I don’t know how I got here or what day it is. The thing is, the past few days, well, weeks stretched out into months, have bled into each other to the point that I can’t seem to discern one second from another. I’m stuck in this constant cycle of existing through reams of paperwork and laptop screens or online lessons via Zoom and Microsoft Teams.

Still. I. Can’t. Break. Out. Of. It.

It’s like life is dragging me along and I’m just there for the ride, but I’m supposed to be taming the tide.

I don’t remember what it was like to just… be living. Breathing. Free.

And that’s what I see right in front of me…

With full consideration towards the modern ‘hustle culture’ we are all wrapped up in, I think it’s fair to say many of our lives are dictated by an inception of cycles with regards to social, academic, personal, and spiritual matters. I mean, don’t forget to answer your messages, complete the never-ending list of assignments due on the same day, the chores… Wait — have you set an alarm for Fajr? Remember, you need to stay awake after to attend that work meeting. Speaking of meetings, when were you supposed to be meeting with your friends again? Is it on the calendar? What about that subscription, did you confirm the payment? Wait — what were you supposed to be doing right now?

Finding a balance between them all is undoubtedly stress -inducing and even more so when we allow time to pass by without actually processing our experiences and relationships with others, inevitably transforming these ‘matters’ into pressures. Within a blink of an eye, we’ve embarked onto a new cycle: started a new year, lost old friends, perhaps family, or even a new job.

Through having not broken out of old cycles, we create new ones, more toxic than older ones, and it is in this disregard that we unknowingly manage to lug unwanted baggage into our future. We blindly bear our insecurities, despair, and negative energies from previous cycles into a fresh new chapter; tainting the white pages before we’ve given ourselves a rightful chance to start anew.

Life, as we know it, is not full of sunshine and rainbows, I mean, how can we possibly earn our places in the hereafter if it were? There’s nothing to celebrate if everything comes easily. But even still, we must remember that where there’s rain, there’s a rainbow; where there’s thorns, there’re roses; where there’s life, there’re lessons; and where there’s hardships, there’s ease. For us, self-reflection provides the chance to untangle ourselves from the thorns, seize the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and use the power of hindsight to comprehend the greater why. In other words, reflection enables us to break out of old cycles properly and remove ourselves from manifesting any sort of toxicity. Intrinsically, every cycle deals with an emotional side and staying out of tune with it until we are forced to address it is like opening a can of worms worsened at a time when you’re the least prepared to deal with it.

I’m not promising self-reflection will always be like taking a leisurely stroll in the park on a warm summer’s afternoon. We’ve all had experiences we want to shove as far away into the back of our conscience as humanly possible. Ones we’d do anything to forget, like the time I mistook a stranger for my brother and grabbed the chocolate bar from his hand (in my defence, it was a dark night) or the time my sister ran head-first into a glass door, believing it to be open (at least we were on holiday in a faraway country). Yet even in those experiences, there’s plenty to learn. Perhaps of patience and not jumping to conclusions, of responding instead of reacting, or maybe of just making sure we don’t miss our Specsavers’ appointments.

However, self-reflection can also offer us a spiritual cleanse from any negativity. To better ourselves as humans so whenever we do find ourselves in a rut, we can contemplate asking ourselves significant questions such as: what have I achieved through this experience? What am I the most proud of? Simultaneously, don’t be so hard on yourself — simply getting through a difficult time is enough to be considered an achievement, or what could I have done better? It can be a struggle to see personal flaws from your own perspective, so don’t be afraid to ask others for their opinions. Not only can we build our self-awareness, but we enable ourselves to mature into our best possible version, one the Almighty will be pleased with.

The next time you start afresh in whatever it is that you embark on, clear your mind, have faith in the Almighty about how everything which may happen will be according to His will, and reflect; reflect over your actions and sayings. It could be a simple thought at the end of the day before going to sleep, a sentence written in a journal every day, or reciting dhikr — remember it’s all in the little things.

Finally, before you proceed, I have but one request. Take a deep breath, one that you need. Remember you’re human, not a machine, and let yourself process all that has been.

Writing Copyright © 2021 Maryam Bargit
Art Copyright © 2021 Zeynep Yıldırım

About the Authors

Maryam is an eighteen-year-old college student who recently published her first poetry collection titled: Refuge. When she’s not writing, she often spends her time seeking knowledge and admiring the greater depths hidden within literature.

Links: Instagram | Tumblr

Zaynep is a freelance illustrator. She memorized the Quran at the age of seventeen and studied theology during her higher education. She taught the Quran at an Islamic course for four years. Currently, she speaks at seminars about leading a holistic Islamic lifestyle and understanding the Qur’an. She also runs a small business with her sister selling handmade products. She is a passionate artist and loves to read in her spare time.

Links: Instagram

Life Cycles: The Self-Reflection We All Need was originally published in Rather Quiet on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

All of creation is in cycles. One cycle follows another. One cycle within another.

The moon revolves around the earth. A new moon, a half moon, a full moon and repeat.

The earth, in turn, circles the sun. The sun, rotating on its own. Never stopping. Always on repeat. If every artist has a distinct style and every writer, her handwriting — a sign pointing towards the creator — I wonder if we, the creation, walk with a sign of repetition. Distinct and unmistakable. In cycle, an ebb and flow, a rise and a fall, a waxing and a waning; always moving, never stopping.

The moon is enchanting. Its mesmerizing waxing and waning; a constant source of reassurance, comfort, peace and mercy from Allah Who gives us these reminders. You’re in a cycle, you’re riding a high, there will come a low; brace yourself. You’re in a low, look up — you’re in a flow, you’re rising, rising higher than ever before.

The earth makes her rounds circling the sun. At different distances, she gives us different seasons. Our trees bear it all; the melting heat, the freezing cold, the heavy rain and harsh winds. I wonder how she feels.

After spending all the spring and summer bathing in the sun’s glorious light and warmth, growing thousands of leaves, breathing heavily and reaching deep to bear fruit so we can eat. So noble, so great, she works despite knowing her oft-repeated fate.

Because when Autumn arrives, she’ll lose the sunlight. She can no longer afford to keep all her leaves, she must shed them all — just to survive. Before bidding farewell to her beloved sun and disrobing from her spectacular green coat, she transforms, yellow, orange, red and brown. Then she stands, freezing and bare but never, never, in despair.

She holds up a sign for the world to see:

Allah does not burden any soul with more than it can bear.

Oh if only the passersby were to stop and see. There she holds it without the shadow of a doubt under the cold, hopeless sky. In time, her Lord delivers, He sends the sunlight and warms her frozen branches. In time, she grows her leaves a canopy and shades the passersby.

As we start our new cycle, month one of twelve around the sun, I hope we’ll look around and take inspiration from our fellow creation. Each of us in our cycles, our own highs and lows, exist next to each other that perhaps we take heed of the signs we hold.

Art Copyright © 2021 MforMoon

About the Author

MforMoon is a mum who makes illustrations and animations. By bring together painting, paper ripping, origami, (most of which is done with her young child), Islamic geometry and digital editing with the Quran, she hopes to uplift your spirit and connect you and your family with the words of God.

Links: YouTube | Etsy | Instagram

I Saw The Sign was originally published in Rather Quiet on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Investment has caused tornadoes of hoo-ha since ages past. Whether it’s the stock market, gold or Bitcoins, society is all for the risk involved if it means (mostly) effortless money.

And really, why wouldn’t we be?

The Prophet (ﷺ) said,

“Whoever imparts knowledge will have the reward of whoever acted upon it, without detracting from the reward of one who acted.”
Sunan Ibn Mājah 240 (Sahih according to Al-Albani)

“The best of what a man leaves behind are three: a righteous child who supplicates for him, ongoing charity, the reward of which reaches him, and knowledge that is acted upon after him.”
Sunan Ibn Mājah 237 ( Sahih according to Al-Albani)

The two aforementioned ahadith speak about the gravity of such deeds whose reverberations follow a man well through his life to beyond his death. Legacy. These are acts of kindness that benefit your community; acts such as teaching your brother a Sunnah or donating to build a masjid in your community. Like helping an old woman carry her groceries or sharing your knowledge of the Qur’an with your close friends.

But why these acts specifically? Why not Salah, or Hajj, or all the other good deeds that are notably revered in Islam? The demarcation between such esteemed acts on worship and the small kindnesses are their target audience.

Salah is a personal act, between a man and his Lord. The same goes for Hajj and Sawm. They’re most definitely important, but their benefits don’t exceed one’s self. As for the charities and good words that benefit your community, then for every benefit that your community receives, your own scales tip down. It could be from their heartfelt dua for you or the reward that you’re promised anyway or flowing from every person who acts on the knowledge you imparted to them. It doesn’t even have to be knowledge exclusively, even the foundation of a Masjid that was built from funds that you pitched in for, so long as they keep benefiting from your act, the good deeds keep stacking.

Think of them like a sort of investment. They literally are, just that the returns aren’t exactly green in color or stamped with faces of historical presidents. No, they’re worth a lot more than that. Think mountains worth of gold in a time of desperation, multiplying every time your beneficiaries act on your kindness, or the beneficiaries of your beneficiaries, and so on.

Moving on then. Very often you’ll see that there are unexpected consequences to your well-intended actions.

You stop your car to let someone pull out in front of you, and someone behind you gets angry that they lost an entire five seconds on their way to work. You make a phone call while on the train to let someone know you’re thinking of them, and someone else on the train is annoyed at having to witness your awkward way of talking to your older relatives. You walk to the shops rather than driving in order to keep fit and reduce pollution. The journey takes longer than anticipated, and you miss the Amazon delivery you ordered so now you’re walking to the post office to get it back.

Funny story, actually. I live in an area (much like anywhere else, I suppose) where there’s all sorts of Muslims; the practicing and the non-practicing, the skeptical kind, the bid’ah-devout ones, the Jum’ah-exclusive Muslims and, well, you know how it is.

My uncle thought it would be a good idea to take tea and biscuits with him every day for the people that showed up to the masjid for Fajr. By

persuading them with the snacks to hang back for a bit longer, he hoped to teach them a thing or two, impart some knowledge on the Aqeedah and work up a foundation.

It started off pretty well. People seemed receptive; there was even a bigger crowd gathering for Fajr every morning. My uncle took his notes with him there everyday and read from Aqeedah literature written by traditional Muslim scholars and elaborated on them. One day, a man stood up and stopped him,

“Brother, we appreciate what you’re doing, really. It’s just, English books are often Jewish propaganda. We can’t be swayed by their tricks, brother.”

He found out later that many of the men thought the same. He explained that they were just translated works of legitimate scholars yet they didn’t budge. They slowly dwindled off from the gatherings too, so my uncle eventually had to stop. Why did they start crowding at the start anyway? Who knows.

I thought it was all really ridiculous and unfair. There he was, waking up early to make gallons of tea and putting in an effort, only to be dismissed by some oversimplified dubiety.

But! Well, that’s the thing about life, isn’t it? It’s ridiculous, and, it most definitely is, unfair. Did it mean that my uncle’s efforts all went to waste? Not at all. The unexpected consequences don’t squander the rewards of our good intentions. They don’t mean that we shouldn’t have done those things. But we need to remember that we don’t exist inside a bubble; we live in a society with lots of other people. People with diverse backgrounds; some poor, some rich, some learned, some unlearned. Learn to accommodate people’s differences, don’t let them stop you from doing good.

Another point to remember is that it’s especially when a Muslim strives to do good, that he encounters difficulty. This always holds true, especially in, but not limited to, Da’wah matters.

“[Satan] said, “Because You have put me in error, I will surely sit in wait for them on Your straight path. Then I will come to them from before them and from behind them and on their right and on their left, and You will not find most of them grateful [to You].”
(7:16–17)

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the rest. Why’s Shaytan sitting on the straight path, shouldn’t he be dallying with the people who are actually aboard his whole grand Hellfire plan? Because he’s out to get the good ones; the bad ones, well, they’re already done with. ‘The more the merrier’ is Shaytan’s maxim.

So don’t be deterred by the problematic aftermaths of following the Sunnah or striving towards spreading good; it’s Shaytan planting seeds of doubt. Just keep swimming. Preferably with tact.

Think of Prophet Nuh, who preached the deen for nine hundred and fifty years. That’s a long, long time. He was a Prophet of Allah! His community responded by blocking their ears with their fingers and covering themselves up in their garments, like a stubborn kid would. Still he persisted, trying new methods of Dawah; in public, in private, with promises of forgiveness, promises of blessed rain, children, wealth, eternal gardens.

So what reason should we have to give up on our relatively measly attempts to goodness? (Not to demean anyone’s efforts, but if we’re being honest, anything is measly relative to 950 years of persistent dawah.) So keep your chin up!

And while we’re contemplating that, how can we expand the positive effects of good

actions? One way is by seeking to reciprocate and pass on the positive impact when we are the beneficiaries. Think of every kindness like a domino.

A domino can fall two ways, either solitarily or toppling another domino on its way down.

For example, if someone taught you a surah of the Quran or helped you see it in a different light — pass on the knowledge to someone else. Even something as inconsequential as a smile being passed on can go a long way in your book of deeds. Can you imagine the impact on our society if we all acted in that way, rather than in our self-centered, individualistic, selfish ways? Imagine a society in which a good act triggered a domino effect instead of blowing away like a stray leaf? Then imagine your good deeds, incrementing with every person after you who follows. You’d be rich beyond comprehension — and then some.

This piece is Inspired by Maybe it’s Time You Start Recycling Your Blessings by Nick Lear

Copyright © 2021 JabalMaryam

About the Author

JabalMaryam is a first-year university student who excels at procrastination and last minute submissions.

Links: Instagram

Investments, Tea Parties and Dominoes was originally published in Rather Quiet on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Our imaan can be fickle; one moment it soars unimaginable heights and the other, drowns in a depthless expanse. It is a burning flame — one that, if tended to, could set billions of candles alight without losing any of its own intensity. It is a gift bestowed to us by Allah but is usually taken for granted and regarded as a mere saccharine, religious tenet, an accessory in case Islam really turned out to be the real deal or something (let’s hope we’re not that far down the rabbit hole).

Now, ask yourself this: how bright is your flame burning? If that’s too rhetorical of a question, consider instead:

• How does your concentration in your Salah fare? Is it marked by tranquility and no thoughts save for your conversation with Allah? Or are you frantic over whether you left the stove on or how best to retort to that one argument you had with that one soul?
• What of your fear of Allah, and love for Him? Do you worry before sinning, before backbiting your brother or listening to music? Do you challenge yourself towards more Sunnahs or pass it off as discretionary?
• How about your composure, are you inclined to burst up in anger or become irritated at tiny inconveniences?
• Were you better off in these spheres once upon a time?

Fluctuations in our Imaan can occur easily depending on the environment around us, our deeds, the company we keep, etc. In this article, we’re going to diagnose whether our Imaan is low, find out why it is so and learn how to elevate our Imaan to a higher level.

Diagnosis

Symptoms: It’s time for a checkup. Do a mental tick and see how many of these symptoms you can relate to. These point towards a weak Imaan:

• Sinning Becomes Easy

When we do something wrong, our Fitrah whispers to us that we should stop. We feel guilty inside, but still, we try to justify it. When our Imaan is low, we accept the justifications given by our Nafs. We make it seem like the bad deed doesn’t weigh much. “It’s alright, Ramadan’s coming soon” or “It’s not like I do it all the time” become recurrent excuses.

On the other hand, when our Imaan is relatively higher, we feel uncomfortable and become cautious. Picture a practical example: you’re scrolling through social media and an indecent picture of a celebrity pops up. What do you do? Do you look away? Or do you reason saying that it’s ‘just this once’?

• The Heart Becomes Hard

The hardening of the heart means that when we recite the Quran, we don’t feel anything. Our eyes stay dry. When we hear about the Hellfire, it doesn’t make us cautious. Listening to the promises of Jannah doesn’t make us long for it.

• Extreme Mood Swings

When our Imaan is low, we’re overjoyed as easily as we get depressed; overreactions are common. We get angry over petty squabbles and irritated over minor pinpricks. We’re easily discouraged and procrastinate at the smallest jobs. We forget our purpose in the Dunya, and what plans we have for it. A common complaint we have is boredom as we’re not pursuing anything except what’s right in front of us in this physical world.

• Lazy for Salah

Salah becomes a chore for us, not something we enjoy. We perform it like a habit or a to-do to tick off. We put it off until the very last minute every time.

• Lack of Remembrance of Allah

We become negligent of Allah. Not only do we not remember Allah, but we sometimes dislike when Allah Almighty is mentioned. It feels like it’s too ‘extra’, something you’re supposed to do when you’re old and have no other ambitions in life. We try to avoid places that remind us of Allah or gatherings where Islam is discussed.

• Readily Give Advice

We give suggestions easily but fail to implement our own advice. We’re quick to judge our peers’ faiths but are heedless of our own. But as the saying goes like, practice before you preach.

• Belittling Good Deeds

Small deeds seem like they’re trivial and we don’t give them much worth. It’s said that even a smile is charity but all people see on our faces are frowns. ‘Subhanallah’ plants us a tree in Jannah yet we cannot spare a second from our 24 hours to say it.

• Craving Recognition

We look for our self-worth in the approval of people and crave to be recognised among the masses. We do things in hopes of pleasing our peers when it should have been Allah’s acceptance that we sought.

• Attachment to the Dunya

We think we’re going to live here forever. Obviously, we don’t say it, but we live like we’re never going to die. You know what they say, actions speak louder than words. We live like we’re never going to be questioned, like there’s no judgment following our actions. We focus only on us, the here and the now, and we make light of our community’s rights. We become too attached to our possessions; we become greedy and keep our eyes peeled for the next haul.

Causes: Where there’s a symptom, there’s obviously an underlying cause. There are several antecedents that may have a hand in our Imaan slipping, some of them listed below:

• The Company You Keep

Who do you surround yourself with? Who do you aspire to be? Who’s your role model? The people around us have a huge impact on our habits, our desires and our lifestyle.

Think of Ramadan! We feel the drive to do good, we’re motivated by the togetherness and unity of our environment. It’s not half as hard as fasting at any other time of the year when no one’s fasting alongside you. We feel encouraged, our spirits get a boost.

Handpick the people who motivate you to do good, those who want to help the community. Try to create an environment that is steadfast, one whose flame you can benefit from. An environment of hope, honesty, kindness, mercy, love, and Imaan. The Messenger of Allah (PBUH) said,

‘A man is on the way of his friend. So let each one of you see who he befriends.’

It’s similar to the saying, “Show me who your friends are, and I’ll tell you who you are.”

• Your Relation with Knowledge

Knowledge is one of the key tools for developing Imaan. It’s important because, how will we worship Allah the Almighty if we don’t know him? Or if we don’t know how to worship? Moreover, the lack of knowledge leaves space for shubuhat, or seedlings of doubts, uncertainties that eventually take root and end up destroying our faith. Allah (SWT) says in the Quran,

“Are those who know, equal to those who don’t?”

• Indulgences

Overindulgence in our comfort zones, in beautifying ourselves and our homes is an undeniable cause for weak Iman. Our focus gradually shifts from the hereafter to this world. Concurrently, our Imaan decreases. When the Messenger of Allah(PBUH) was sending Muadh bin Jabal (RA)to Yemen, he told him in his farewell advice,

“True servants of Allah do not live in too much comfort ( i.e. they are not indulged in this world.)”

Treatment: For every disease, there’s (almost) always a cure. Many a times, the antidote to an ailment can be found simply by tackling its root cause.

• Reciting the Qur’an

Reciting the words of Allah Almighty, which He sent as a guidance for us, trying to understand what the Almighty is advising us, what he wants us to do and what he wants us to refrain from, is easily the most sure-fire antidote for a wilting Imaan. This is the same Quran that nurtured the Arabs, who were a people who fought wars on petty things, and who buried their daughters alive. The Quran developed Imaan in them and made them the torchbearers of the Ummah to come. If we try to understand the Quran properly and implement its laws and commandments, In Sha Allah, we will be able to nurture our Imaan.

• Restricting Comforts

One of the causes we discussed above for a languishing Imaan was overindulgence. To save ourselves from its gravitational pull, we need to restrict our comforts. Comfort refers to mainly four things, food, sleep, interactions and entertainment. Interactions and entertainment are different in the sense that interactions refer to the physical speech that takes place between you and the people around you, whereas entertainment is anything from digital interactions, whether it be through social media, movies, games, and other leisurely activities.

Eat less, about one-third of your stomach, and sleep less too. Wake up for Tahajjud. Speak only when you have a nice thing to say and don’t laugh in excess and forget to take things seriously. As for entertainment, allow yourself only what is in the realm of benefit, and don’t waste time that could be used much more proactively.

• Increasing Ibadah

Apart from avoiding comfort, increasing and perfecting our Ibadah is also a necessary means for elevating our Imaan. We should amplify our concentration in Salah, by trying to understand the surahs we recite and readying our mindset for the prayer at least 10 minutes beforehand. Inculcate Sunnahs into your daily routine, heck, even some Nawafil if you’re up for the challenge. Attempt voluntary fasts. Mondays and Thursdays, as well as the 13th, 14th and 15th of every lunar month, were the days the Prophet SAW used to fast on.

This increase in Ibadah acts like a detergent, cleansing your heart from the stains of your sins, ergo making it possible to nurture your Imaan further.

• Remember Death

Another really effective pointer, if not that simple, is to remember death and the ephemerality of the time we’re granted in this Dunya. The Messenger of Allah (PBUH) said:

“Remember often, the destroyer of pleasures ( i.e. death).”

Imagine (really, close your eyes and imagine) that your time’s up. You can see the angel of death in front of you. There’s nowhere to go. The only things that are going to accompany you are your deeds. The doors of Tawbah are now closed. How confident are you of your reckoning?

Think about the grave. You are going to stay there, alone. The angels are going to question you. The earth is closing in upon you. Your ribs are going into each other. Wallahi, when one thinks about this sincerely, they will change. Every opportunity looks valuable; every second, expensive. There is no more room for boredom and childish complaints.

Before this turns into a whole manual, I’ll end the article with this: Take advantage of the time you have and turn back to Allah often. No one has any guarantees for their life, so make use of the moment, don’t delay the change you can make today lest this time we’re given slips past our grip. Light up your flame. We ask Allah the Almighty to help us leave our bad habits for the good ones, and help us to develop our Imaan! Ameen.

The Prophet (s.a.w.) said,

“The people will soon summon one another to attack you like those when eating invite others to share their dish. Someone asked: Will that be because of our small numbers at that time? He replied: No, you will be numerous at that time: but you will be scum and rubbish like that carried down by a torrent, and Allah will take out the fear of you from the breasts of your enemy and instill wahn (enervation) into your hearts. Someone asked: What is wahn (enervation)? The Apostle of Allah (s.a.w.) replied: Love of the world and dislike of death.”
Sunan Abi Dawud 4297

References:

1. Sunan Abi Dawood 4833
2. Surah Zumar: Ayah 9
3. Musnad Ahmed 216000
4. Tirmidhi 2307

Copyright © 2021 Hiba F. & JabalMaryam

About the Authors

Hiba F. is a high school senior who is frequently mistaken for a university professor. She completed her memorization of the Quran at age 14 and has since gotten into studying tafsir and Arabic. She’s a serial bullet journaling bookworm. Her other interests include drawing, embroidery and writing. She aspires for a career as an author, businesswoman and a naturopath. It’s only impossible until someone does it, you know?

Links: Instagram

Jabal Maryam is a first-year university student who excels at procrastination and last minute submissions.

Links: Instagram

Why Does Iman Fluctuate? was originally published in Rather Quiet on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Musa’s legs begin to ache having held position for too long. He’s certain now that the tree bark has properly engraved itself into his back. The sun is up and shining brighter than ever, yet it feels colder than a polar bear’s toenail out here. The clouds move way too fast in opposite directions. Red clouds. Blue clouds. Orange clouds. One big purple cloud. Huh, no yellow clouds. Ants start marching along the branch he’s sat on. His hand is losing its grip and slowly slipping off. His lower body can no longer support him, it’s drained out of strength. He is falling. The ants are marching. Suddenly there is a bellowing of a car engine coming to life and Musa freezes mid-fall. There is too much light. Way too much. His eyelids still heavy, he glances at the alarm clock beside his bed. 7:12 AM.

He’s late again. He jolts out of bed just in time to see his father’s car leave through the window. Bothered by the fact that no one woke him up, he sprints to the bathroom. Washing the sleep off his face. Brushing his teeth. Back to the bedroom. Kurta. Socks. Pants. Topee. Kitchen. No, there’s no time for breakfast. Outside. Hopping on his bicycle and holding out his fingers, ‘three, two, one’ indicating the remaining seconds till the whistle blows. He’s determined to reach before the class ends. Then he pedals so fast, one would think he had disappeared.

GO, Musa. GO! he encourages himself. The crowd erupts. Every spectator knows. Musa was there for his father, his mother, his family, but most importantly, his Quran teacher, Mr.Yunus (who is probably planning his detention for being late at this very moment). Their voices, a wall of sound, carries Musa up the hill. Musa explodes upwards with everything he has. Now riding with his humble old, rusty bike. His legs are on fire. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he notices the wind he created behind him. His Jumma school is just up ahead. His friends Adnan, Khalid, Umar, his family and grandparents are alongside the street. They are all calling,

“Go on Musa, you can do it!”

It’s a twenty-minute route from home. He’s now halfway there in just seven minutes. New record. He’s never gone this fast before. Cold air fills Musa’s lungs. His heart beats as fast as it can. Stomping down his right foot on the pedal halfway up the hill, he remembers the tranquility of his first morning salah in 2012 with his grandfather. And now the road is exploding around him, willing him upwards. Adnan, Khalid, Umar, his father and mother — they’re all there with him. The shouts of the crowd fill his mind.

“Go on Musa! Push. Go, you can do it!” Musa pushes and pulls at the pedals as hard as he can. Now the road dives down, the path becoming steep. Really steep. He pushes the bike over side-to-side to get some leverage and pulls on the bars. Only two-hundred-and-fifty meters to go.

Two-hundred-and-fifty. Time slows and his eyes are becoming bloodshot. Each pedal stroke forces more fuel to burn. Anaerobic now, his muscles are starting to destroy themselves, they cannot keep it going. His brain ignores the pain — keep it going. Another hundred meters are gone. The road eases, the pain increases. His lungs are bursting.

Collapse feels imminent. Fifty meters to go. He can see his madrasa from so close. The bicycle pushes; he hears Adnan, Khalid, Umar, father and mother shouting now — one last effort. Ten meters, five. The line.

Collapse.

Silence. No cheering. No shouting. The crowd disappears.

Everyone is giving him weird looks as they file out the doors. Adnan and Khalid are there too. He glances at his wristwatch. 7:26 AM. He still made it before seven-thirty, why is everyone out? Umar ran up to him.

“Mr. Yunus left early today.”

Musa’s head spins and his chest feels like it might burst at any moment.

Well, he thought between pained breaths, at least. I. Tried.

Art & Writing Copyright © 2021 ZimBey

About the Author

ZimBey is a high-school senior, the resident artist at RQ and a BJJ white belt (for now!). When not in her backyard hanging from a pull up bar, she may be found in the kitchen whipping up her newest culinary masterpiece.

Links: Instagram

Drive was originally published in Rather Quiet on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

By Warisul Imam (Writer) & Khadija Amira Al-Maani (Artist)

Our ability to acquire, utilize, and disperse knowledge sets us apart from the rest of the creation. Limited solely to our physical abilities, we’re no match to the majority of the living world. Granted our superior intellect, however, we’ve become the dominant species on the planet. Our reaches are so wide and our technologies so capable that we’ve even transformed certain ecosystems altogether.

Superior intellect gives us dominance over the rest of the species dwelling on our planet. But what gives one member of the dominant species dominance over another? Knowledge.

Knowledge and intellect aren’t the same. Simply put, intellect is the ability to objectively reason and understand abstract matters.1 And knowledge is the awareness or familiarity regarding a particular subject, gained through experience and practice.2 The human society is ruled by a handful of powerful individuals. But as Ghazali remarks, the possessors of knowledge get to rule the powerful.3 They are the ones capable of ushering drastic paradigm shifts to the world. After all, knowledge is power.

Focusing on the theological aspects, one believer is set apart from another by a huge magnitude only on the basis of knowledge — knowledge of Islam in particular. Not to mention the fact that the acquisition of it is compulsory on every Muslima. Knowledge is the fruit of belief.4 However, true knowledge is not easily achievable. Painstaking amounts of effort must be put in to acquire it. And once it is acquired, making actions based upon it becomes the next responsibility.

For the past couple of years, I’ve been studying Islamic theology, classical physics, mathematics, and software development in conjunction. I’ve noticed a pattern as I acquired efficiency in all four of these fields. A common set of events that unfold in the context of a new study every time I transitioned from being a ‘beginner’ to being ‘comfortable’ — a cycle.

It starts with curiosity. It’s the driver that motivates you to learn something that you find interesting. It primes the locations of the brain involved with long term memory as you try to pick up a new skill, try to learn a new set of information.5 It increases memory activity and thus enhances the learning process. Which essentially means that you remember something better if you’re curious about it.

Next is the stage I call Surface Exposure. This is the point where you start getting your feet wet with the basic material of whatever it is that you’re learning. Things start seeming more interesting and you get almost instant rewards when you’re all of a sudden able to do a number of things that you had no idea you could. At this point, the pace of learning is usually comparatively faster; one, because of your intense and growing curiosity, and two, because the basics of almost any field are easy to pick up for most people. This is where you start transitioning into the next stage, which can be a little dangerous for some — let me explain why.

The fast pace of your learning can give you a feeling of overconfidence; the topics you’re learning seem easy as cake, and you begin to think that you’re going to become a master in it in no time. As I remarked earlier, the things that you are learning are indeed easy because they’re the basics, the foundational concepts, the individual components — not the entire framework. But you don’t know that yet because you’ve got no idea about what’s waiting for you up ahead. But because the material you’ve been exposed to so far has only been easy your mind starts expecting the same in case of whatever’s to come; meaning your brain makes you think that the new materials you’ll be learning gradually are only going to increase in terms of magnitude and not in terms of difficulty. I give you the Foresight Bias.

That doesn’t sound dangerous, does it? The dangerous part of it isn’t the disappointment of finding out that things are a lot harder than you initially thought. It’s when you start thinking you’ve learnt a huge chunk of information and start acting like a know-it-all. This is the Illusion of Competence — not knowing what you don’t know. Although it might be dangerous to many, even some of the greatest minds underwent this stage at some point in their lives. It often occurs in conjunction with the foresight bias and the two terms are often used interchangeably at times. It leads to the inability to adjust one’s self-assessment based on received feedback.6 The illusion of competence only causes real damage if you stop learning because you think you’ve learnt enough and/or if you embark on a huge project only on the basis of some false knowledge which, unfortunately, you think is completely accurate and consistent. That’s when it starts turning into ignorance and can lead you to make a HUGE fool out of yourself. But if you carry on learning, however, you’ll realize the illusion at some point as you dive deeper and that’s when the next stage begins.

As you keep learning, you start building up some solid conception of a bigger-picture and you realize how little you’ve progressed and how much more lies ahead of you to learn. You also get an idea of the rate at which the difficulty of the material increases as you progress. In other words, you humble yourself — this has been the Humbling.

Finally, the last stage, and the stage that persists throughout your entire life, is the Familiarization. The time taken to transition to this stage can differ based on the discipline you’re in, the amount of practice you go through and so on. This is the point where you acquire the ability to learn independently. You have a very good idea about what in-depth topic you want to learn, how to approach learning that particular material, where to look for the relevant learning resources, and you can also act as a mentor for someone who’s a beginner in the same field. You no longer have to fear forgetting some material you’d learned in your particular subject, because even if you do forget, you know exactly where to look, and with only a single glance you know exactly what to do to solve the particular problem at hand. This is where the cycle resets and starts from square-one — whether it be on a more advanced topic in the same field or in an entirely different field.

Level of Knowledge is not really something that can be pinpointed in a concrete way. The goal is not to acquire as much information as you possibly can, but to acquire a wider context. It’s sad to see how some people argue solely for the purpose of winning an argument and carelessly blurt out ‘facts’ about which they’ve got no idea whatsoever. This can often lead to huge and sometimes fatal misunderstandings, spreading of misinformation, and other intellectual damages that might take centuries to fix.

Going over the learning cycle in a number of different fields brings with it a realization of how deep and insightful things can be. This leads to the development of a different kind of mindset, a healthier one. A mindset that acknowledges what is in its domain of understanding and what isn’t. One that is aware of that which it can informatively opine about and that which it cannot. It teaches when it’s a safe bet to trust a piece of information first and verify it later, and when to be skeptical of a piece of information and trust it only after verification — based on its source, integrity, and several other factors. A mindset that enjoys a wider context of understanding and is less prone to fall victim to pseudo-information. It transforms you into a better person in general and gives rise to the potential for you to contribute to one or multiple facets of human knowledge and to push its boundaries further to a greater degree.

References

1, 2. Paraphrased from Merriam Webster.
3, 4. Imam Al-Ghazzali, Ihya Ulum-ud-Deen Volume I: The Book of Worship, Chapter 1: The Acquisition of Knowledge.
5, 7. Wade, S., & Kidd, C. (2019). The role of prior knowledge and curiosity in learning. Psychonomic Bulletin and Review. https://doi.org/10.3758/s13423-019-01598-6
6 KateFehlhaber. (2017, February 6). The Consequences of Illusory Superiority — Knowing Neurons. Retrieved December 14, 2020, from https://knowingneurons.com/2017/02/06/illusory-superiority

Notes

a) Albeit, the cognitive mechanisms underlying curiosity and learning are distinct.7
b) Giving an analogy in terms of mathematics, the individual concepts of say, radian units, right triangles, the pythagorean theorem, the harmonic functions, and so on, are the components, while trigonometry would be the framework in this case.
c) I couldn’t think of a better analogy, so here’s another mathematical one — it’s almost like the basic ex exponential curve. Looks flat at the beginning, but explodes really fast once you move to the right for a while.
d) Verge Science. “… didn’t know what he didn’t know.” — The quest for Nikola Tesla’s wireless power technology (5:33–5:35). https://youtu.be/z97iOZQd-B4?t=332

Writing Copyright © 2021 Warisul Imam
Art Copyright © 2021 Khadija Amira Al-Maani

About the Author

Waris is a highschool senior, bookworm and writer. His interests include Islamic theology, particle physics, cosmology, maths, and computer science. His writings have been published on blogs like The Ascent, The Nonconformist and Deen Over Dunya. Currently, he’s working on a number of writing projects on a variety of topics ranging from the seerah to physics. Most notably though, he’s known for his peculiar habit of scribbling down equations and solving them whenever he finds himself unoccupied.

Links: Twitter

Khadija is an eighteen-year-old Omani artist. Due to her curious nature and creative instincts, she loves to explore everything and anything. Having grown up in a beautiful Islamic environment and household, she learned from an early age to contemplate life, find beauty in everything, be grateful and always find ways to give back to the world. She is currently pursuing a degree in psychology but continues to keep arts as an important part and passion in her life.

Links: Instagram

The Cycle of Acquiring Knowledge was originally published in Rather Quiet on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Life is more than existence. Existing is what you’re given; time, breath, a body. But life goes beyond existence; life is what you give. To give your best is to live your best; to live your best is to depart your best.

So what are you giving?
Nay, what are you reaping?

Copyright © 2021 Khadija Amira Al-Maani

About the Author

Khadija is an eighteen-year-old Omani artist. Due to her curious nature and creative instincts, she loves to explore everything and anything. Having grown up in a beautiful Islamic environment and household, she learned from an early age to contemplate life, find beauty in everything, be grateful and always find ways to give back to the world. She is currently pursuing a degree in psychology but continues to keep arts as an important part and passion in my life.

Links: Instagram

Inevitable Return was originally published in Rather Quiet on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

My father came to the States from Palestine at a young age to pursue his dream of playing soccer. Due to injuries, however, he gave up on the dream and started working for a humanitarian organization. After my sister and I were born, our parents decided to move back to Palestine to raise us closer to our roots. We lived there for a while until the organization my father worked for was shut down and he was forced to leave the country. And so we moved back to the States once again. Life had taught him early on that it owed nobody anything; that life was about more than living for oneself.

Growing up, my parents cemented the same lesson in my mind as we worked many a weekend at the community center. I was never told to become something specific when I grew up. I just understood that whatever I chose, it had to be something I could excel at and something I can use to give back to my community. These were the values I grew up with and the same ones that continue to guide me, even today.

In high school, I didn’t think too much about the big career questions. I was good at my subjects and chose to focus on the present as I juggled my school, community, and family responsibilities. I knew that I loved maths and I figured that that kind of certainty would take care of itself. Sure enough, when the time came to pick a college to apply to it was a pretty straightforward decision for me. I liked math. Math = engineering and so I applied to the college of engineering at my state university.

But once I got into engineering college, I had to start thinking about declaring my major. I was the kind of person who wanted to try everything and anything. Picking one meant losing out on all the others. Come year end, I was still super indecisive about my major; it felt as though picking a major would decide my entire future.

Biomedical engineering, however, caught my attention. Biomed is involved in, in addition to other things, the making of prosthetic limbs. The more I learned about it, the more I began to see myself growing into it and so I picked it as my major. I started dreaming of a career where I helped provide prosthetic limbs to people affected by war and trauma. I wanted to give back to the people of my homeland and help them gain the mobility they lost. The program was one of the hardest ones in the college but I felt up for the challenge. A meaningful career was coming closer to a reality.

Around my third year, I started looking into research and internships. I got in touch with the PI of a lab that worked on prosthetic limbs (among other things) which seemed to have my name written on it. I was fortunate enough to land a research internship with the lab and worked with them for a year and a half. Here, I got to interact with a lot of different people, doctors, prosthetists, nurses, and patients. It was a very insightful experience.

As my third-year was coming to an end, I realized I needed a more work-oriented internship. So far my studies and internship had been very research-based and I knew that after graduation, research was not what I wanted to get into. It was time to look for something different. So when the career fair came around, I attended. Medical device companies are big in Minnesota as it happened, so I figured I’d apply to one at the fair.

But things don’t happen in the same way you figure they would. At the career fair, I was pulled aside by the stall of a big consulting company. The representatives at the stall were so personable and engaging, I ended up applying to their internship even though a consulting company was the last thing on my mind. I’d also applied to a medical device company and that seemed like the more likely choice.

After I got calls for a second interview from both companies and got to know both firms a bit better, I realized that the consulting firm was much better organized and had a more robust internship program. Unlikely as it was, I ended up doing a summer-long internship with the consulting company. It was my first glimpse into the corporate world and it was as enjoyable as it was educational.

After the internship, the consulting firm extended me a full time offer to join them right after graduation. I can’t say it was the most obvious outcome, but landing a job straight out of university was a rare opportunity; I was grateful for it and I accepted it. I’d studied biomedical engineering with a certain path in my mind and now getting a job entirely unrelated to my study caused me some internal conflict.

In the end, it came back to my values and my underlying motivation. While I wouldn’t be making prosthetics, there were other ways to give back to my community. And I could take some time to find them; life doesn’t always follow straight paths. I started at the firm soon after my graduation. The job was great, it was stable, the people I worked with were really nice and my family was happy for me. But I distinctly remember being in a meeting once and hearing something along the lines of,

“We’re a thirty-billion-dollar company. Our goal over the next five years is to be a sixty billion dollar one.”

That didn’t sit right with me. My work and effort had to be going towards more meaningful goals.

At the time, LaunchGood was a new small Muslim crowdfunding start-up. I’d been following their work online for a while and admired their brand. One day, I got one of those standard, newsletter-style emails from them telling me that Amany, a founding member of the firm, was coming to my state for an event. Being a fan of their work, I reached out.

Amany replied and we agreed to meet after the event. By the time Amany got to leave the event hall, it was pretty late so we ended up pulling into the first decent-looking cafe that was still open. Over dinner, we talked about everything from LaunchGood to books and podcasts. She told me about some of the inspiring programs they were working on — a world away from the dog stories I had to listen to at work!

Meeting Amany was great. At work, I’d listened to enough dog stories to write a book about dogs. Not to mention, I’d missed more ‘happy hours’ than I could count. While the people were great, it was strange to see how little people knew and were involved in beyond just their work and personal lives. Talking to Amany was refreshing. It reminded me of the beauty there is in pursuing one’s passion and working in a career that directly gave back to the community.

Some months later, I emailed Amany again asking her if I could volunteer with LaunchGood. She invited me to their upcoming Ramadan project and the next thing I knew, I was on the phone with Chris, the CEO of LaunchGood, and they invited me to join the spring Fellowship project for three months. The timing was perfect because I was just finishing up with the project at work. I arranged to take Ramadan off from work and got ready to start my Fellowship at LaunchGood.

Ramadan arrived and it was showtime — Ramadan is a very, very busy time at LG. We were managing over a thousand campaigns and answering hundreds of tickets every day. I was speed learning everything on the go. The Fellowship was amazing, not only because of the actual work but it was also awesome to work with a Muslim team from all over the world. It was Ramadan, we were all fasting, sending each other encouraging messages, sharing reflections, duas, and, of course, working like crazies together. It was great!

When my Fellowship ended and it was time to go back to ‘work’, LaunchGood extended me a full-time offer. The offer had me conflicted. It had been awesome to work with them for a while but could I really quit my job to join a start-up?

While I certainly was the sort of person who liked to try new things, I was also one to settle in. Once I found my place, I liked to stay there. I had a nice place at the consulting firm; in fact, after the previous project, I was even promoted. Chris was honest with the offer, LaunGood was new — it could well collapse, the salary they could offer me was about half my current salary and there would not be nearly the same benefits as the ones I received from my other firm. And yet. The offer — the Muslim coworkers, the Quran reflections on our WhatsApp, the Eid pictures, the purpose of LaunchGood — it tugged at me.

So far in my life, my decisions took obvious routes. I liked maths, so I took engineering. While picking a major was tough, it was clearly a good option among many other good options. Research, internships, work — all lined up one after the other. But now I had an option that wasn’t in the same line of worldly ‘success’. I had an option to break the cycle of expectations in worldly gain.

I thought about it for a while and made a lot of istikhara. To the younger Mariam, being settled in one place sounded comfortable. But my heart was at peace with LaunchGood; I wanted to join them. At home, I discussed my decision with my parents but, at first, they couldn’t understand it. Why would I leave a huge corporate to join a start-up? I had already gone away from my studies of Biomedical Engineering when I joined a consulting company. They felt like I was now going away even further, joining a small company that did crowdfunding. It was a risky move.

I talked it out with my family and convinced them that I was doing the right thing. They saw that I was excited about it and how I felt like it aligned with my values. They saw my passion coming through and trusted that it was going to be a good move for me.

Three years later and I wake up everyday feeling incredibly blessed for the job I have with LaunchGood. Nothing I do is related to my aspirations of being a prosthetist or my studies in Biomedical Engineering. It is a job that I didn’t know existed, let alone one I would have imagined holding. But it is a job that aligns with my values and allows me to give directly back to my community every single day — the very things I was raised on and ground me in everything I do.

I hope sharing my story will help those of you trying to figure out your paths into the seemingly daunting world of adulthood. What I’d like you to take away from my story, even if cliche, is that money doesn’t buy everything. Success in our society is defined in a ridgid way, but your success is defined on your terms. It doesn’t mean that success in dunya will not mean success in akhirah; it’s about which one tops your list of priorities. Don’t feel like you need to be defined by other people’s definitions. Your values are the most guiding factor. So don’t be afraid of change.

Copyright © 2021 Mariam El-Khatib & Sumayya

About the Authors

Mariam El-Khatib is a Palestinian-American born and raised in Minnesota. She graduated from the University of Minnesota with a degree in Biomedical Engineering and a minor in Neuroscience. Here, she was also involved in the student group Students for Justice in Palestine.
She currently works as a Product Manager for a Muslim crowdfunding company called LaunchGood. Outside of work, she serves as the chapter lead of American Muslims for Palestine and teaches Islamic Studies at Atawasul Weekend School. In her free time, Mariam likes to read and spend time with her family.

Links: Medium

Sumayya is a university student who wishes she had more time to read in a day.

Links: Twitter

The Roads We Take was originally published in Rather Quiet on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

By Aisha Zahid, Afreen Razvi, Sumayya (Writers) & Muhammad Mijil Pamungkas (Artist)

Hanan was not mad. He just felt resigned. As he mopped the cracked hardwood floor, his cheeks flushed with exertion and beads of sweat lining his forehead, he couldn’t help but wonder why he gave in so easily. Why was he mopping the floors for the third week in a row? The lecture his grandmother had given him many years ago came back to him now, “Learn to say ‘no’,” she’d told Hanan. “Don’t make excuses or try to over-explain yourself. Just decline.” If only it was as easy as that.

Hanan had just moved to dip his mop into the bucket of soapy water when maman walked in. Her presence pierced through his thoughts. Hanan passed his mother a smile, which she was quick to return.

“Working as usual,” maman spoke as she moved towards the kitchen adjacent to the verandah. Sunlight fell over her salt and pepper hair and it gleamed. “Let me guess, her majesty declined our wishes once again?”

Hanan forced a smile. “She was planning something. Said it was for a friend and she shouldn’t have any more house chores dumped on her. I didn’t want to interrupt her work.”

“You’re not doing her any favours. She’s going to have a tough time looking after her own when she grows up,” maman paused on her way to the kitchen and looked back at him with disapproving eyes. “You won’t be around to do her bidding forever.”

Hanan moved a chair to the side, and it screeched. He rubbed the cloth over the spot. “Ma, let her be. She won’t be so young forever.” At least, that’s how he’d justified it to himself. He too had a hard time imagining his crazy little sister ever growing up.

Maman sighed. Whether it was one of frustration or agreement, Hanan couldn’t tell. “We’re having falafel for dinner tonight. Have you had your bicycle repaired yet? You need to get me the chickpeas.”

Hanan shook his head. “The payment, Maman. Armin can’t get it back for me without payment.”

When on one rainy day Hanan had punctured the tire of his trusty bicycle, Armin had offered the services of an acquaintance who could transform the bike to ‘as good as new’. If only Hanan had known then what he was getting into. His bike now looked almost worse than before with an oddly mismatched tire in the place of the punctured one. The repair bill mounted the skies.

Maman pursed her lips and left to the kitchen without a word. Hanan followed in her wake, waiting for her reaction; it would come even if she acted as though she was above taking a dig at a half-witted young man. Even the flies in their house were aware of exactly how fond maman was of Armin. It was hilarious, to say the least.

“Next time, you leave Armin out,” maman chided as she set to work in her kitchen. “He makes easy things difficult. How can he be so stupid when his mother is such a strong-willed woman? I’ve seen her work at the masjid. Bold woman, she is. I feel sorry for her. I have a good mind to give him a piece of my mind next time I see him.”

Hanan pulled a bottle of milk out of the refrigerator. “I’ll come up with something. I need that bike back.”

Dinner was an event as far as The House was concerned. ِAbba was home from work and not in a hurry to get to it just yet; he still had twelve hours before the next day. Despite being home, however, he wasn’t frequently without some paper or journal in his hand. Still, at least he was present. Hanan, Farid and Avalie set the table and maman took turns talking to each member of the family while the others listened. Unspoken rules ran The House.

Abba seemed to be in a different world today with his nose buried deep into the day’s paper. Maman narrowed her eyes at abba, waiting patiently for him to look up. The pin drop silence made Avalie crack up, but this sudden outburst too went unnoticed by their father.

“Abba,” Avalie finally said, wiping her eyes and trying not to look at maman. “Abba.”

“Yes Avalie, you can talk.”

“We’re here and we’re hungry,” she said in a small, amused voice. “We can start when you’re ready.”

Abba suddenly looked up from his paper with a sheepish look on his face. “Yes, of course.” He put away his paper, “bismillah.”

Dinner began and maman spoke to each child in turn. Hanan’s siblings tried their best to come up with the most politically correct answers to her pointed questions. Avalie had indeed started studying for her May exams but seemingly couldn’t remember how far she’d gotten with her preparations due to the many subjects she was studying together. Farid was doing well at work and his epilepsy was under control. He’d bought his new prescription and even felt the new tablets worked better than the old ones. Hanan didn’t mention he’d noticed Farid coming home later than usual for the past week. Nor that he hadn’t seen Farid swallow a tablet for a while. As for Hanan,

“And how are your studies coming along Hanan? We can hire a tutor for your final exams. Remind us again, which colleges are you applying to?”

Before he could answer, a loud rapping on the door took everyone’s attention.

“We’re not expecting anyone, are we?” maman asked.

Avalie wasted no time as she hastily pulled on her chador and ran to the door — anything to get away from maman’s second hand lectures on her studies. She came back with a stack of parched envelopes.

“Mailman ran into problems earlier today so the mail’s late. Thank God, I thought Mina didn’t write to me this month!” she said in an exaggerated tone which Hanan knew was an effort to make maman forget what they’d been talking about. He didn’t mind, he wasn’t fond of the topic himself. Hire a tutor? Like they could afford that.

Avalie read out the names on the letters. When she picked out a letter for Farid, Farid’s eyes widened and he mumbled a few incoherent words before he snatched the letter and pocketed it out of sight.

As usual, Avalie had received the most mail. Her pile consisted of an assortment of letters, magazines and other packages — all from her friends. She was quite popular with her friends. Hanan didn’t care much for the mail and continued with his dinner. He watched, with mild interest, his family sorting out their mail. The last letter, however, caught his eye. He recognized the seal from somewhere.

Avalie looked at him, raising an eyebrow, “This is for you,” she said and held the letter out to him. “Ibn Rushd Academy? You didn’t tell us you applied.”

Hanan hurriedly wiped his hands on the table cloth, not without earning a glare from maman, and grabbed the letter. The parched paper was cold to his touch. Hanan ignored the sudden jolt that ripped through his chest. He could feel the eyes of them all on him — curious, inquisitive eyes. He couldn’t ignore the flurry of different emotions that surged through him as he scanned through the letter.

“Erm, abba, maman, I–” he struggled to find words to explain the letter. “I applied to the academy a while ago. The teachers thought it would be a good idea but I didn’t really mean to do it. They kind of forced me to. I don’t have to go.”

Hanan’s family stared at him.

“Are you stupid?” Avalie broke the silence.

His parents and Farid started speaking together.

“This is great! You should go!” exclaimed Farid.

“Ya Allah! I knew you were ambitious but I didn’t think you’d get into Ibn Rushd!” His mother was talking more to herself than anyone else, “Oh, I heard Layla’s son went there and now he works in the ministry. It’s really such a surprise! Not that I didn’t think you weren’t smart enough, no, of course not, but I couldn’t have imagined that you’d really apply…”

“Well done, son. Congratulations, this is very good news.” Abba put a hand on Hanan’s shoulder and smiled for what seemed like the first time in a long while. “Ibn Rushd has medical courses too, doesn’t it? It’ll be a brilliant opportunity to get a head start on your subjects. I must say, I didn’t think you were up to much staying home all the time and only meeting with that Armin, but you really did a damn great thing here, didn’t you?”

“Hayat!” maman rebuked. “Language! Please!”

“A man gets excited sometimes, woman. Let me live,” abba chuckled.

Hanan’s parents looked at him expectantly but when he said nothing his mother spoke, “Well, when do you leave, dear?”

“I don’t want to go, maman,” Hanan said looking into his mother’s eyes and paused for a few moments before he continued. “It’s a great academy and all but really it’s not worth my time. I can start college right away, why would I waste a year before that? The sooner I graduate, the better.”

“And why don’t you want to go?” maman asked, puzzled.

“Because — because it’s a waste of time!” he said, feeling flustered because of the attention.

“He’s lying,” Farid cut in. Hanan shot him a dirty look. As if Farid didn’t have his own secrets.

“Hanan,” his father said gently and looked at Hanan with a serious expression. “Why don’t you want to go?”

Hanan struggled to make an excuse. He couldn’t say the reason; not to his parents, anyway. “I, erm, I don’t like being away from home. I’d rather be here, with you guys. Go to college, come home, uh, get groceries, you know. That sort of thing,” he paused before another, better excuse formed in his mind.

“And!” he added with more confidence, speaking animatedly and making wild gestures, “I hate studying! I only do what I need to do and never more! A year away from home studying? Pfft, not a chance!” he smiled at his parents now, sure that he had made a valid case for himself.

Hanan glanced at Avalie who had been watching him quietly. Suddenly, he saw the gears moving in her head and knew she’d figured him out. “Oh,” she said quietly, not knowing whether or not to expose her brother. Hanan gave her a hard look.

The exchange did not go unnoticed by maman. “Avalie, what is it? Why does your brother not want to go?”

Avalie swallowed, “He just doesn’t want to go, we really shouldn’t force him–”

“Avalie.” Said abba sternly. “Why doesn’t he want to go?”

Avalie sighed and looked down at the table, “Ibn Rushd is expensive. He doesn’t think we can afford it.”

“What! No, that’s not–” Hanan began but promptly shut up seeing his father’s look.

“You will go. Don’t worry about the money,” abba spoke with finality.

Hanan looked down at his falafels that had now gone cold. There was nothing more to be said. He was going to Ibn Rushd Academy right after his exams. He wouldn’t need to wait for his results.

Hanan left home after he’d checked and rechecked everything was in place. First, maman’s requirements for her Saturday masjid class had been arranged for. Avalie’s ‘something for a friend’ turned out to be a welcome party hosted at their own home. He made sure she had all the things she needed and, more importantly, Farid would have somewhere else to be when their house would be taken over by teenage girls. Poor Farid didn’t keep many friends and now Hanan was leaving too. Farid reassured him he’d be fine, it wasn’t like he didn’t have any friends.

The pieces were coming together quite nicely for Hanan, much to his chagrin. The train ticket was confirmed and bought, maman wasted no time assembling his luggage, and Avalie was over the moon with everything that awaited him. With the promise of writing to them frequently, Hanan left.

Hanan groaned at the sight of Armin at the train station, leaning against the platform column, his hair parted in the middle. Hanan held back a smile as he approached him, his lone dusty brown suitcase behind him.

“Friend,” Hanan nodded.

“Friend,” Armin grinned back. Hanan saw a missing tooth. “I got your bicycle fixed. And paid for it.”

Hanan creased a brow. “You know how to get me into trouble.”

Armin grinned. “Do you want me to keep it until you are back?”

“Abba is at home,” Hanan muttered as he watched hordes of people board the train, his eyes trailing to the rusty clock perched on a column not far away. “He’ll get it from you.”

Armin cocked his head, “Actually, I’m gonna drop by Faravan myself. Cousin’s wedding, you know how it is. I’ll get you the bike there. I can do that for you. I’m a great friend, you know?”

“Sure,” Hanan said absentmindedly. His bike was probably as good as dead by now. “You do that.”

“Anyway, Ibn Rushd, huh? I heard they make you work with cow dung.”

“They probably will,” Hanan replied as he read through the details on his ticket. He glanced up once at the platform number encased on the train, and then at the car number. “Trying not to think too much about it.”

Shrill laughter caused Hanan to move his focus away from the rough ticket and his friend’s horrified looks to a small crowd of women gathered together and huddled at the distant end of the platform. Hanan was quick to notice their widened eyes and recoiled exteriors. This group was a melting pot of ages — young, old and everything in between. Hanan even caught sight of a couple of children, closely huddled next to their female accomplices. The only oddity Hanan could comprehend was how there was no man amongst them, and how they weren’t dressed in local attire.

He caught the gaze of a very young boy staring back at him with an expression that he guessed mirrored his. The boy’s eyes narrowed, scowling at the staring stranger. Hanan looked away, sorry, little guy, didn’t mean to scare you.

“Are they from our city?” he questioned Armin. “Don’t look so.”

“Because they’re not,” Armin eyed him. “Been pouring into the city. Up to no good, if you ask me.”

“Yeah,” Hanan snorted, unable to mask the sarcasm in his voice. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Hanan had rarely travelled by train. He watched with wide eyes everything going on around him. When Hanan noticed his fellow travellers in the car pull out their boxes, an incredibly delicious smell wafting in the air and his stomach grumbled. He had only packed dinner which wasn’t for hours.

He offered his midday prayers in congregation at the very end of the car and quite unintentionally eavesdropped on a vivid debate on the many different ways the inflation rate could be stabilized. Hours later, he boarded a cramped bus and twisted into his seat a little so his back was turned to the others. Advantages of a window seat. He quietly chewed on his fried vegetables and drank down the yogurt. He finished dinner with a gulp of water.

Soon, he fell asleep with his head resting against the window. Hanan woke up with a start when the bus came to a sudden, screeching halt. By now, most of the bus had emptied. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and watched silhouettes in shades of brown and black get off the bus.

“Get off, boy,” an old man next to him grumbled, and Hanan creased his brows.

“Why, sir?”

“Your stop. It’s here.”

When Hanan remained as clueless as ever, the man pointed to his bus ticket.

“Bin Hamid Street. Here. Get off.”

Hanan nodded and pulled his luggage behind him to the bus door. He glanced around for any sign of the people he just saw get off, but they were all gone. Hanan whirled around in shock as the bus door shut loudly. The big bus rumbled noisily as it accelerated and drowned out the chaos in his thoughts. Hanan stood alone in the middle of a street with just one name staring down at him.

Ibn Rushd Academy For Young Men.

Copyright © 2020 Aisha Zahid, Afreen Razvi & Sumayya

About the Authors

Aisha Zahid is a college freshman with a soft corner for handwritten letters, flowers, and art. She’s been reading since her early years and writing for 5 years now. She’s currently in the process of writing her own book, which she hopes to publish in the near future.

Afreen Razvi is a dentist by day, writer by night, a staunch debater and an avid reader.

Links: Tumblr | Instagram

Muhammad Mijil Pamungkas is an artist from Indonesia. “Art is a line around your thoughts.”

Unexpected Letters was originally published in Rather Quiet on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

The thing that is the farthest away from me is hope. It’s farther away than the ocean line, the sun, the moon and the stars. This world is too small for me. And yet, I am but a tiny speck of dust in this huge and infinite universe. I feel like my soul could escape my body effortlessly and wander everywhere. My soul has no form. It’s neither big nor small. It just is. It can expand to the edge of the universe, but still be one soul. My soul yearns to feel free. To just be. There is no limit, no boundaries to what I see when I close my eyes. In my dreams, I can see a place where hope lies. It’s far beyond the horizon, so far away that nothing but hope exists there, yet all that exists can be found. Because hope is a new beginning.

A place where no one but Allah knows how sad and broken I am. But it’s okay because my One and Only Creator loves me more than anyone else could ever try to.

It’s okay.

It’s okay.

It’s okay to feel this way.

What else matters more than the Greatest and most powerful Love?

If Allah wills it, even my shadow finds a way to reassure me. Like a sign. A message. Do not despair, I’m always here. With you. The sun shining on you, the warmth on your skin, that dark shadow on the ground… All of this exists because Allah created it. As He created me. And He loves me. I have eyes that can see, ears that can hear, I can smell and taste. What else would I need to know that Allah is the King of all that exists? I am merely submitting to my Creator’s will.

His creation. I do it out of love for creating me.

I will embrace myself and contemplate on the meaning of my existence as long as I breathe, over and over again, in an never ending time-loop that exists only for those who truly look at themselves for who they are, who they were and who they will become. I am ever so grateful to Allah for creating me, giving me all the clues I needed. It feels like my soul is transcending conceptual reality and travels freely as a bird, giving me a glimpse of real freedom in the Hereafter. One that even as awake as I try to be, cannot even fathom. So there, in that place, I will lie down the mountains I used to carry and from the summit I will watch the pain and misery which I left behind. The stars will keep me company and the quietness and stillness will be my lullaby.

There are multitudes of universes inside each one of us. So much to explore. So much to discover. But that space between nothingness and hope lies within the hearts of those who dare to dream and get lost in search. That is why only the courageous wanderer can find it. So don’t be afraid, it is only but a journey.

About the Authors

Art- Yasmine is a full-time engineer and in her free time, you’ll find her either painting, enjoying her time outside, or hanging out with friends.
Links: Instagram

Writing — Zeynep is a linguistics enthusiast who enjoys reading, and occasionally writing down her thoughts and feelings.
Links: Instagram

Hope was originally published in Rather Quiet on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.