When the internet failed, I remembered the connection that matters most

This morning, after waking up, I went to the bathroom to perform wudu, the ritual washing before prayer. I noticed that the light on the Wi-Fi router was off. There was no internet connection.

Then I prayed Fajr, the morning prayer, and made coffee to drink with my wife before she went to work. I looked at the router again. It still did not work.

I unplugged the cables and did a hard reset. It still did not work. After my wife left, I ate my favorite stracciatella yogurt. I looked at the router again. Still no connection.

I called the company, and after half an hour, they identified the problem. Then I received a short message on my phone: “Störungsmeldung” and a ticket number.

That made me a little stressed. It was interesting that only the internet connection was gone, but it still caused me stress.

About thirty years ago, most people did not have smartphones, and many did not have an internet connection.

Think about it!

But most people do not have a connection to the Creator, who created us all.

There is a verse I love very much:

“So remember Me; I will remember you. And be grateful to Me and do not deny Me.”

(Qur’an 2:152)

The internet is very useful to humanity, but we can live without an internet connection.

But without a connection to our Creator, life is hard. Sometimes we do not understand why we feel depressed or sad. Sometimes my heart feels as if a thousand kilograms of stones are weighing on it.

Then I pray or make dhikr and think about God. After that, everything becomes easier, and my heart feels light, as if it were floating on a cloud in heaven.

Thursday, October 1, 2026 · 20 Rabi al-Thani 1448 AH

“With hardship comes ease.”

Alhamdulillah.

Bismillah.

Go for it!

— Markus A.T.

FROM ROCKY TO ISLAM

The journey continues.

No Connection was originally published in Al-Hikmah on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

These were words spoken by Ibrahim Alayhi wa Salam, which Allah has conveyed to us through the Qur’an.

They mean:

“I have submitted myself to the Lord of all worlds.”

The weight carried by those few words is immense. I have not been able to carry that weight myself. It is not easy. Yet I keep those words close because they give me hope.

Allah praised him by saying that whenever He tested him, he passed the test. And what difficult tests they were! The trial of the fire. The trial of leaving his wife and child in the desert of Makkah. The trial of sacrificing his son.

Put your hand on your chest—what would you do if such tests came into your life? Could you say, as he did:

“I have submitted myself to the Lord of all worlds.”

Then Allah gave him the title Khalilullah—the Friend of Allah.

The Prophet who migrated with only two people, whose own father rejected him, was made by Allah the father of prophets. The foundational prophets of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam came from his lineage. For the sake of Allah, he helped establish the first Qiblah, a place to which millions travel every year for Hajj.

What is true success?

Is success merely the occasions we celebrate in life? A promotion today? Recognition from someone tomorrow? Is that real success?

Let anyone try to be as successful as Ibrahim عليه السلام—or if not that, then even one millionth as successful. A success upon which Allah places blessings generation after generation.

Granted, he was a prophet, and such success is beyond our reach. But can we at least strive to be like him in character, even before prophethood? Can we ever give up everything for the sake of Allah?

I cannot.

But let us pause and think about the best among humanity. Think about their legacy. We are not an orphaned nation. Allah has provided us with the finest guides and role models.

This article is a translation of my original write-up https://medium.com/@soomanib/%E0%A6%87%E0%A6%AC%E0%A7%8D%E0%A6%B0%E0%A6%BE%E0%A6%B9%E0%A6%BF%E0%A6%AE-%E0%A6%86%E0%A6%B2%E0%A6%BE%E0%A7%9F%E0%A6%B9%E0%A6%BF-%E0%A6%93%E0%A7%9F%E0%A6%BE-%E0%A6%B8%E0%A6%BE%E0%A6%B2%E0%A7%8D%E0%A6%B2%E0%A6%BE%E0%A6%AE-64da2080e5ad

What It Means to Truly Submit to God: Lessons from Prophet Ibrahim (AS) was originally published in Al-Hikmah on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

In the past few months, my life has undergone a complete transformation. As some of you may know, marriage led me to move from the historic streets of Istanbul to heart of Riyadh. Everything around me changed in an instant. Adapting to a new city took time… Days of silent observation, trying to feel its pulse and understand its soul. And Alhamdulillah, I have truly come to love it.

After a short break from writing, I decided it was time to return to this space. While I never stopped reading on Medium, I missed the act of sharing.

I used to post every day — sometimes a single Arabic word from the Quran, sometimes a new topic I had just uncovered. This platform has always been my “Third Place.”

Sociological research suggests we all need three places:

1. The First Place: Home.
2. The Second Place: Work or school.
3. The Third Place: A space where you feel safe and connected — a coffee shop where you’re a regular, a library, or for me, this digital sanctuary of writing.

To mark my return, I want to share five things bringing me peace at the moment: one word, one hadith, one dua, one tafsir, and one photo.

1. The Word: Riyadh (الرياض)

Since moving here, I’ve been fascinated by the linguistic roots of the city. The word Riyadh comes from the root “r-w-d” (ر و ض). It is the plural of “Rawdah” (روضة), which means gardens, meadows, or green pastures.

Before it was a modern metropolis, Riyadh was an oasis town surrounded by desert, where underground water sources (like Wadi Hanifa) sat close to the surface. In the 18th century, this area was famous for fruit orchards and palm groves that bloomed after seasonal rains. Compared to the arid lands around it, it was so lush that people began calling it “The Gardens” (Ar-Riyadh).

The city was originally called “Hajr,” but over time, the beauty of its fertile “Rawdahs” became so iconic that the plural name, Riyadh, took over.

2. The Hadith

The famous book Riyadh as-Salihin (The Meadows of the Righteous) shares this same root with Riyadh city. Imam Nawawi chose this title as a spiritual metaphor, offering Muslims a “park” for the soul to find rest from worldly struggles.

I recently read this beautiful hadith from it:

The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said:

“What if there was a river at the door of any of you wherein he takes a bath five times a day? Would there remain any of his filth?” They said: “Nothing of his filth would remain.” He said: “This is similar to the five prayers by means of which Allah erases sins.” (Sahih Al-Bukhari 528)

3. The Dua

Reflecting on the prayer, I find peace in the supplication of Prophet Ibrahim (as):

“My Lord, make me an establisher of prayer, and [many] from my descendants. Our Lord, and accept my supplication.” (Surah Ibrahim, 14:40)

4. The Tafsir

Regarding this ayah, Rumi offers a profound perspective in the Masnavi. He likens the movements of prayer to the scenes of the Day of Judgment.

Rumi explains that the Takbir (“Allahu Akbar”) at the start of prayer is like the sacrifice of the ego. Just as Ibrahim (as) was ready to sacrifice his son for God, the believer sacrifices their worldly desires to stand before the Divine.

He describes the movements of prayer as a rehearsal for the Day of Judgment:

• Standing (Qiyam): Represents standing before God to give an account of our lives — how we spent our youth, our wealth, and our senses.
• Bowing (Ruku): When the soul is asked “What did you do with your life?” it bows in shame, unable to stand under the weight of its shortcomings.
• Prostration (Sajdah): The soul falls to the ground in total humility, pleading for mercy when it realizes its own weakness.

Rumi’s message is clear: Prayer is not just physical movement. It is a “miraj” (ascension) for the believer.

We should ensure our prayer is like a “hatching egg” — full of life and transformation — rather than the empty pecking of a bird that learns nothing of the Divine’s greatness.

5. The Photo

Closing this chapter of my day with gratitude. It feels good to be back.

Assalamu Alaikum! :)

5 things bringing me peace right now was originally published in Al-Hikmah on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Arabic Text:

وَفِي رِوَايَةٍ لَهُ: قَالَ: «لَا تُرْسِلُوا فَوَاشِيكُمْ وَصِبْيَانَكُمْ إِذَا غَابَتِ الشَّمْسُ حَتَّى تَذْهَبَ فَحْمَةُ الْعِشَاءِ فَإِنَّ الشَّيْطَانَ يَبْعَثُ إِذَا غَابَتِ الشَّمْسُ حَتَّى تذْهب فَحْمَة الْعشَاء»

Urdu Translation:

اور مسلم ہی کی روایت میں ہے ، فرمایا :’’ جب سورج غروب ہو جائے تو رات کی ابتدائی تاریکی غائب ہو جانے تک اپنے مویشی اور اپنے بچے نہ چھوڑو ، کیونکہ اس “وقت شیطان چھوڑے جاتے ہیں

(5253),(2013/98)رواہ مسلم ۔

Mishkat ul Masabih#4297

Status: صحیح

English Translation:

“When the sun sets, do not let out your livestock or your children until the initial darkness of the night has passed, for indeed, the devils are released at that time.” — Prophet Muhammad ﷺ (Sahih Muslim)

For centuries, Muslims have followed this simple evening protocol: as the sun dips below the horizon, we call the kids inside, secure the animals, and close the doors. Historically, it was accepted as a spiritual safeguard against the unseen (Shayateen or devils).

But what if we look at this exact moment — the transition from day to night — through the lens of modern biology, physics, and animal psychology?

When you dive into the science of sunset, you discover that the “initial darkness” is a period of massive environmental chaos. The Prophetic advice isn’t just a spiritual shield; it is a flawless, scientifically precise safety protocol for a time when the physical rules of the day completely break down.

Here is what is actually happening during that transition.

1. The Human “Blind Spot”: The Purkinje Effect

At sunset, human biology is at its weakest. As daylight fades, our brain signals a massive dump of melatonin (the sleep hormone), causing our reaction times and alertness to plummet.

Simultaneously, our eyes undergo a biological glitch known as the Purkinje Effect. We switch from using our “cone” cells (daylight/color vision) to our “rod” cells (night vision). During this “mesopic” in-between phase, our depth perception essentially fails. Red objects — like a child’s bright shirt — suddenly appear black or dark grey to the human eye, disappearing into the shadows. We are practically blind to sudden movements, making dusk the most dangerous time for accidents.

2. The Atmospheric Shift: Static and Ionization

As the “Terminator Line” (the physical line separating day and night on Earth) passes over us, the atmosphere changes drastically. The sun’s radiation drops, causing the “D-layer” of the Earth’s ionosphere to disappear.

Suddenly, radio waves and electromagnetic frequencies can travel thousands of miles further, bouncing off the upper atmosphere. The barometric pressure drops, and the electrostatic charge in the air shifts. This sudden change in “static” often alters serotonin levels in weather-sensitive humans and animals, creating an undeniable feeling of restlessness, anxiety, or irritability in the air.

3. Animal Super-Senses: Seeing the Unseen

While humans are functionally “powering down,” the animal kingdom is hitting peak performance. Many animals and predators are crepuscular, meaning their DNA is biologically programmed to hunt and go into a frenzy specifically at dusk.

Animals like dogs, cats, and cattle possess a reflective layer in their eyes called the Tapetum Lucidum, amplifying light by up to 6x. Unlike humans, many animals can see into the Ultraviolet (UV) and Infrared (IR) spectrums.

In Islamic theology, unseen beings like Jinns are made of “smokeless fire” (plasma/energy). If energy beings exist on different electromagnetic frequencies, an animal’s hypersensitive, UV/IR-tuned eyes might detect a “shimmer” or a distortion in the air that is entirely invisible to the human eye. This perfectly mirrors the Hadith that animals can see things we cannot, and explains why they often “spook” at seemingly empty spaces as night falls.

4. Herd Dynamics and “Fiery” Camels

The Hadith explicitly mentions not letting livestock out. Science backs this up with the concept of Social Facilitation. Sheep and goats have terrible depth perception at dusk. A simple bush blowing in the wind looks like a lunging predator. If one sheep flinches, a chemical panic sweeps through the herd in milliseconds, resulting in a blind, uncontrollable stampede.

Then there are camels. Another Hadith strictly forbids praying in camel pens, noting they are “created from the Shayateen” (devils). Biologically, camels are highly sensitive to the electrostatic shifts at dusk. As the sun sets, their cortisol levels spike. They transition from calm to aggressive, matching the “fiery” and unpredictable nature of the Shayateen. Praying in an environment charged with that highly erratic, irritable energy is both a physical danger and a spiritual clash.

The Perfect Overlap

At dusk, human perception fails, the atmosphere becomes electrically unstable, predators wake up, and livestock lose their minds.

When the Prophet ﷺ instructed us to bring our loved ones inside and secure our animals during the “initial darkness,” he was addressing a profound reality. It is the specific hour when the physical world and the metaphysical world overlap most intensely. The Sunnah, once again, perfectly anticipates the science.

The Golden Hour of Chaos: When Modern Science Meets the Sunnah of Sunset was originally published in Al-Hikmah on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

A woman’s voice rose from the earth, travelled through the heavens, and returned as Qur’an.

For years, a quiet question lived inside me:
Why does Allah speak to men in the Qur’an?
Where were the women?
Were we secondary? Invisible? Created only to support, obey, and stay in the background?

These thoughts scared me. They made me feel unworthy and sometimes guilty, almost sinful, for even wondering.
But they also refused to die.

I remember reading verses where Allah addressed believing men, righteous men, patient men, and truthful men, and I wondered:
Are women not equally His servants? Are our struggles not worthy of mention?
I feared that maybe, in the grand story of revelation, I was only a footnote.

When I tried to voice these feelings, people dismissed me instantly.
“Don’t overthink.”
“Stop doubting.”
“Just accept it.”
Some laughed. Some judged.
But no one paused to understand the ache behind my question.

But Allah… He understood.

The Day I Found Her — Umm’ Umarah al-Ansariyyah

One day, while searching for answers, I stumbled upon a story that felt like a lifeline thrown into a drowning ocean.

Umm’ Umarah al-Ansariyyah (RA), a woman of intelligence and dignity, once approached the Prophet ﷺ with a question that echoed my own heart:

She said, “I do not see but that everything is for the men, and I do not see anything being mentioned for the women.” (Jamiʿ at-Tirmidhi, 3211)

When I read this, I froze.
My heart whispered: So it wasn’t just me.
A woman I deeply admired, living in the Prophet’s home, in the purest environment of revelation, felt exactly what I felt.

In that moment, my loneliness disappeared. My question was not rebellion. It was not disrespect. It was humanity.

A woman had once asked the same question, 1400 years before me, long before feminism, long before social debates, long before modern expectations. She stood before the Prophet ﷺ and voiced a doubt that millions of women would later feel.

And Allah did not silence her.
He did not rebuke her.
He did not tell her to accept without questioning.

Instead…

He answered her with revelation. In response to her voice, a single woman’s voice, Allah revealed a verse that still shakes me to my core:

Surah Al-Ahzab (33:35):

Indeed, the Muslim men and Muslim women,
the believing men and believing women,
the obedient men and obedient women,
the truthful men and truthful women,
the patient men and patient women,
the humble men and humble women,
the charitable men and charitable women,
the fasting men and fasting women,
the men who guard their chastity and the women who guard theirs,
the men who remember Allah often and the women who remember,
Allah has prepared for all of them forgiveness and a tremendous reward.

This was no ordinary answer.
Allah didn’t just include women casually.
He mentioned them ten times, one by one, category by category, honor by honor, as if to erase every doubt that could ever enter a woman’s heart.

It was as though Allah was saying:

“I see you.
I hear you.
You are not an afterthought.
You stand beside men, equal in faith, equal in responsibility, equal in reward.”

What That Verse Did to Me

When I first read this verse after knowing its story, I couldn’t hold back tears.

It felt personal, as if Allah was answering my question through the same verse He sent to answer Umm Salama’s question centuries ago.

In that moment, all my fears dissolved:
The fear of being unseen.
The fear of being spiritually secondary.
The fear that my voice did not matter to the Divine.

Because if a woman’s whisper could rise to the heavens and return as Qur’an…

Then what doubt remains about our worth?

Every time I think about this, my heart trembles. Because for a long time, I didn’t know that my voice, my doubts, my questions mattered to Allah.

This story taught me something priceless:
Allah is not threatened by our questions.
He honors them.
He dignifies them.
He answers them, sometimes in ways that echo across centuries.

So whenever you feel unheard, unseen, or uncertain, remember this:

A woman spoke, and Allah revealed.
And in that revelation, He taught us that every sincere question, every hidden fear, and every unspoken doubt is worthy of His attention.

Thank you for reading.😊

This article is published in Women Write Publication. A growing, strong community built by women for women. All thoughts are welcome.

To join this community, read these submission guidelines.

Submission Guidelines for Women Write Publication

A Woman Spoke — and Allah Revealed was originally published in Al-Hikmah on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

There are moments when I find myself thinking about what faith is really supposed to feel like.

Not what it looks like from the outside. Not the labels we carry or the arguments we defend. But what it feels like inside the heart when a person truly turns toward God.

Because when I read the Qur’an or reflect on the life of the Prophet ﷺ, Islam does not feel loud or harsh. It does not feel like a series of arguments waiting to be won. It feels like light — quiet, steady, and deeply personal. The kind of light that enters a person’s life gently and begins to change them from within.

Yet when we look at much of our religious conversation today, that quiet light often seems to get lost. We debate details, defend interpretations, and sometimes judge one another’s faith through outward signs alone. When debate becomes the center of religious life, reflection slowly fades away. Instead of asking what God expects from our hearts, we begin asking how to defend our positions. In the process, something subtle but important begins to slip away.

And when that inner dimension fades, religion can slowly become mechanical, a set of rituals we complete, a cultural identity we inherit, a system we feel compelled to defend. The form remains, but the spirit quietly begins to thin out.

Where Faith Really Begins

Faith, in its truest sense, begins in a very quiet place.

It begins when a person suddenly becomes aware of God, not as a distant concept, but as a living reality. A moment when the heart realizes that there is One who sees, knows, and understands every hidden thought and every silent struggle.

That awareness changes the way a person looks at life.

Without it, worship can become routine. Words can be repeated without being felt. Even religious knowledge can remain something stored in the mind rather than something that shapes the soul.

But when that awareness awakens, even the smallest act can carry meaning.

The Secret of Intention

In Islam, we are taught that every action is judged by its intention.

It is a simple teaching, yet it contains a profound truth about human nature.

Two people may stand side by side in prayer. They may recite the same verses and perform the same movements. From the outside, there is no difference between them.

But inside, their worlds may be entirely different.

One heart may be searching for closeness to God, quietly hoping that its flaws will be forgiven. Another may simply be fulfilling an obligation, or perhaps even trying to appear righteous in the eyes of others.

The outward action is the same. The inward reality is not.

This is why intention matters so deeply. It reminds us that faith is not about appearances. It is about sincerity, the quiet orientation of the heart toward God.

In the Silence Between Us and God

Sometimes religion is presented as if it were only a set of rules to follow.

But the more one reflects on Islam, the more it becomes clear that it invites something far more intimate: a relationship with the Creator.

A believer speaks to God in moments of solitude. They turn to Him in confusion, in gratitude, in weakness. They begin to see life itself as a conversation, every difficulty carrying a lesson, every blessing carrying a reminder.

Many of the deepest moments of faith are not public at all. They arrive quietly, almost unnoticed, in the pauses of ordinary life, in a prayer whispered under one’s breath, in a moment of regret that suddenly softens the heart, in the strange helplessness we feel when life reminds us how little control we truly have. Sometimes it comes as a gentle realization: that through twists and disappointments we once resented, God may have been guiding us all along.

And yet, the way religion is sometimes spoken about today makes it easy to lose sight of this tenderness. God is often portrayed almost like a perfect accounting system — a precise, mechanical judge who evaluates deeds the way a machine checks code: either correct or incorrect, accepted or rejected. In that picture, there seems to be little room for the trembling heart, for the messy circumstances of human life, for the quiet effort of someone who is trying but struggling.

But the God the Qur’an introduces is not distant in that way. He knows the secrets of hearts, the weight behind every intention, the quiet battles no one else can see. He knows the difference between arrogance and weakness, between indifference and a soul that is trying, however imperfectly, to return.

Perhaps that is why the most powerful moments of faith often happen when no one else is present, when a person sits alone after a long day, overwhelmed by something they cannot fix, and simply turns to God without polished words. In those moments, religion stops feeling like a system one must perform correctly. It begins to feel like what it truly is: a relationship between a fragile human being and a Lord who understands them completely.

What Faith Is Meant to Change

The real question, perhaps, is not how much a person knows about religion, but what that knowledge does to them.

Does it make them more patient?

More truthful?

More compassionate toward others?

Does it make them more aware of their own weaknesses rather than more confident in judging the weaknesses of others?

If faith increases pride, if worship produces harshness, if certainty removes humility, then something essential has been lost along the way.

The Prophet ﷺ was not sent simply to teach people how to perform rituals. He was sent to awaken their conscience and refine their character, to help human beings rise above the impulses of ego, anger, and arrogance.

Returning to the Quiet Center

When the heart reconnects with God, the outward aspects of religion begin to fall naturally into place. Prayer becomes more than a duty. Acts of kindness become natural. Life itself begins to feel purposeful.

But when the outer form dominates while the inner spirit fades, faith can start to feel heavy and joyless.

Perhaps what our time needs is not more noise, but more stillness.

More moments of honest self-reflection.

More humility in the way we speak about faith and about one another.

Because when faith truly settles in the heart, it quietly reshapes the way a person lives, in their patience, their honesty, their mercy toward others.

And when character begins to change, faith has already begun to do its real work.

That quiet transformation is where the true light of Islam lives.

God Is Not an Algorithm was originally published in Al-Hikmah on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

A sudden loss, a quiet realization, and the test that begins after Ramadan

Today is the second Friday after Ramadan.

And somehow… it doesn’t feel like Ramadan ended long ago.

It feels close.

Too close.

Yet at the same time, something has changed.

The atmosphere is gone.

The intensity is gone.

The constant awareness feels weaker.

Life has returned to normal.

And maybe that is the real test.

We often hear that on Laylatul Qadr, the Night of Decree, everything is written.

Not just our rizq (provision).

Not just what we will achieve.

But even the exact moment we will leave this world.

The exact second.

Already written by God (Allah).

And yet… we live as if it is far away.

Two days ago, that illusion broke.

We received a message.

A Turkish brother passed away.

Suddenly.

Without warning.

He used to be our car mechanic.

But if I’m honest…

He was more than that.

There were moments in our lives when things were difficult.

Situations where you don’t know what to do.

Pressure. Stress. Uncertainty.

And in those moments…

He helped us.

Not once.

But many times.

He made things easier when they felt heavy.

He took away stress when we were overwhelmed.

He was someone you could rely on.

And I found myself thinking.

Because I know…

He was not the most religious person.

At least not outwardly.

And this is where something inside me became quiet.

Because a hadith came to my mind.

One I have always loved.

“The best of people are those who are most beneficial to others.”

(Reported by at-Tabarani, graded Hasan)

Then another hadith followed.

Clear. Direct. Heavy.

“Whoever relieves a believer of a hardship from the hardships of this world, Allah will relieve him of a hardship from the hardships of the Day of Judgment.”

(Sahih Muslim)

He relieved people from hardships.

This is not theory.

This is not something you just read.

This is something we experienced.

And it made me reflect deeply.

Because after Ramadan, we often measure ourselves like this:

• How much Qur’an did I read?

• How consistent was I in prayer?

• How disciplined did I become?

And these things matter.

They matter a lot.

But there is another side.

A quieter one.

How did we treat people?

Did we help?

Did we ease someone’s burden?

Did we show up when someone needed us?

Because Allah sees everything.

Not only what is visible.

But also what is hidden.

Allah says:

“Indeed, the mercy of Allah is near to the doers of good.”

(Qur’an 7:56)

Sometimes doing good is not something big.

Sometimes it is simply being there.

Helping someone in a difficult moment.

Making something easier for another person.

After hearing the news, everything felt different.

Even my routine.

Even my work.

I went to work.

Same system.

Same exhaustion.

Same rhythm I always talk about.

Early shift. Late shift. Night shift.

Seven days in a row.

Nothing changed.

And yet…

Everything felt heavier.

Because one thought stayed with me:

One day, people will speak about us the same way.

Not about what we planned.

Not about what we wanted to become.

But about what we actually did.

Did we benefit others?

Or did we only live for ourselves?

On this second Friday after Ramadan…

That question feels louder than usual.

Maybe this is one of the greatest lessons after Ramadan:

Ramadan builds you.

But what you do after Ramadan defines you.

So today, I make du‘ā for him.

O Allah, have mercy on him.

Forgive him.

Expand his grave and fill it with light.

Reward him for every hardship he relieved from others.

And make those actions a source of ease for him on the Day of Judgment.

And maybe this is also a reminder for me.

And for you.

Be beneficial.

Even if it is small.

Even if no one notices.

Because you never know…

Which action will be the one that saves you.

Follow this journey as I turn these reflections into my first book, inshaAllah.

— Markus A.T.

Shawwal Day 8: The Second Friday After Ramadan — When Death Reminds You What Truly Matters was originally published in Al-Hikmah on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

We live in a world where your value is defined by what you consume and what you produce.

Buy this. Eat that. Watch this. Add more to your schedule. In modern capitalist philosophy, existence is validated by addition.

But today, on the first day of Ramadan, I was thinking about how Islam completely shatters this worldview.

If you look at the pillars of Islam, almost all of them are defined by a positive action.

Salah requires physical movement and recitation.

Zakat requires calculating and giving wealth.

Hajj requires a difficult physical journey.

But Sawm (Fasting) is fundamentally different.

In classical Fiqh, fasting is defined by a concept called "Tark" (The act of leaving or abandoning).

It is the only act of worship where you fulfill the Divine command by doing absolutely nothing.

You don’t eat. You don’t drink. You don’t consume.

We often think of "doing nothing" as a passive state, a weakness. But the scholars of jurisprudence point out that Tark is highly active. It is an intentional, conscious resistance.

When you sit at your desk with a dry throat at 3 PM, and you actively choose not to reach for a glass of water, you are staging a quiet rebellion.

You are proving that your intellect and your soul are stronger than your biology. You are telling the modern world: "I do not need to consume to exist."

This is why Ramadan is so exhausting on the first day.

We are suffering from the withdrawal of constant consumption. We are so used to feeding every desire the moment it arises, that the act of Tark feels like a shock to the system.

But it is a necessary shock.

Because if you cannot control what goes into your mouth, how can you ever expect to control the words that come out of it? If you cannot say "no" to a lawful glass of water today, how will you say "no" to unlawful things tomorrow?

Ramadan teaches us the hardest legal and spiritual lesson of all: True power is not measured by what you can take. It is measured by what you have the strength to walk away from.

why fasting is a rebellion was originally published in Al-Hikmah on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.