you to trust me.

We went under a covenant, covenant of friendship, or student – teacher relationship, he was listening like a grandfather listens to the story of his little grandchild. He was not investigating, he was not interested in anything more than I said, he put no question. I spoke to him with complete ease, he understood all the matters. I said less but he understood more. His view and angle of looking at things was very objective and scientific. His approach to my self destruction, or to my clash with the society and myself was so harmonizing, in that very meeting he tied the wires to right switches, the contradictions, clashes and conflicts which I had in my very own self and among and between my own thoughts, mind and heart were resolved. He was speaking with full ease and comfort, he had extensive knowledge regarding history, humanity, psychology, myth, literature, art, religion, God, human beings, he knew me individually and fully, I must confess. He knew me better than I knew myself.

There were no surprises now because I was ready for them. He was subjective yet scientific, he was abstract yet concrete, he was ordinary and common, yet uncommon and special. The rarest person I have ever discovered.

Things begin to ease between us; I was light hearted, free spirited rather cheered up. His presence was like a soothing fragrance of some flowering tree in a city polluted with foul smells of all sorts. While talking he took out his Tasbeeh and laid that on table, it was not the ordinary one, something struck to my mind. I had seen that somewhere before, it was of wood, disc shaped, heavy beads, I remembered my dream and I hurriedly searched for a thick mole on his right cheek but it was not that thick as in my dream, it was not at the cheek either, it was near the lips, mole of Venus. I related my dream to him but he paid less attention. When I came out the first thing I said to Mr. Bilal was he is the man I saw in my dream. When I saw the dream in those days I was doing the Tasbeehat, which Mr. Bilal had recommended. It was about a week when I saw a man in my dream, roaming along with people in a simple room of a village house. I want to see him but there is another person who says, “time is over” and he tries to close the door. I am standing there in distress when the man says “No let her in,” and the person opens the door for me. He does not speak to me much, he is saying some words on his Tasbeeh, it was clear and the mole was clear. He asks the servant to serve me with food and send me to some of his assistants. He retires in another room for his rest and prayer. I go to his assistant along with people. The man blows on a paper and it flies away with fire, I feel so pleased and I say to myself”. “Yes! I know he will make me rid of my dilemmas”. I related this dream to my Pir Sahib as well. After listening to it he smiled and gave me his personal Tasbeeh. When I asked him the significance of dream he said, soon you will meet a dear one of Allah”. I had not met Professor Ahmad Rafique then. What else a person can do other than showing a surprise that he gave me his Tasbeeh as a due because he knew professor Ahmad Rafique will recommend me Tasbeehat to do.

Well in that very meeting I was bound with him. I accepted him as my spiritual teacher, but I was not that much convinced. I told myself I will speak less and listen more. He told me, always to be at a distance, never try to be close to him or look for a father, or a brother, a beloved or a teacher in him. It is just a simple relationship between two human beings. He said “Never be involved in me – I’ve no involvements other than God, always guard yourself against me. I am a man and you are a woman. Turn your love towards God. He alone is worthy of love and worship, but don’t make his faces or create His hands or feet. Obey the laws of Shariah and rest of the things are fine. If you want to come for knowledge you are welcome as a student”.

My answer was, “Had I been a boy, I would never have left your place”.

His immediate reply was, nobody did, have a look in the next room. That was filled with young students.

I came back alive and fresh, full of thoughts,

ideas and ambitions. I felt if this was a process of regeneration, he is the source of energy, zest and power.

For Sir Rafique I don’t have any degrees or words, for what he is. He is concrete but his deed abstract, his body is of matter but his mind metaphysical, his language scientific, thought subjective, lives in common beings, serves common beings but he is not existing in this time alone; present, past, future are one entity for him, he is centuries ahead, his heart made of flesh but not red, it is absolute purity achieved by killing the desires, wishes, ambitions of heart, he is alive for the duties assigned to him, he is disinterested in human beings but interested in their problems . In desires and aspirations, he is a statue, Statue of peace.

Yes, he looks like a statue of peace, Simple and ordinary man. He can sit in a room and none will notice him, not more than a statue. He is a doctor. Yes, he examines ailing spirits, wounded hearts, wrecked brains, he scans them masterly, expertly, his patients are haunted human beings, haunted by air-conditioned bedrooms, painted nails and lips, haunted by the colour of money and model of cars , sophisticated tones of telephones and mobiles, tired of luxury voyages, and honeymoon spots, frustrated from their own success, distort, faithless, people trying to escape their roots, identities, sick from relatives, bonds and bounds, husbands hating wives, wives hating husbands, yet forced to live together, wives want men to lick their feet and husbands want them to be true, honest sincere maids rather pets, yet both betraying, young folks, not trusting their parents, parents without having any trust in their own off springs, men of management, officials, students, teachers, writers, rich, poor, middle class all were there, on thing was common in all of them , may be they had over confidence and trust in themselves, as I had or they had no confidence in themselves, may be they did not trust the family, friends and society around but they had trust and confidence in one person, Sir Ahmad Rafique.

One by one they pass by him, he examines and prescribes, his memory is excellent, yet his senses par excellence. He was visiting Lahore after six months yet he remembered every individual, with individual problems.

His sixth sense is so sharp and miraculous, in Dec 1995 my cousin visited me, he was extremely depressed over a lost love. I suggested him to speak to Sir Rafique. Light was off at that time, so we were sitting in a candle light. It was about 9.30. I made a call to him. He was sounding very fresh, cheerful, carefree and alive, at the very moment light came, I put off the candle with my hand.

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17 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. […] This cup of tea was served by: Wonders of Pakistan […]

  2. That was a wonderful account of a visit- I do believe that sufism has many things hidden like we see in Tibetan teachings.
    But sufism went ahead and even goes deep into being natural and normal, this is what is tough in sufism.
    I can still see BULLE SHAH dancing with hands high and his father watching in crowd- this scene is still not possible in modern world…I mean this is so different yet so natural and this is what is tough …to go against the tide.

  3. Salam! I met Prof. Ahmad rafique just today and was wondering the same you did when you met him first time. He’s so very precise in telling me about my problems, as if he was arranging my own thoughts ransacking the vocabulary in my mind so very beautifully. One hardly gets how he does it! For once I was almost startled. I am too eager to know the story behind all this. My faith in Allah has become stronger now. It’s no less than a miracle and I know I’ll get rid of my problems sooner or later cause of the tasbeehat he told me,, InshAllah.

  4. It is due to people like Prof. Rafique Akhtar And Md. Rafi that Islam took roots here in the Indian subcontinant and will survive becouse of them. Otherwise would have been strangulated by fascist forces.

  5. […] Previous: My Impressions of a Living Sufi [2 of 3] […]

  6. […] Comments My Impressions of a Living Sufi [2 of 3] « Wonders of Pakistan on My Impressions of a Living Sufi [1 of 3]My Impressions of a Living Sufi [1 of 3] « […]

  7. […] Previous: My Impressions of a Living Sufi [2 of 3] […]

  8. Farrah I’m also suffering from the disease. I don’t find satisfaction in physical, material pleasures. I want Allah to save me in His own self. Every thing He demands. I want my self to vanish away in the air. My greatest depression is: I know Allah loves me a lot, but I’m not able to love Him so strongly. I’m surrounded by materialistic world so much that am lost in it.I want to experience the depth of love in which we lose our identity……..Pray 4 me.

    • @mamoona, Why don’t you have a session with the Professor. Years ago a young lady who had the same problems you have now. I mean this mix of depressions, melancholy, pleasures and enjoyments, fun and frolics, but something missing, something empty at heart. The young lady FKR met the professor and through her meetings with the Sufi she got solace. She over came the problems she had. Ad then after her successful sessions with Prof. Ahmed Rafique Akhtar, she jotted down what she had observed, she felt and what she experienced and all that she then put up in the book, a few chapters of which I have printed here. May be you can also benefit from the tasbeehat which he recommends to all, yound and old, big and small, rich and poor. May be. Just try!

  9. I don’t know to which ” ism” we shall move to attain solace but one thing is very clear that that the Buddhisnm is the last resort . King Ashoka got it but after a disaster . Sufism is for those who can not embrace Budhism as they may feel guilty due to Bamiyan episode .

    • Dr. Sahib, its not the question of embracing Buddhism or any other religion. Accepting and believing in a faith has nothing to do with Bamiyan or any other such event. Neither the wiping out of Buddhism from the subcontinent particularly its part called Pakistan made the people to embrace Buddhism nor those living in present day India left the religion of their fathers and forefathers.

      Religion is a matter of understanding and conscience. I abhor the murderous attacks by Taliban on Bamiyan Buddhas but it does not mean I should embrace Buddhism merely because such statues were demolished by the Taliban in Afghanistan.

  10. A very good peace of writing.

  11. […] Next: My Impressions of a Living Sufi [2 of 3] […]

  12. […] Previous: My Impressions of a Living Sufi [2 of 3] […]

  13. Can u plz give me,prof.ahmed rafeeq number i have a problem in my life and want to discuss it with him.

  14. @syeda naila: Here are the official contact #s of Prof. Ahmad Rafique Akhtar. You can use any of the #s and talk to the individual concerned. The person will surely arrange a session with Prof Akhtar when he is available for such a meeting/teletalk or whatever way he thinks its convenient for him and suitable for you.
    .

    Telephone:
    Danish Mir #: 0333-5909999
    Shabbir Ch #: 0320-5909999
    Israr Malik #: 0300-5117615.

  15. Hi Farah! I’m so overwhelmed to read this, that I cannot even out it in my words. My father was a good friend of Professor Uncle and he often visited him and I never understood why, because my father never believed in peeri-mureedi. So, out of curiosity, I went to see him and the things he told me were the things my mother couldn’t even ever tell about me. I almost choked on my tears when he said something about a very specific problem I was facing, and I didn’t even discuss it with him. He gives you a hope to believe in yourself, and tells you exactly what you need to hear and learn. I was reading your article and I could relate to every single thing you had said.
    I hope you’re better now :’)


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