My parents have never asked me a single question about Islam.

Not one.

Not in all these years.

They have watched me eat halal food, watched me get married in a religion they don’t know anything about, and they have never once asked me what any of it means.

That is the part nobody warns you about.

People assume the hard thing about my marriage is the obvious thing. I am Vietnamese. My wife is Bangladeshi. We live in Czechia. Three countries in one kitchen and none of them is the same country.

Honestly, that part has been fine.

The hard part was a small wooden altar in my parents’ home …

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What my parents were actually afraid of?

When I became Muslim, my parents didn’t sit me down and say they were worried about my soul. They were worried about their son leaving.

In their head it came out as a list, and I understand the list now much better than I did at the time.

• No more eating whatever is on the table (everything has to be halal)

• No more ancestor worshiping

• No more bowing to my grandparents at Tet holiday

• No more altar (as all Vietnamese family have at home)

They thought accepting Islam meant I was rejecting being Vietnamese. That I had looked at everything they raised me with and put it in a box by the door and leave it.

And here is the thing I will not pretend about:

They had watched something take their son somewhere they could not follow him.

All parents would panic.

My dad didn’t say much at all.

What I understood, eventually, was that he thought I had lost my freedom. That his son was now bowing to something he cannot see, taking orders from a book, giving up his own mind.

He never argued with me. He just went quiet.

I would take the arguing. Arguing means you are still in the room.

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Why I am telling you this in a post about marriage?

Because if you are a revert Muslim, these two things are not separate events.

They are one event.

Nobody in my family sat down and had a conversation about interracial marriage. To them, marrying a Bangladeshi Muslim woman and leaving Vietnamese life behind were the same sentence. One thing happened, not two.

A born Muslim who marries across culture has one problem to solve.

Culture.

A revert Muslim who marries across culture has two problems stacked on top of each other. Culture, and the fact that your family already thinks they lost you once.

So when your parents react badly to your spouse, listen carefully to what they are actually mourning. It is very often not your spouse.

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What Islam says, and it is not subtle

I want to be honest here, because a lot of Muslim families have quietly swapped their religion for their ethnicity and never noticed.

The Prophet ﷺ named the four things people marry for:

A woman is married for four things: her wealth, her lineage, her beauty and her religion. So choose the one with religion, may your hands be dusty.

(Sahih al-Bukhari 5090)

Read that list again.

Lineage is on it.

He didn’t pretend people ignore family background.

He named it, and then he told you to override it. That is a completely different instruction from 'background does not exist’.

Then there is this, and I think it is the most underused ayah in the whole conversation:

And of His signs is that He created for you from yourselves mates that you may find tranquillity in them; and He placed between you affection and mercy.

(Quran 30:21)

Now read the very next verse:

And of His signs is the creation of the heavens and the earth and the diversity of your languages and your colors.

(Quran 30:22)

Marriage is a sign of Allah. Your different languages and colours are a sign of Allah. They are sitting next to each other in the same passage.

Not a problem to be managed. A sign.

And the Prophet ﷺ did not leave this as a nice idea. He went out and broke his own society’s rules on purpose.

• He arranged for Zayd ibn Haritha, a former slave, to marry Zaynab bint Jahsh, a noblewoman of Quraysh and his own cousin. She did not want it at first. An ayah came down about it.

• Bilal, an Abyssinian who had been enslaved and tortured in Mecca, married into the family of Abdur Rahman ibn Awf, one of the wealthiest Qurayshis alive.

• He advised Fatimah bint Qays, a Qurayshi woman, to marry Usamah ibn Zayd, the son of a freed slave. (Sahih Muslim 1480)

Every one of those marriages was designed to offend somebody.

So if your family’s objection is ‘he is not one of us’, that objection was already dismantled fourteen hundred years ago by the man they claim to follow.

Rejecting someone over character is a parent’s right. Debt, temper, how he treats his own mother, all fair.

Rejecting someone over ethnicity is not a preference. It is a sickness that learned how to talk politely.

Now the strongest argument against me

I don’t want to write a post where everyone who disagrees with me is just a racist uncle. So let me give you the serious version of the other side.

Dr. Umar Johnson, from a Pan-Africanist position, argues something like this:

• Marriage is a merger of assets, not just a feeling.

• When people with status and money marry outside the community, those assets leave with them.

• Children of mixed marriages often end up with a loyalty that points somewhere else.

• And some people who marry out are not choosing a person. They are climbing a ladder they secretly believe in, which he calls a racial inferiority complex.

I am not going to wave that away, because a couple of those points are true and Muslims should be honest about it.

That last one especially.

There are people who marry out because somewhere deep down they think white is better, or Arab is better, or lighter is better. That is real. It is also a disease of the heart, and Islam already has a word for it.

But here is where the argument breaks for me.

It measures everything by whether the group gets stronger. Islam does not measure that way. It measures by taqwa, one person at a time, and it says so out loud:

O mankind, indeed We have created you from male and female and made you peoples and tribes that you may know one another. Indeed, the most noble of you in the sight of Allah is the most righteous of you.

(Quran 49:13)

Peoples and tribes exist so you can recognise each other. Not so you can rank each other. And then there is the thing that made me sit up.

That argument is the exact same argument a Muslim family uses to reject a revert.

— Our resources
— Our language
— Our loyalty
— Our grandchildren
— What will people say

I read a testimony while I was writing this about a ten year relationship that ended because the man was afraid his community would speak badly of his family for marrying a white revert.

Ten years.

If that logic is ugly when a Muslim family uses it, it does not become beautiful when someone else uses it. It is one argument wearing two coats.

Although I will give it this. There is a version of the fear that is legitimate, and my own mom is holding it.

A community whose grandchildren cannot speak its language does eventually disappear. That is not paranoia. That is arithmetic.

Which brings me back to the altar.

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The altar

Let me be clear about the one thing I cannot do.

I cannot bow to my grandparents. I cannot burn incense to them or ask them for anything. Tawhid is not a cultural preference I can trade for family peace.

But my mom thought that meant I was done being Vietnamese, and she was wrong about that, and I did not explain it well at the time.

Because filial piety is not the altar. Honouring your parents is not a Vietnamese add-on that Islam tolerates. It is a direct command, and it sits right next to worshipping Allah alone.

And then there is this ayah, which I wish somebody had shown me in my first year:

But if they endeavour to make you associate with Me that of which you have no knowledge, do not obey them but accompany them in this world with appropriate kindness.

(Quran 31:15)

Look at how precise that is.

Do not obey them in the shirk. And in the same breath, be good company to them anyway. Not polite. Not tolerant. Good company.

So what I do now is this:

I show up at Tet (Vietnamese New Year) and sit with my parents at the table.

I eat my mom’s food, and she has slowly learned which things she can make for me.

I do not bow at the altar, and I have stopped making a scene about it.

I still call and ask how they are. I am still their son.

Nobody in my family has reverted to Islam.

Nobody has asked.

That is where we are right now, and it’s okay.

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The house we actually run

For anyone in a mixed marriage, this is the practical bit, and it is simpler than people make it. Neither culture gets to be the normal one.

The moment one of them becomes the default and the other one becomes ‘her thing’, the marriage is on a clock. It might take fifteen years, but it is on a clock.

In practice, here is how it looks right now in our house:

• Vietnamese food and Bengali food both live there. Halal, both.

• Nobody’s mother’s cooking wins the argument. There is no argument.

• 3 languages in the house and our children will be behind in all three for a while.

• We do not describe anything as weird. Different is allowed to just be different.

• When Islam and culture actually conflict, Islam always wins, and we say so plainly instead of pretending there is no conflict.

That last one matters.

A lot of intercultural Muslim couples fall apart because they never once separated the religion from the customs, so every disagreement about food or clothes or in-laws turned into a fight about God.

The silence, still

I want to end where I started, because I do not have a tidy ending for it.

My parents still do not ask. Not about my wife’s country, not about my prayers, not about anything.

For a long time I tried to make them curious. I would leave openings in conversations. I would mention things.

Still nothing.

I have stopped doing that.

Not because I gave up on them. Because it turned my whole relationship with my parents into a project, and they could feel it, and it made everything worse.

Now I just try to be the argument instead of making it:

Repel by that which is better; and thereupon the one whom between you and him is enmity will become as though he was a devoted friend.

(Quran 41:34)

And on the days when I want a result and there is not one, I remember that Nuh had a son who did not come with him, and Allah told the Prophet ﷺ himself:

Indeed, you do not guide whom you like, but Allah guides whom He wills.

(Quran 28:56)

That ayah came down about his uncle. The one who protected him his whole life and still did not accept it.

If the Prophet ﷺ could not deliver his own uncle, my quiet Vietnamese dad is not a mark against me.

My job is the door.

Not the outcome.

Peace and blessings,
— The Unlikely Muslim

Sources:

(Sahih al-Bukhari 5090, the four reasons for marriage. Sahih Muslim 1480, Fatimah bint Qays and Usamah ibn Zayd. Quran 30:21 and 30:22, Surah Ar-Rum. Quran 49:13, Surah Al-Hujurat. Quran 31:15, Surah Luqman. Quran 41:34, Surah Fussilat. Quran 28:56, Surah Al-Qasas. Sahih International.)

P.S.

If you are a revert Muslim who has not told your family yet, or you told them and it went badly and now nobody mentions it, I wrote the PDF toolkit I needed and never had. It is called How Do I Tell Them? A Revert’s Survival Kit. Word for word scripts for the real talk. This is not a book of rulings. This one is a practical guide for the real conversation with your non-Muslim family.

Check it out here

I get asked a version of this question a lot.

Yes.

And it’s not new.

It’s not a handful of recent converts either, though that part of the story is real too. Islam has been in Vietnam for over a thousand years, tied to a kingdom most people outside Southeast Asia have never heard of.

As someone who reverted to Islam and grew up Vietnamese, I wanted to actually learn this history properly instead of just knowing it existed somewhere in the background.

So I did some digging.

Here’s what I found…

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It starts with a kingdom called Champa

Long before Vietnam looked like it does on a map today, there was a separate kingdom called Champa, stretching along the central and southern coast.

It lasted an incredibly long time, from roughly the 2nd century all the way to the 19th. For most of that history, Champa followed Hinduism and Buddhism, shaped by Indian traders and travelers.

It didn’t take over overnight. Between the 10th and 17th centuries, the royal court and then the wider population gradually adopted the faith.

At its peak, Champa was a genuine maritime power, and its port cities were full of scholars and traders from Persia, Arabia, and the Malay world. This wasn’t an isolated corner of the world.

It was connected to everything.

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A kingdom lost, and a people scattered

Vietnam as we know it grew southward over centuries, and that expansion came at Champa’s expense. In 1471, King Le Thanh Tong captured the Cham capital in a campaign that killed enormous numbers of people and shrank Cham territory for good. The final blow came in 1832, when Emperor Minh Mang formally annexed what was left of the kingdom.

Under Minh Mang, Islam was banned outright.

Mosques were destroyed. And in a particularly cruel form of forced assimilation, Cham Muslims were made to eat pork and lizard, foods forbidden in their faith, specifically to break their religious identity.

Thousands fled rather than stay.

Some went to Cambodia, where they founded the Kompong Cham community that still exists today. Others made it as far as Terengganu in Malaysia (Wikipedia has a solid overview of this migration and the Cham diaspora).

I think about that a lot.

A community forced to break its own religious law just to prove submission. And yet the faith didn’t disappear. It just went quiet for a while.

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Two very different ways of practicing today

Here’s something I didn’t know until I looked into it properly.

Vietnamese Muslims today aren’t one uniform group. There are two distinct branches, and they look quite different from each other.

The Sunni Cham are concentrated in An Giang province in the Mekong Delta, and in Ho Chi Minh City. They follow the Shafi’i school, keep close ties to the wider Muslim world in Malaysia, Indonesia, and Saudi Arabia, and prioritize religious education, sometimes sending students abroad to study.

Then there’s the Bani Cham, found mainly in Ninh Thuan and Binh Thuan provinces on the central coast. Their practice is syncretic, meaning it blends Islamic teaching with older Champa traditions, ancestor worship, and Brahmanic influence left over from the Hindu era.

Their religious calendar and rituals genuinely differ from orthodox Sunni practice.

Researchers who study the Bani in depth describe them as a distinct religious tradition in their own right, not simply ‘Islam done differently’ (the American Journal of Islam and Society has published detailed academic work on the Cham Bani specifically).

I find this genuinely fascinating.

A thousand years of history took one faith and let it grow into two real, separate expressions, shaped by geography and centuries of survival.

What daily life actually looks like

In the Mekong Delta villages, homes are often built on stilts, designed to handle the Mekong River’s yearly flooding.

Men commonly wear sarongs and skullcaps called pichi. Women wear colorful hijabs or a traditional scarf called the matra. The Cham language is still spoken day to day alongside Vietnamese.

Weaving matters a lot here too.

Cham women use wooden looms to produce silk and cotton fabric in red, gold, and indigo, and these textiles carry real meaning. They show up at weddings, births, and religious ceremonies, carrying identity in the pattern itself.

Food tells its own story.

The community has adapted classic Vietnamese dishes to be halal, including a halal version of ‘pho’ made with beef bone broth and proper zabiha slaughter, plus a beef sausage fermented with rice and fat and dried in the sun.

In places like Ho Chi Minh City and An Giang, halal food stalls and clothing shops have grown into a small but real local economy built specifically around Muslim daily needs.

The community is growing, and quietly

This is the part that surprised me most.

A meaningful part of that growth comes from native Vietnamese converts, not just Cham families having children or foreign Muslim workers moving in.

People are actively choosing this faith.

Many describe being drawn to the simplicity and moral clarity of Islam after a period of hardship or a genuine search for meaning.

Interestingly, around 65 percent of recent converts are women, supported by mentorship networks and a growing number of Vietnamese translations of Islamic texts.

I recognize a piece of my own story in that.

Meaning doesn’t always arrive through the path you expected. Sometimes it shows up after everything else has been stripped away.

It’s not without real struggle

I don’t want to make this sound easier than it is. A large share of the Muslim population, especially in rural areas, still lives with poverty.

Higher education attendance among Vietnamese Muslims sits under 1 percent, compared to about 3 percent nationally.

Religious schools often struggle to pay teachers or maintain buildings, leaning on donations from Malaysia, Kuwait, and Turkey to stay open.

Relations with the state carry some tension too.

Vietnam officially recognizes the Vietnam Islamic Association, but religious activity is watched closely under the country’s secular framework, and there have been reported cases of property disputes and suspicion aimed at foreign religious ties.

On a smaller, quieter level, because the community is still such a small share of the population, Muslims in visibly traditional dress often get stared at simply for standing out. Most describe this as curiosity rather than hostility, and relationships with Buddhist and Christian neighbors are generally described as respectful.

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Where things are heading

The signs point toward real, lasting growth rather than a passing moment. Vietnam has been actively building out its halal sector.

Hanoi alone welcomed about 650,000 Muslim tourists in 2024, close to 15 percent of all its international visitors, and hotels are increasingly adding prayer spaces and halal dining to keep up.

A younger generation is stepping into this too.

Second and third generation Muslims are moving into tech and tourism careers, using their multilingual, cross-cultural upbringing to push for more visibility and inclusion.

There are even plans underway for Vietnam’s first dedicated Islamic cemetery near Ho Chi Minh City, a small detail that says a lot about permanence.

A thousand years ago, traders from Persia and Arabia sailed into Champa’s ports and left something behind that outlasted an entire kingdom, a forced conversion campaign, and centuries of near invisibility.

It’s still here.

It’s still growing.

And it’s still, in its quiet way, a part of who I am too.

Sources referenced:

• Wikipedia on the Cham people

• American Journal of Islam and Society on the Cham Bani

• Vietnam Plus on the halal economy

P.S.

A thousand years of history is one thing. Telling your own family is another. If you are living that part right now, of you are the only Muslim in your family, I am building a PDF kit of scripts for exactly those conversations. Drops in a couple of weeks, with a discount for early readers. Drop REVERT in the comments and I will add you myself, Inshallah.

Everyone warns you about the hard conversation with your famly. But nobody warns you about the three months later, when you realise your phone has gone quiet.

The friends did not have a meeting and vote you out. It was softer than that. The invites thinned. The group chat moved on. The people you thought were forever slowly became people you barely speak to.

And here is the hard part:

Often nobody did anything wrong. Your shared world was built around things you have stepped away from. The bar. The parties. The late nights. When you change, the friendships change, and neither side knows how to cross the new distance.

Underneath it sits the hardest thing of all.

Losing your old circle before you have found your new one.

I experienced this.

My first Eid, I sat alone and watched other families celebrate on a screen. I learned two things that year, and I want to give them to you now:

1. Don’t wait for the old circle to come back before you build the new one.

The waiting is a trap.

It keeps you frozen, hoping the phone will ring. Meanwhile the new circle you actually need is out there, and it forms slowly, through consistent repetition, not luck.

So go where Muslims gather.

Many mosques run new Muslim or convert circles, and they are the fastest way to meet people who get your journey. If your area is thin on Muslims, start online.

Online revert community is real connection, not a lesser version of it. Find one person you can text 'did you pray today’. One prayer buddy is worth a hundred acquaintances.

And show up to the same place, again and again. The same Friday prayer. The same class. Friendship grows from familiarity. Faces become friends over weeks.

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2. The friends worth keeping are the ones still there when you reach out.

Most drift happens because both sides feel unsure and nobody says anything. So say something. ‘I know things feel different since I became Muslim. I am still me. Can we grab a coffee and talk?’

Some will come back.

Some will not.

Both answers are information, and both are okay.

One more thing I want to share with you, for the nights the loneliness feels unbearable.

Remember that the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ was not raised by Muslims either. He knew rejection from his own people. He knew isolation.

Reverts walk a road he walked first. You are lonely. But you are not the first, and you are not without example.

The early loneliness is just a season.

Keep showing up.

Peace and blessing upon you,
— The Unlikely Muslim

P.S.

So many of you have messaged me about exactly this. It is why I am building a small guide for revert Muslims, all about the family and friendship side of this journey. It is not ready yet. But if you want to be the first to know when it is, reply to this post or drop a comment and I will make sure you are on the list.

Your heart is pounding.

Your mouth goes dry.

And in that moment you try to do three impossible things at once.

— State the fact
— Defend Islam
— And win them over

Do not do all three.

Do just one first.

Here is the single idea this whole post is built on.

In the reveal phase, less is more.

Your job is not to explain Islam or debate it with them.

Your job is to state the fact, anchored in love, and then leave room for their shock. The more you over explain, the more you invite a fight.

So here are the actual words.

Swap anything in brackets for your own.

Telling a parent, face to face:

[Mum], I want to tell you something because you matter to me and I do not want to hide from you. I have become Muslim. I know that might be a shock. I am still exactly who I have always been. I still love you, and that does not change. I am not asking you to understand it today. I just did not want a wall between us.

Why this works:

It leads with the relationship. It states the fact once. It pre empts the shock instead of arguing for Islam, which is the thing that turns a reveal into a war.

If it goes badly, you have a fallback line ready:

I can see you are upset. I do not need you to respond right now. I just needed you to know. We can talk when you are ready.

And you hold one boundary, kindly:

I will not debate whether my faith is valid. But I am always happy to talk about how we move forward as a family.

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Telling someone from your family you trust first:

I told my sister before anyone else. She was gentle. And having one person in my corner carried me into the harder conversations.

I want to share something with you before anyone else, because I trust you. I have become Muslim. It has brought me a real peace I was missing. I am not sure how the rest of the family will take it, so for now I would love to just have you know.

If there is one person in your family more likely to meet you with grace, start there. You do not have to face all of them at once. And you do not have to face them without an ally.

One last thing, and it matters the most.

Telling your family that you’ve become Muslim is not a religious obligation with a deadline.

If telling them right now could put your safety, your home, or your income at risk, then waiting is not cowardice. It is wisdom. Practise quietly, keep your prayers, and let the timing be completely yours.

You cannot control how they react.

But you can control your words, your calm, and your peace.

That is enough.

That has always been enough.

If this helped, follow along. I write every week for reverts Muslims walking this exact road. Family, faith, loneliness, and finding your purpose.

Peace and blessings upon you,
— The Unlikely Muslim

I have been called small eyes more times than I can count. I have heard grown men call me ‘ching chong’ on a soccer field in Czechia like it is a joke.

For years I just called it racism.

Nothing more.

But it took me years to spot what was really going on. A man feels bigger by making another man feel smaller. That was the first ‘masculinity’ environment I grew up with.

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Scoreboard #1: High body count

Some corners of the internet say the same thing on repeat.

More women, more of a ‘man’ you are. Body count as a trophy case. Some accounts turn it into a leaderboard. Bigger numbers. More proof. More bragging rights.

I used to scroll that ‘manosphere’ content and feel two things at once.

Some of it named something real:

— Discipline
— Purpose
— Waking up early
— Building something

Respecting yourself enough to say no to junk. Those were things I was actually missing at the time, and some part of me was hungry for them.

But deep down all that talk was a rotten toxic scoreboard.

Women were just the points to collect.

Not people with their own hearts, their own families, their own worth in front of Allah. Just numbers to add up to post and brag about.

You could want discipline and still get sold a lie wrapped around it.

Scoreboard #2: Making a lot of money

Grow up in a Vietnamese household and you meet a third manhood scoreboard really fast. How much you earn. How big your house is.

Whether you can send money home. Whether you have a good career, the kind your Asian parents can brag about to their friends.

Czech society taught me the same lesson in a different accent.

Bragging about your job. Your salary. How many cars you own. Status measured in external stuff. I have sat through enough conversations, where a man’s whole value got summed up in his job title and his car brand.

Put those two together and you get a TRAP with no exit door.

Czech culture told me to chase status through money. My Vietnamese family told me the exact same thing, just with more pressure and higher stakes:

— Good career
— Good salary
— Big house
— Nice car

Good enough to make your parents proud in front of the whole Vietnamese community. I love my community. I really do.

But I have sat at enough family dinners where a man’s worth got measured out loud in how much he made, never once in how he actually treated his wife or his kids.

Scoreboard #3: Being tough next to other men

A teacher at my high school once opened a lesson on human races with a joke.

He asked the class if they knew that Asian men have the smallest size down there, in front of every Czech classmate I had. He was supposed to be teaching biology. Instead he taught the whole room that I was something to laugh at first.

I used to play soccer too.

Fans in the stadium used to called me a monkey. Some of them yelled at me that I should go open a grocery shop instead of playing football, like that was the only job an Asian guy like me was allowed to do.

One time I was sitting quietly on a bus, just reading a magazine. A skinhead walked past and spat on it. I never said a word to him. I did not need to. He had already decided what I was worth before I looked up.

For a long time I just filed all of that under racism umbrella.

It is racism.

But it took me a while to notice it was also a toxic scoreboard.

One man makes himself feel bigger by making another man feel smaller first. That was the manhood scoreboard I grew up with.

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A ‘man’ who wore Islam like a costume

Andrew Tate and his brother Tristan got arrested in Miami.

British prosecutors hit them with new charges, including rape and sex trafficking, and want to extradite them to the UK on 59 charges between the two. Both of them deny it all, and that part still has to get sorted in a courtroom.

Here is the part that never needed a courtroom in the first place:

Tate built his whole empire years ago on a business that used women and treated them like products. Webcam work. Women moved into flats, with a cut taken off whatever they earned. He said all of this himself, on camera, more than once. He has openly called himself a PIMP.

Then in 2022, right after every major platform kicked him off, he announced he had converted to Islam. People who used to work on his own team have since said the conversion looked more like a marketing trick than a real one.

I am not here to guess what is his intention.

Only Allah knows that.

But here is what I do know.

You do not get to build a business off using women and then throw on religion like a costume. Real Islam was never that.

What the Prophet ﷺ actually said

The Prophet ﷺ handed us a completely different scoreboard, and it has nothing to do with racism, body count, or bank accounts:

The most complete of the believers in faith is the one with the best character among them, and the best of you are those who are best to your women.

(Jami’ at-Tirmidhi 1162, graded hasan sahih)

Best character.

— Not most feared
— Not most in control
— Not the highest body count
— Not the fattest wallet

His own wife Aisha said something about him that every version of toxic masculinity I just listed should have to sit and reflect:

The Messenger of Allah never struck anything with his hand, neither a woman nor a servant.

(Sahih Muslim 2328a)

He led a nation.

He led armies.

He never once needed to raise a hand against a woman to prove he was a man.

Why this actually matters to all men

A lot of men at different points in their life, get pulled toward one of these toxic scoreboards. Not because we are stupid.

Because we are genuinely starving for something real.

— Discipline
— Respect

A sense that we actually matter to somebody. Those needs are real, and they do not go away just because you ignore them.

The problem is never the hunger.

The problem is what we let feed it.

A scoreboard built on fear will never give you real respect back. A scoreboard built on body count will never give you a real relationship back. A scoreboard built on your paycheck will never give you a real family back.

They just keep you chasing, one more win, one more number …

Nobody’s small eyes make him less of a man.

Nobody’s body count makes him more of one.

Nobody’s salary decides whether he is actually good to the people who depend on him.

You can win every single one of those scoreboards and still go home to people who do not actually trust you or respect you.

There was only one real scoreboard, and it was never about winning anything off of anyone else:

Would the people who have seen you at your absolute worst still call you the best man they know?

Which scoreboard did you grow up measuring yourself against?

A body count?

A bank account?

Something else nobody in your life ever put a name to until now?

Tell me below.

Mine was all three at different points.

I am still learning to walk away from every one of them.

Peace and blessings upon you,
— The Unlikely Muslim

P.S.

I am building something for revert Muslims who feel alone in front of their family. It is a small kit (PDF e-book) of the words and boundaries for the hard conversations.

The reveal, the mockery, the guilt, the loneliness. All the things I wish someone had handed me on day one. It is not ready yet, and it will be priced so anyone can afford it.

If you want it first, drop STRONG MUSLIM in the comment section and I will make sure you are on the list!

There’s a moment I keep replaying in my head.

A relative made a joke about ‘your Muslim people’ at a family dinner. It wasn’t aimed at me. It was aimed at the news. But everyone laughed a little.

I didn’t laugh. I also didn’t say anything.

I told myself I was picking my battles. I told myself this wasn’t the hill to die on. But every time I replay that dinner, that excuse gets a little weaker.

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This isn’t politeness. It’s a pattern with a name

This week I learned something that explained exactly what I’d been doing. It’s called the bystander effect.

Here’s how it works:

The more people who see something wrong happen, the less likely any one person is to speak up. Not because people are cruel. It’s because everyone assumes someone else will say something first.

Everyone in the room checks everyone else’s face for a cue. Nobody wants to be the first to react. So nobody reacts at all.

I think about what that means for a revert Muslim.

You’re sitting at a table full of relatives who raised you.

— Or in a group chat you can’t leave
— Or in a masjid where you’re still the newest face

The instinct to stay quiet and assume you’re the only one bothered isn’t weakness. It’s just this same pattern playing out.

But understanding the pattern doesn’t excuse it. It just helped me see what I was really choosing every time I went quiet.

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What Islam actually says about ‘picking your battles’

I sat with that dinner all week.

One hadith stopped me cold. I had heard it a hundred times in khutbahs and never once connected it to a joke at my own table.

Whoever amongst you sees an evil, let him change it with his hand; if he is not able to do so, then with his tongue; and if he is not able to do so, then with his heart, and that is the weakest of faith.

(Sahih Muslim 49)

I used to file that hadith under ‘big things’.

Injustice somewhere else. Something that happens to someone else. I never applied it to a silly joke that made my chest tighten while my mouth stayed shut.

The Prophet ﷺ gave us three responses to evil:

• Change it with your hand

• Change it with your tongue

• Reject it in your heart

Even the weakest option still needs your heart to reject what’s happening. That is not the same thing as laughing along and hoping the moment passes.

Allah didn’t describe this as something you carry alone in silence either. He described it as something a whole community should do together.

And let there be [arising] from you a nation inviting to [all that is] good, enjoining what is right and forbidding what is wrong, and those will be the successful.

(Surah Ali ‘Imran 3:104)

‘Those will be the successful’.

Not ‘those will be popular at dinner’. The ayah never promises the room will thank you. It promises something better than that.

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What I’m doing differently now

I’m not lecturing my family at every dinner.

I made three small changes instead:

1. I stopped waiting for someone else to react first. The bystander effect only works if everyone waits for permission. I don’t need the table’s permission to say ‘that’s not funny’.

2. I choose my tongue over my heart, even when it’s small. A calm ‘I don’t think that’s true’ costs almost nothing.

3. I stopped calling silence ‘keeping the peace’. It isn’t peace. It’s just quieter discomfort that I carry alone afterward.

Not every dinner is easy now.

My non- Muslim family and friends still says things that make my stomach drop. But the silence gets a little lighter to break each time I actually break it.

If you’ve called your silence ‘picking your battles’ too

Maybe you’re a revert Muslim who has gone quiet at your own table more times than you’d like. Maybe it’s family who don’t understand. Maybe it’s a group chat that would go cold if you spoke up.

Here’s what I want you to know:

That instinct isn’t weakness. It’s a well studied pattern that happens to almost everyone in a group.

But you can interrupt it. Not with a speech. With one honest sentence, said out loud, instead of held silently in your chest on the drive home.

Whoever amongst you sees an evil.

Not whoever feels ready. Not whoever has the perfect words.

Whoever sees it.

That was always meant to include you, at your own table, tonight.

That’s it for today.

I hope you can apply this and learn something new.

Peace and blessings upon you,

Revert Muslim aka Adam

One month ago I noticed something is wrong with my brain, and it wasn’t the thing I expected. It wasn’t doubt. It wasn’t a crisis of faith. It was quieter than that.

I couldn’t daydream anymore.

I’d try to picture good things:

• My mom finally softening about my deen

• A stable halal income

• A loving wife

• A masjid that felt like home

Not occasionally.

Every time.

Like the ‘good future’ file in my brain got deleted, and a ‘here’s what could go wrong’ file took its place — running on its own, without me even clicking it.

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You’re Not Broken. Your Brain is Just Overloaded

I read something this week that explained exactly what I’d been feeling, and it had nothing to do with Islam on the surface.

A newsletter on chronic stress laid out what elevated cortisol — the stress hormone — actually does to the brain over time, not metaphorically, structurally.

The hippocampus is the part of your brain that handles memory and the ability to imagine future scenarios. It’s covered in cortisol receptors.

Short bursts of stress are fine — that’s how you learn from a real threat. But chronic, unrelenting cortisol causes something called dendritic atrophy: the branches of the neurons in that region physically retract.

The hippocampus shrinks.

And the capacity that goes with it isn’t creativity in the artistic sense — it’s the basic human ability to mentally project into a future that’s different from right now.

Here’s the part that stopped me:

The imagination doesn’t just go quiet.

It gets hijacked.

The brain keeps using its future-projection machinery. Just now it’s aimed entirely at rehearsing threats instead of picturing rest, or a wife, or reconciliation, or ease.

Chronic cortisol doesn’t only make the present feel dangerous. It makes the future feel inaccessible.

Read that as a revert Muslim carrying:

• Years of unresolved tension with family

• An uncertain rizq situation

• A community you’re still not fully inside of

That’s not a spiritual failing. That’s a nervous system that’s been running hot for too long. I needed to hear that before I could fix anything.

For weeks, I quietly assumed that not being able to picture a good future meant my iman was weak, or my tawakkul wasn’t real.

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The One Ayah That Flipped Everything

I sat with this the same night I read that newsletter.

And one ayah kept coming back to me. The same way it’s come back to people for fourteen centuries, whenever their minds were doing exactly what mine was doing:

For indeed, with hardship [will be] ease. Indeed, with hardship [will be] ease.

(Surah Ash-Sharh 94:5–6)

Scholars point out something interesting in the Arabic grammar here.

‘Hardship’ (al-’usr) is repeated both times with ‘the’ in front of it — meaning it’s the same hardship each time. But ‘ease’ (yusr) is repeated without ‘the’ — meaning it’s a different ease each time.

In other words:

One hardship, but two eases. Not a fair trade. Ease wins.

That’s not a vague comfort verse. That’s Allah directly contradicting the exact lie chronic cortisol tells your hippocampus:

That the future is just more of the same threat, on repeat, forever.

Then there’s the hadith that made it personal instead of just conceptual.

Allah says, in a hadith qudsi:

I am as My servant thinks I am.

(Sahih al-Bukhari 7405, Sahih Muslim 2675 / 40 Hadith Qudsi 15)

If chronic stress rewires your brain to only rehearse worst-case outcomes, and Allah is telling you He meets you exactly where your expectations of Him are. Then that anxious rehearsal isn’t harmless. It’s quietly shaping how you relate to Allah, without you even realizing it.

I wasn’t just failing to picture a good future. I was quietly expecting a bad one from Allah Himself, on autopilot, without ever deciding to.

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What I’m Doing Differently Right Now

No therapy-speak.

Just three things I started doing the day I read this:

1. I name the rehearsal out loud the second I catch it. Not ‘I'm anxious’. Something specific, like: ‘I'm rehearsing my mom's reaction again’. Naming the exact loop stops it from running silently in the background.

2. I say ‘Alhamdulillah ‘ala kulli hal’ — praise be to Allah in every state, before the spiral finishes. Not after it resolves. Right in the middle of it. It breaks the loop, the same way the ayah breaks the assumption that hardship gets the last word.

3. I picture one specific good outcome, out loud or in writing, every time I catch the spiral. Not vague, like ‘things will be fine’. Specific, like: ‘I picture my mom eating iftar at my table just one Ramadan’. The hippocampus needs practice running the other direction. It shrank from repetition, it rebuilds from repetition too.

None of this erased the real uncertainty.

My mom might not become Muslim. The rizq might stay tight for a while longer. I still don’t fully know what my future looks like.

But within two weeks, I noticed something:

I could picture good things again.

Not all the time.

But more than zero, which is where I’d been stuck.

That’s it for today.

Peace and blessings upon you, see you on the next one!

— Revert Muslim aka Adam

Growing up, gratitude in my house was a performance with an audience.

Christmas dinner.

Everyone around the table. My Czech grandmother listing what she was thankful for that year, then pointing at each of us to do the same, out loud, in front of everyone.

Gratitude was never private in my family. It was witnessed. It was supposed to be witnessed — that was half the point.

Seven years into Islam, I opened a newsletter this morning announcing a 15-day gratitude challenge. A journal called the Shukr Lifestyle.

Every day for 15 days, you read a verse or hadith about gratitude, write down three specific things you’re thankful for, and do one small gratitude-in-action task.

I downloaded it in about four seconds.

Then I sat with my coffee and realised something that stopped me before I’d even opened day one. I’m going to do this whole thing alone.

Nobody Tells You Gratitude Gets Quiet When You Revert to Islam

Here’s what nobody prepares you for:

Before Islam, my biggest gratitude moments had a room full of witnesses. A promotion. A graduation. A good exam. Someone always clapped.

After Islam, my biggest gratitude moments are invisible to almost everyone I know.

Grateful I didn’t miss Fajr today, even half-asleep.

Nobody claps for that.

Grateful I finally understood one ayah I’d read forty times before.

Nobody at family dinner is asking me about that.

Grateful my heart softened toward my mom again after a hard phone call, instead of staying cold. That one doesn’t even have words in Vietnamese that carry the same meaning.

My family doesn’t share these categories of gratitude with me anymore.

Not because they don’t love me.

They do — but because the thing I’m most thankful for now is a relationship they can’t see and mostly don’t understand.

So for a long time I just ... stopped saying it out loud. If nobody’s going to receive it, why perform it?

That’s the wrong question.

I know that now.

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The Hadith That Reframed The Whole Problem

The Prophet ﷺ said:

Islam began as something strange, and it will return to being strange just as it began, so blessed are the strangers.

(Sahih Muslim 145)

When he was asked who the strangers were, one narration records the answer as:

Those who separate themselves from their tribe and kin for the sake of their religion.

Read that again.

— That’s not a sad description

— That’s a title

Blessed are the strangers.

The strangeness isn’t a bug in the revert Muslim experience. It’s the exact thing the Prophet ﷺ told us to expect — and told us was honoured.

Which means the gratitude nobody at my table can witness isn’t gratitude that’s failing to land. It’s gratitude with only one Witness who was ever going to matter.

And [remember] when your Lord proclaimed: ‘If you are grateful, I will surely increase you [in favor]; but if you deny, indeed, My punishment is severe.’

(Surah Ibrahim 14:7)

Allah didn’t say ‘if you are grateful in front of people’.

He said if you are grateful.

Full stop.

The transaction was never routed through an audience.

It was routed through Him.

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What I’m Actually Doing For the Next 15 Days

I’m not waiting for a table full of people who understand what I’m thankful for. I’m starting today, alone, with three simple habits:

Naming it specifically, not generally.

Not ‘grateful for my deen’.

Too broad, too vague, it stops meaning anything after the first week.

Today’s specific one:

I’m grateful the bus was five minutes late, which meant I caught it instead of standing in the July heat for twenty more minutes. Small. Real. Named.

Writing it down where no one else has to see it.

A private note on my phone.

Three lines a day.

— Not for the algorithm

— Not for anyone’s approval

For the record between me and Allah that this happened and I noticed.

Doing one small gratitude action daily, even a tiny one.

Today:

Texting a brother in my community something I appreciate about him, instead of just thinking it and moving on.

Gratitude that stays only in your head starts to calcify. It needs a body — a word said, a message sent, a knee bent in sujood.

— None of this requires my family to understand it

— None of it requires anyone at that family table to nod along

It only requires me to actually do it, in the quiet, day after day, whether or not it’s witnessed.

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If You’re the Only One at Your Table Doing This

If you’re a revert Muslim reading this and your gratitude has gone quiet because nobody around you shares the categories anymore — I want you to hear this clearly:

You are not failing at shukr because no one claps.

You are one of the strangers the Prophet ﷺ described fourteen centuries before you were born. He knew this exact loneliness would exist. He called it blessed, not broken.

Say the alhamdulillah anyway.

Write the three things down anyway.

Let the only witness that was ever going to count be the One who already knows before you’ve said a word.

If you are grateful, I will surely increase you. Not ‘if you are grateful and someone notices’. Just — grateful.

I’m doing all 15 days of this challenge starting today, and I want company.

If you want to do the Shukr Lifestyle journal alongside me — three things a day, one small gratitude action, for 15 days …

… comment SHUKR in the chat below and I’ll share the day-by-day prompts here on Substack so none of us has to do this one totally alone.

Peace and blessing upon you,

— Revert Muslim aka Adam

P.S.

Still building the private support community for revert Muslims — a space to hold each other accountable in faith, share the journey, and build connections together, priced so anyone can afford it. If you haven’t yet, drop REVERT below in the comment section and I’ll add you to the early list!

The first time I noticed the Hijri new year, I was 8 months into my Shahada and sitting in an apartment in late summer.

A brother forwarded me a WhatsApp message.

1442 Hijri Mubarak akhi!

I had no idea what he was talking about. I had to Google Hijri calendar. I had to Google Muharram.I had to Google why Muslims have their own calendar.

That moment is when it hit me …

… really hit me — that I had walked into a 1,400-year-old civilisation, and I was missing the basic infrastructure of how Muslims keep time.

It was embarrassing in the way only reverts know.

Because no one was embarrassing me.

I was just quietly aware that the people around me had grown up inside this rhythm, and I had been parachuted into the middle of it without a map.

This week, 1448 Hijri began.

I’m 7 years in. I came to Islam alone, in a country with maybe 4,000 Muslims, with no family on this path with me.

And I want to share with you this post I would have needed in 1442.

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What the Hijri calendar actually is — and why reverts get it deeper than anyone else

The Hijri calendar does not start with the birth of the Prophet ﷺ.

— It does not start with the first revelation
— It does not start with the conquest of Makkah
— It starts with the Hijra — the migration

The moment the Prophet ﷺ and Abu Bakr (RA) left Makkah, the city where they were born, the city of their tribes and family and history, and walked toward Madinah with almost nothing.

They left the familiar to build the unfamiliar.

They left a hostile environment to build a community where Islam could breathe.

They left who they were so they could become who Allah needed them to be.

If you are a revert Muslim reading this — that is exactly your story.

— You left the food you were raised on
— You left the friends who only knew the old you
— You left the holidays your family built their year around

You are in hijra. Right now. Every day.

The calendar was literally designed around the experience you are living.

That is not a coincidence. That is called mercy.

What I got wrong in my first Hijri new year — and probably for the next 3

For the first three Muharrams of my life as a Muslim, I treated the Hijri new year like a smaller, more religious version of January 1st.

I made goals.

Long lists.

Specific ones.

→ Memorise Surah Al-Mulk by the end of the year
→ Read 30 pages of Sirah a week
→ Pray every Fajr in the masjid for 12 months straight
→ Give a percentage of every paycheck
→ Learn 200 Arabic vocab words

I crushed it for 3 weeks.

I limped through month 2.

By month 4 I had quit all of it and made a private deal with Allah that next Muharram I would try again.

I did this for three years in a row.

Three years of the same lists. Three years of the same mistakes. Three years of pretending it was fine because next year I would be different.

What I now understand — only because Allah was patient with me — is that I was asking the wrong question.

I kept asking:

What should I do this year?

The question I should have been asking is:

How am I going to do what I am already doing?

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The shift that changed everything

A productivity coach I follow wrote something this week that finally crystallised the lesson 7 years of failure had been trying to teach me.

He said we obsess over the WHAT (goals, projects, plans) and the WHY (intentions, niyyah).

But we never ask about the HOW.

Not the HOW of skills.

The HOW of character.

→ How will you pray this year?
→ How will you read the Quran this year?
→ How will you talk to your parents this year?
→ How will you respond when someone asks why you became Muslim?
→ How will you walk into the mosque this year?

The HOW is everything.

You can pray 5 times a day with the spiritual presence of a vending machine and walk into your grave with very little.

You can also pray 5 times a day with the same body posture but with your heart genuinely turned, and Allah will receive that as if it were the prayer of someone far greater.

— Same act
— Same calendar
— Same hours

Wildly different deen.

What I’m actually committing to for 1448

I am not setting Hijri ‘goals’ this year anymore.

Instead, I am setting Hijri questions.

I am going to live them as 1448 unfolds.

Here are the 5 I’m carrying right now:

1. How will I pray differently in 1448 than I did in 1447?

Not more.

Not faster.

Not longer.

Differently.

For me that means:

Putting my phone in the next room before every prayer. No exceptions.

This year my prayers come first. The notifications on the phone can wait.

»

2. How will I read the Quran differently in 1448?

Last year I tried to finish the Quran on a schedule. I failed every schedule.

This year, one ayah a day.

Just one.

Read it.

Read the translation.

Sit with it for 60 seconds before moving on with my day.

365 ayat in a year.

Deep, not wide.

»

3. How will I show up for my family differently in 1448?

My mom is not a Muslim.

My father is not a Muslim.

My sister is not Muslim.

My brother thinks I joined ‘Mad Max 9/11 Squad’.

I have spent 7 years explaining.

— Defending
— Sometimes lecturing

This year I am done with that.

This year I just show up. Without correcting. Without translating Islam into Vietnamese filial duty just to make them comfortable. Without performing.

— Just present
— Just kind

Just there for the Tet holidays and the birthdays and the Sunday calls — with no agenda except being their good son and brother.

Allah will move their hearts if and when He wills. That is not my job.

My job is to be a good son and brother they cannot accuse of becoming worse after Islam.

»

4. How will I handle money differently in 1448?

I caught a line in another newsletter this week, a sister called Mifrah Mahroof — and she named the lie cleanly:

The job provides.

That is the lie quietly killing ambitious revert Muslims.

The truth is Allah provides.

The job is a means.

The job is not the source.

Treating your salary like the source is a small shirk you commit at the start of every month when you build your life around the paycheck instead of around the One who sends it.

In 1448, every business decision passes through one question first:

Am I trusting Allah here, or am I just managing my fear?

»

5. How will I love the Prophet ﷺ differently in 1448?

A name.

A title.

A figure I respect.

That is not enough anymore.

This year I am reading the Sirah slowly. The way you read about someone you actually want to know.

I want to be able to say, by 1449, that the Prophet ﷺ feels less like history and more like a man I would definitely recognise on the street.

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If you are still in your first Hijri year …

Do not start with goals.

Start with one how.

Pick one act of worship you are already doing, and ask:

How am I doing this?

That is the entire reset.

Allah does not need you to add 14 new ibadat on top of a brittle foundation.

He needs you to put your full heart into the foundation that is already there.

O believers! Do not waste your charity with reminders ˹of your generosity˺ or hurtful words. (Surah Al-Baqarah 2:264)

Allah is showing us in that ayah that even good deeds done with bad character can be cancelled.

The how is not a soft topic. It is the topic.

One last thing — for revert Muslim brothers and sisters …

If you are in your first Muharram and you feel disoriented — like everyone around you already knows the rhythm and you are quietly looking it up on your phone under the table at iftar — I see you.

I was you 7 years ago.

You are not behind.

You are in your hijra.

The whole calendar was built around what you are doing right now.

The brothers and sisters with 30 years of ‘Muslim by birth’ cannot give you that. They have a different journey. Theirs is beautiful too.

But yours has something theirs cannot have — the moment you chose.

That moment is your Madinah.

Walk toward it.

Year after year.

HOW matters more than WHAT.

Heart matters more than calendar.

1448 Mubarak.

— Revert Muslim aka Adam

P.S.

I'm still building out the private support community for revert Muslims (born Muslims can also join) — a space where we hold each other accountable in faith, share the journey, and build halal businesses together.

If you saw last week's post and didn't comment yet, it's not too late. Drop REVERT below and I'll add you to the early list. The community will be priced so anyone can afford it InshaAllah!

Someone messaged me on Substack this week.

He wrote:

I’m considering reverting, but I’m trying to understand Islam better. I’m impressed with Muslims and feel a lot of what I hear sounds true.

I read that message three times.

Because I wrote something almost identical in a journal back in 2019.

I was sitting alone in my apartment in Vietnam before I ever said the shahada.

I’ve been Muslim for 7 years right now. I’m Vietnamese, I grew up in Czechia, and I came to Islam with no family support, no Muslim community around me, and no roadmap.

Nobody handed me a guide.

I made most of my mistakes by discovering things too late.

So this is the letter I would have needed back then. For everyone currently in that quiet, searching phase.

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1. The Shahada Is The Beginning, Not the Finish Line

Everyone talks about the moment of conversion like it’s the final destination.

It really isn’t.

The shahada is the starting point of the hardest, most beautiful work of your life.

The emotional high after conversion is real.

And it lasts maybe a few weeks. Then the daily reality of being Muslim begins.

• The five prayers (every single day)

• The learning (every single day)

• The discipline (every single day)

• The moments you fail and try again (every single day)

New revert Muslims sometimes hit a wall a few months in and think:

Something is wrong with me. I felt so certain. Now it feels like a struggle.

Nothing is wrong.

That’s just what spiritual growth feels like when the initial rush clears. The shahada is a just door. What you find on the other side requires years of walking and discipline.

2. You Will Lose Some People, And That's Okay

Some friendships won’t survive your Islam.

Not because those people are bad people. But because you’re changing, and change disrupts equilibrium.

The friends who only knew you as the guy who drank with them on every Friday nights won’t know what to do with the version of you that declines alcohol and leaves early to pray. Because you start to be so boring in their eyes.

Some will get curious.

Some will mock you.

Some will quietly drift away.

I lost friendships I thought were permanent. And I grieved that.

But I also noticed something else:

The friends who stayed, or the new people I met through Islam, turned out to be relationships built on something more durable than shared habits.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

A person is on the religion of his close friend, so let each one of you look at whom he befriends.

Your social circle will definitely change.

That’s not a loss.

That’s called pruning.

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3. Muslim Culture ≠ Islam

This was the hardest lesson for me as a Vietnamese guy living in Czechia.

When you walk into Muslim spaces, you don’t just encounter Islam.

You encounter:

— Arab culture

— Pakistani culture

— Turkish culture

— Indonesian culture

All of it wrapped around Islamic practice in ways that are genuinely difficult to untangle. Not everything that feels Islamic is actually Islamic.

Specific styles of dress. Certain social hierarchies. Rules about who speaks to whom. Cultural assumptions about gender, family, hospitality.

Some of it is beautiful and worth learning. Some of it has nothing to do with the Qur’an or Sunnah.

Learning to tell the difference takes years. And it requires actually reading and studying, not just absorbing whatever the community around you does.

The Islam is perfect.

The people carrying it are not.

Including me.

4. Nobody Expects You To Be Perfect — Except Yourself

The standards new reverts set for themselves are often impossible.

You feel like you need to learn everything immediately.

Pray perfectly from day one.

Know every ruling.

Master the Arabic pronunciation.

Dress correctly in every context.

Answer every question confidently.

Meanwhile — the born Muslims around you, people who have been doing this for 30+ years, are still making mistakes, still learning, still asking scholars for guidance.

The bar you’ve set for yourself as someone with 6 months of experience would humble people with 20 years of experience.

Give yourself the same grace you’d give anyone starting something genuinely hard.

The Prophet ﷺ was gentle with new Muslims. He didn’t load them with rulings on day one. He taught them gradually.

You’re allowed to grow at the pace Allah has set for you — not the pace you’ve set for yourself.

5. Your Questions Are Not a Sign Of Weak Faith

When I was in the searching phase, I asked uncomfortable questions.

Why does Islam say this?

What about that contradiction?

Doesn’t this teaching conflict with what I understand about Buddhism?

Some people got nervous when I asked.

Like the questions themselves were dangerous.

But here’s what I’ve come to understand:

Your doubts and questions are not a sign of weak iman. They’re a sign of a serious mind taking this seriously.

The Quran itself invites deep reflection:

Do they not contemplate within themselves? (30:8)

The scholars of Islam built an entire intellectual tradition on asking hard questions and logical reasoning through them carefully.

The great imams disagreed with each other.

— They debated

— They questioned

Faith that can’t survive a hard question was never solid to begin with.

Ask everything.

Read widely.

Seek scholars who welcome the hard question, not ones who make you feel like curiosity is a sin.

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6. Mahr Is Not What You Think It Is

If you’re a man considering Islam, and thinking about marriage eventually — mahr will come up.

Most people assume it’s a bride price. A transaction. The man pays, the family receives, the deal is done.

That’s not what mahr is.

Yaqeen Institute issued a newsletter this week with a title that stopped me:

A cat as mahr?

The Prophet ﷺ said:

Seek a mahr, even if it is an iron ring.

Mahr doesn’t have to be gold. It doesn’t have to be expensive. It has been given as a commitment to teach her Quran. As something small and symbolic between two people.

What makes mahr distinct is who it belongs to.

— Not her father

— Not her family

— Not the celebration fund

Hers. Entirely. Her right.

In a world where marriage is routinely transactional, where dowries and family negotiations and social status dominate, Islam says:

Before you do anything else, give her something that is only for her.

That one concept changed how I understood what Islamic marriage is actually designed to look like.

7. The Ummah Will Surprise You

Before I took my shahada, I imagined the Muslim world as monolithic.

A single culture.

A single look.

A single way of being Muslim.

What I actually found out:

A Vietnamese guy living in Czechia (me), making sujood next to a Bangladeshi restaurant owner, a Kazachstani factory worker, and a Czech woman who reverted to Islam three years ago — all using the same Arabic words, calling on the same God.

That moment hit me in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

The ummah is not a culture. It’s a community of people from every background, every ethnicity, every profession — held together by something that transcends all of it.

You will find people who look nothing like you and feel more like family than people you’ve known for years.

That’s not just a nice thing about Islam.

That’s the proof of concept.

That’s the proof, that in Islam - there is no racism.

That’s the proof, that Islam is religion for every human being.

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If you’re still in the searching phase …

Take your time.

You don’t have to have everything figured out today. You don’t have to convince yourself of every ruling before you take the next step.

The questioning phase is not a detour.

It’s the foundation.

Allah draws people toward truth in their own time, through their own journey. The fact that you’re curious, that something keeps pulling you back, that you’re reading at midnight and wondering — that is not an accident.

When the time comes, you’ll know.

And if you want to talk through any of it — my DMs are open.

Peace and blessings upon you,

— Revert Muslim aka Adam

P.S.

I'm planning to build a private support community exclusively for revert Muslims — a space where we hold each other accountable in faith and personal development, share the journey, and build halal businesses together to make a real impact on this world.

Networking, brotherhood and sisterhood, and genuine growth — all in one place. And it will be priced so that everyone can afford it. If you're interested, drop REVERT in the comments and I'll set it up as soon as possible. Your response tells me you're ready!

Today’s word count: 389

It took me 1min 38s to read this.

So let’s dive in 👇

=====

The day I took Shahada, the mosque was electric, loud.

Brothers hugging me.

— Tears

— Takbirs

Just pure joy.

Then I went home.

And it was quiet.

Not peaceful quiet. The other kind.

The kind where you realise no one actually told you what comes next.

The Party Ends Fast

Nobody warns you about the silence after Shahada.

Especially if you are revert Muslim.

One minute you’re the centre of attention. The next, you’re alone with a YouTube tutorial trying to figure out how to pray.

I tried connecting with born Muslims.

But honestly?

It was hard.

Different mindset.

Different culture.

Different everything.

And back home, my family wasn’t exactly throwing a celebration either.

They laughed.

They mocked.

They had a plan for me — to become a doctor or lawyer, the typical Asian parent dream …

… and I had just swapped it for a prayer mat and a new identity.

Old friends went quiet too.

One by one, the group chats went cold.

Some people had been told Muslims were dangerous.

They believed it.

That was that.

So there I was. Not fully accepted by the Muslim community. Rejected by my old world. Stuck in the middle of nowhere.

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What Actually Helped

Here’s what I learned about surviving that in-between place:

Stop waiting to be invited. Step out from your comfort zone.

The community won’t always come to you. Show up anyway — classes, events, the Friday’s prayers. Repeat until familiar faces become real ones.

1. Own your story. You don’t have to be a born Muslim to belong here. Converts carry a perspective the Ummah needs. Don’t shrink it.
   

2. Audit your energy leaks. The loneliness hits harder when everything else is draining you too — the family comments, the notifications, the unfinished thoughts at 2am. Cut the noise. Protect what little space you have.
   

3. Find one person. Not a whole community. Just one person who doesn’t make you feel like an outsider. That’s the starting point.

Solitude isn’t the same as loneliness.

Build habits that fill you:

— Read Quran

— Take a walk without your phone

— Join online Muslim communities to connect

Let your own company become enough.

The isolation after Shahada is real. It’s also temporary, if you’re intentional about it. You didn’t choose the wrong path. You just chose a harder one.

Peace and blessings upon you.

— Revert Muslim (aka Adam)

=====

P.S.

I’m thinking of building something for Muslims who want to grow their audience on Substack.

A useful digital toolkit:

— Templates

— Swipe files

— System

To simply help you build an audience and earn halal online income on Substack. No experience needed. No specific niche required.

It won’t be free.

But it’ll be priced so anyone can access it, InshaAllah!

If that’s something you’d want ...

Reply to this email or send me DM on Substack.

Just say: “Interested”

If at least 5 of you respond, I’ll build it.

=====

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Today’s word count: 417

It took me 1min 44s to read this.

So let’s dive right in 👇

=====

I’ve got a confession: I’m an adult with a “baby” brain …

At least, that’s how it feels when I’m sitting in a circle of 7-year-olds at the mosque. They’re reciting the Quran like it’s a pop song.

I’m still trying to remember which side of my face to wash first during Wudu. Most people think that when you take the Shahada, you instantly become a practicing pro.

But for many of us, the journey is non-linear.

You might reverted to Islam in 2019, but not actually figure out how to pray five times a day until 2023. That was my case …

That gap is full of “imposter syndrome”. We feel like “atheists in a headscarf” because we aren’t doing the “big” stuff yet.

But here’s the thing: Beginner’s mind is a superpower.

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In Japan, they call it Shoshin. It’s the art of approaching something with zero preconceptions and total curiosity.

Most adults avoid being beginners at all costs. We hate feeling incompetent. We hate looking like we don’t know the “basic” rules.

So we stay stuck.

Safe.

But spiritually bored.

The Ant Strategy

There was a famous scholar named Al-Kisa’i. He’s a legend in Arabic grammar, but he almost quit because Arabic was too hard.

He was ready to walk away until he saw an ant trying to carry a piece of food up a wall. The ant fell. It tried again. It fell. It tried again.

Eventually, the ant made it.

Al-Kisa’i realized: If an ant can persist, so can I. He became a master because he wasn’t afraid to keep being a “beginner” until it stuck.

Your Challenge

If you’ve been “Muslim in name” for years but are scared to start practicing because you’ll “do it wrong”, give yourself permission to be bad at it.

Here is how to eat the elephant: One bite at a time.

• Start with one prayer. Pick the easiest one for your schedule (like Maghrib) and just commit to that for three weeks.

• Use a Cheat Sheet. Keep your Notes app open on your prayer mat with the transliterations. There is no shame in reading off a screen while you learn the movements.

• Find a “Safe” Mentor. Find one person (or a non-judgmental tutor) who won’t roll their eyes when you ask “basic” questions.

Embrace the magic of the beginner’s mind.

I’ve got an Arabic alphabet class with a group of first-graders next week. I’m planning on earning a gold star.

Stay humble and keep learning.

Peace and blessings upon you.

— Revert Muslim (aka Adam)

=====

P.S.

I’m thinking of creating digital product.

The idea is a toolkit to help you build an audience and monetize on Substack — no experience needed, no particular niche required.

It won’t be free. But it will be priced so it’s accessible to everyone, In sha Allah.

If you’re interested in something like that ...

1. Reply to this email

2. Say “Interested”

If at least 10 of you respond, I’ll go ahead and create it.

=====

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Today’s word count: 216

It took me 55s to read this.

When I was younger, I used to partner with anyone I thought had a ‘business mindset’.

I was totally wrong.

I’ve since learned that true success isn’t just about technical skill, it’s about the divine blessing — Barakah.

Now, instead of rushing into business deals and quick bucks, I follow the Omar Khattab standard to look past “apparent piety” and see a person’s true nature.

You don’t truly know a person until you’ve traveled with them.

So that you can see their real behaviour under stress and observed how they treat their own family and others.

The secret to massive growth and Barakah is the ‘Rotation System’ - a partnership where one person handles the business while the other focuses on growth and knowledge, sharing everything they learn.

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This level of mutual support allows you to achieve more with less time, often increasing your wealth even when you are giving half away.

If you want to stop the cycle of failed business partnerships, stop looking for ‘mindsets’ and instead start auditing for character using the 3-step Omar Khattab framework:

1. Travel with that person

2. Observe how they treat they family

3. Observe how they treat others

Stop gambling and start building real business with the patience that a lifetime partnership requires.

Stay humble.

Be cautious.

— Revert Muslim aka Adam

Want more OMB (one minute blogs)?

Hit reply and let me know! (I read every email and DMs, seriously.)

To me, I treat you like family.

So I’m only going to recommend what I actually trust with my own money.

I don’t want to waste time second-guessing every trade or hunting for Shariah compliance.

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This is the One Minute Blog (OMB). A short email of good stuff for you to think about over the weekend, that takes about a minute to read.

Today’s word count: 341

It took me 1 min 15s to read this.

When I was 18, I had a massive identity crisis.

I played a constant mental tug-of-war, wondering if:

Am I “white” enough? Am I “yellow” enough?

Like most Banana kiddos, I was already living in two worlds and fitting perfectly into neither. We feel too Vietnamese for the Czechs, and too Czech for the Vietnamese.

Then, I introduced a third factor. I became Muslim.

Suddenly, I was an alien among aliens.

The breaking point happened when I finally drew a line in the sand and stopped attending traditional Vietnamese events, specifically worshipping our ancestors.

My mom was incredibly upset.

My sister complained that she couldn’t even talk to me normally anymore because I had accepted some “weird” religion.

To them, refusing to burn incense wasn’t a theological choice, it was a total rejection of my bloodline and my identity.

For a while, that alienation stung. I felt completely isolated.

But here is the harsh, liberating truth:

Isolation is the price of elevation.

Most people try to water down their faith to keep the peace. They’ll light the incense, or eat “just a little” pork at Tet (Vietnamese Lunar Year), just to save their faces.

They choose comfort over truth.

But breaking those rules for “peace” is a sign of weakness.

When my family accused me of abandoning them, I had to realize I wasn’t abandoning them at all. I was upgrading my care for them.

Instead of offering dead ancestors a bowl of fruit and incense that does absolutely nothing , I was offering the only thing that actually works: Dua to the Creator.

You are not a bad son or daughter for prioritizing Allah (SWT) over cultural baggage.

You are stepping up, you are growing.

If you are feeling like an outsider right now, ridiculed by atheists at work, and misunderstood by your own family at home, that’s good.

You aren’t confused, you are on the right path.

Stop apologizing for your faith.

Walk tall.

— Revert Muslim aka Adam

Want more OMB (one minute blogs)?

Hit reply and let me know! (I read every email, seriosly.)

P.S. Are you the only Muslim in your family? Hit reply and tell me your wildest “cultural clash” story.

To me, you’re family.

So I’m only going to recommend what I actually trust with my own money.

I don’t want to spend my time second-guessing every trade or scouring fine print for Shariah compliance.

With Amal Invest, I can access thousands of funds from names like Vanguard and Fidelity, knowing the screening is already done.

Want in? Start investing the halal way with Amal Invest!

I used to think discipline meant grinding harder. Push through exhaustion. Force yourself no matter what.

You know the drill.

Wake up at 5 AM, work out, cold shower, hustle all day, rinse and repeat.

And sure, I'd last maybe a week. Then crash for six weeks. Then try again.

Sound familiar to you?

Here's what really changed everything for me.

When I was a small kid playing soccer, I had this obsession. I wanted to be team captain. Not because of the armband or the glory. Something deeper pulled me toward that goal.

I'd train every week. Rain or shine.

Even when other kids were playing video games or watching TV.

But here's the thing I didn't realize back then:

My discipline wasn't just physical.

Every time I stepped on that field, I wasn't just training my body. I was connecting to something bigger. The gratitude I felt for having legs that could run, lungs that could breathe, a mind that could strategize.

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I was doing it for more than just me.

And you know what? I became captain.

Years later, during my meditation days in Portugal, I started seeing this pattern everywhere.

The people who built lasting discipline weren't the ones grinding the hardest. They were the ones who understood something most people miss entirely.

Recently I came across this Islamic teaching that put words to what I'd experienced. It breaks down into three simple principles that, if you follow them, make discipline almost unshakeable.

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Lesson #1 : Focus on Your Soul, Not Just Your Body

Most people treat the physical and spiritual as two different worlds.

— Gym is gym.

— Prayer is prayer.

— Work is work.

But when I was grinding on the soccer field as a teenager, something shifted. The endless drills, the running until my legs burned — it all changed when I realized every drop of sweat could be an act of gratitude.

Same field.

Same hours.

Same drills.

But now it wasn’t just training my body — it was training my spirit. The effort itself became a prayer.

Don’t just do the work. Infuse it with meaning. Let your effort be your gratitude. That’s how the ordinary turns extraordinary.

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Lesson #2: Check Your WHY Before You Start

In Islam, it’s called niyyah — your intention, the reason behind the action.

You can pray five times a day, fast through Ramadan, or read the Qur’an cover to cover. But if you’re doing it for approval, status, or to prove something to someone, you’ll eventually burn out.

I learned this on the soccer field too — when I played just to impress the coach or outshine teammates, I’d get exhausted fast. But when I played out of love for the game, or to honor the gift Allah gave me, the same hard work felt much lighter.

The fire to stay disciplined doesn’t come from ego. It comes from knowing exactly who you’re doing this for. When your purpose runs deeper than validation or expectations, the grind becomes fuel instead of burden.

Before you chase the goal, stop and ask—what’s really driving me? Ego? Fear? Or a purpose that actually sustains me? Get that clear, and discipline stops being punishment. It becomes devotion.

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Lesson #3: Consistency Will Outlast Intensity Every Time

In Arabic, it’s called istiqamah — staying on the straight path.

Not going all-in for a week, then burning out. Not sprinting until you collapse. Just showing up, again and again.

That’s what soccer taught me.

Same drills.

Same field.

Same long hours.

It wasn’t the one ‘amazing’ practice that made me better — it was the hundreds of ordinary ones stacked on top of each other.

The same principle carried over when I worked in my parents’ business, or when I committed to daily meditation in Portugal.

Small, steady actions compound into something unstoppable.

And here’s where most people get it wrong:

They think discipline is about forcing themselves with willpower. But real discipline isn’t brute force. It’s alignment.

When your physical effort connects to a deeper purpose, when your intentions are clear, when you choose consistency over intensity — discipline stops being a fight. It becomes your second nature.

Ask yourself these 3 questions today:

1. How does this connect to something bigger than me?

2. Why am I doing this?

3. What’s the smallest step I can repeat tomorrow?

Try it for a week.

Pick one goal you’ve been wrestling with. Apply these three questions. Show up consistently.

Because the reality is, the most disciplined person in the room isn’t the one who pushes hardest for a short burst.

It’s the one who turns ordinary, consistent action into something extraordinary—because it flows from a deeper source.

What's one small action you could take today that honors both your goals and your values?

That’s it for today.

Peace and blessings upon you,
- Revert Muslim aka Adam

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I was scrolling through LinkedIn posts the other day watching people stress about quarterly targets and promotion cycles, and this verse hit me really hard:

And the life of this world is nothing but play and amusement. [Quran 6:32]

Wait bro, what?

Allah (SWT) is telling us that everything we're losing sleep over — the career anxiety, the social media comparisons, the endless hustle — is essentially just a fake game?

But here's what blew my mind:

Allah (SWT) didn't just call life a game and leave us hanging. He gave us the exact strategy plan to win it BIG. Most Muslims just forgot to read the manual though.

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The Rules Nobody Talks About

As a Vietnamese-Czech guy who spent years playing life like it was some survival game, I wish someone had explained it to me earlier.

The game isn't about accumulating points (money, status, followers). It's about understanding that everything happening in your life comes from what your heart truly accepts as reality.

Think about it again:

When you believe deep down that you're struggling, what shows up?

Struggle.

When you believe Allah's got your back, what happens?

Doors start opening.

This isn't some weird ‘law of attraction’ nonsense.

This is tawhid (unity with Allah) in action.

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The Simple 3-Step Cheat Code

Allah (SWT) gave us a simple strategy that most of us overcomplicate:

Step #1:

Daily Heart Check-ins

For 30 days, ask yourself this:

What am I really believing about my situation right now?

Not what you're saying in public or posting online. What's your heart actually accepting as truth? Scarcity or abundance? Fear or trust?

I started doing this after my morning prayers and caught myself believing some wild stuff. Like thinking Allah (SWT) forgot about my duas or that I wasn't ‘Islamic enough’ for blessings.

Wild, right?

—

Step 2:

Speak Like It's Already Written

Allah (SWT) says:

When He decrees a matter, He only says 'Be!' and it is." [Quran 2:117]

So why are we making dua like we're begging a reluctant boss for time off?

Instead of 'Ya Allah, maybe someday help me find a good job’, reframe it like ‘Ya Allah, I trust You are opening the right doors for me right now.’

Same prayer, completely different energy and mindset.

You're speaking from certainty, not desperation.

—

Step 3:

Kill Neediness with Gratitude

If you are grateful, I will certainly give you more. [Quran 14:7]

This one completely destroyed my old Vietnamese mindset of ‘always prepare for the worst.’ Gratitude isn't just saying ‘Alhamdulillah’ after good things happen.

It's trusting Allah's timing even when nothing makes sense.

Last month I was stressing about a delayed freelance payment.

Then I remembered this:

Allah already knows I need to pay rent.

He's not up there going ‘Oh shoot, I forgot about Adam's bills!’

The payment came through the next day from a completely unexpected client.

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Why Most Players Keep Losing

We treat dunya like it's the final exam instead of practice rounds. We attach our worth to temporary outcomes instead of remembering we're just passing through.

The Vietnamese side of me used to think suffering meant I was working hard. The Czech side thought complaining showed I was realistic.

Islam taught me both were missing the point.

The game isn't about avoiding challenges. It's about maintaining your connection to Allah (SWT) while you navigate them.

When you truly get this, everything shifts.

Work becomes worship. Problems become tests you're equipped to handle. Success becomes a reason to increase gratitude, not ego.

Conclusion

4 years playing life by Allah's rules.

Still learning, still losing and winning.

4 years of Fajr prayers, perfect duas, and wondering why some things take longer than expected. 4 years of remembering this world is temporary in a culture obsessed with permanence.

Here's what nobody tells you:

The game isn't rigged against you — you just forgot the rules.

As a Vietnamese-Czech revert, I spent years playing by everyone else's strategy. Work harder, want more, stress about everything.

I treated Allah's guidance like expired milk —’this probably doesn't work anymore.’

But here's what broke me open:

Allah (SWT) doesn't update His operating system.

The same rules that worked for the Sahaba work today.

Your anxiety isn't proof the game is too hard. It's proof you're playing by the wrong rules. If you're constantly stressed, constantly chasing, constantly feeling behind—you're not following Allah's strategy.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

Amazing is the affair of the believer, verily all of his affair is good.

Because ‘good’ doesn't mean easy.

It means aligned with Allah's plan. Working within the system, not fighting against it.

You'll forget the rules. I forget daily.

Yesterday I caught myself doom-scrolling instead of trusting Allah's timing.

Old habits die hard.

So tonight, before you stress about tomorrow, ask yourself:

Am I playing Allah's game or everyone else's?

The answer will humble you.

The real winners aren't the loudest — they're the most grateful.

May Allah help us remember the rules and play with wisdom.

Ameen.

Peace and blessings upon you,
Revert Muslim aka Adam

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I was listening to an old motivational speaker the other day talking about wealth and happiness, and something hit me hard.

He said:

Learn to work harder on yourself than you do on your daily job.

As a revert Muslim who's been on both sides of this equation — chasing money first, then finding Islam — I realized this guy was accidentally describing something the Prophet (PBUH) taught 1,400 years ago.

Here are 10 life lessons about true wealth and happiness, filtered through an Islamic lens, so let’s dive right in:

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1. Your Inner State Comes Always First

Income seldom exceeds personal development.

In Islam, we call this tazkiyah — purifying the soul. You can chase all the money in the world, but if your heart isn't clean, you'll never feel wealthy.

I've seen rich people who are miserable and poor people who are genuinely content. The main difference is inner state.

2. Happiness Isn't What You Get

True happiness is contained in what you become, not what you get.

Allah (SWT) says in the Quran:

And whoever relies upon Allah — then He is sufficient for him (65:3).

Happiness comes from becoming someone who trusts Allah, not from accumulating materialistic stuff. I learned this the hard way when I had everything I thought I wanted but felt empty inside.

3. Success is About Attraction, Not Pursuit

When you work on your character (akhlaq), opportunities start showing up. It's like the universe — or rather, Allah's plan, starts aligning in your favor. Focus on becoming someone worth knowing, and people will want to know you.

4. Study What Actually Works

If you wish to be successful, study success.

Islam gave us the ultimate success manual 1,400 years ago. Do you want to know how to build wealth ethically? Study Islamic finance principles. Do you want happiness? Study the Sunnah. We've got 1,400 years of case studies on what works.

5. Take Notes, Don't Just Listen

The faintest ink is stronger than the best memory.

The speaker talked about keeping a journal. In Islam, we're encouraged to seek knowledge and write it down. Start a gratitude journal. Write down what you learn. Your future self will thank you.

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6. Learn From Multiple Sources

Read books, listen to successful people, observe what works. But filter everything through Islamic principles. I read business books AND Islamic texts. Both teach me different aspects of success, but Islam keeps me grounded.

7. Start With Small Disciplines

You can't handle big challenges unless you take on small ones.

Can't wake up for Fajr? Gradually set your alarm time earlier. Can't save money? Start with $5, $10, $100 …

Small consistent actions build the muscle for bigger changes. The Prophet (PBUH) said : The most beloved deeds to Allah are those done consistently, even if small.

8. Self-Motivation is Everything

You've got to motivate yourself, nobody else will.

In Islam, we call this tawakkul — relying on Allah (SWT) after doing your part. You can't wait for someone else to change your life. Make dua, then take action. Allah (SWT) helps those who help themselves.

9. Don't Try to Beat the System

Find out how it works, but don't try to beat it.

This hit different from an Islamic perspective. Allah (SWT) created the system — both spiritual and material laws. Just work within halal boundaries.

Shortcuts that involve haram will eventually backfire. I've seen it happen too many times. Keep it simple and ethical.

10. You Can Change Starting Today

You don't ever have to be the same again after tonight, only by choice.

Islam teaches that Allah (SWT) can change your entire life in an instant if you're sincere about change. Every sunrise is a new chance to become better. Every prayer is a reset button. Whatever you are planning to do, start TODAY.

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Final Thoughts

30 years chasing money. Three years chasing Allah (SWT) …

10 years of 60-hour weeks, energy drinks, and checking bank balances at 2 AM. 3 years of Fajr prayers, halal earnings, and sleeping with a clear conscience.

Here's the raw truth no motivational guru will tell you:

Wealth without trust in Allah (SWT) is just expensive emptiness that leads nowhere.

As a Vietnamese-Czech revert, I thought I had it figured out.

Make money first, find meaning later.

But here's what opened my mind:

Allah (SWT) doesn't measure your worth by your net worth.

Your bank account isn't your report card. Your character is. If you're rich in cash but you’re selfish, anxious, ungrateful — you've failed the test.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

Richness is not having many possessions, but richness is being content with oneself.

This destroys me.

Because contentment isn't passive — it's active gratitude. Working hard without attachment. Earning money while remembering it belongs all to Allah (SWT).

Seeking success while staying humble.

You'll fail.

I've failed.

Last week I caught myself checking crypto prices during prayer. Old habits die hard.

So tonight, after counting your blessings instead of your money, ask yourself:

Am I working harder on my dunya or my akhirah?

The answer will humble you.

True wealth is waking up grateful, not anxious.

May Allah grant us success in both worlds.

Ameen.

Peace and blessings upon you,
Revert Muslim aka Adam

ACT OF KINDNESS

Ready to make a difference?

LaunchGood is the world's largest crowdfunding platform created specifically for Muslims. What sets them apart? Zero platform fees and a community of generous donors ready to support meaningful causes.

Check it out HERE →

BUILD YOUR WEALTH THE HALAL WAY

Ready to grow your wealth according to Islamic principles?

Amal Invest makes halal investing simple. Filter through 100,000+ funds from top managers like Fidelity or Vanguard to find Shariah-compliant options. No more wondering if your investments conflict with your faith.

Start investing NOW →

Consider upgrading to a paid subscription — it helps me keep the content free for others while I continue exploring life's biggest questions. Some links above may earn me a small commission. Thank you!

Here's something nobody talks about:

Society doesn't celebrate the people who actually keep it running.

I learned this the hard way when I moved from Vietnam to Czech Republic. In Vietnam, I was just another guy trying to figure out life. People were curious about my journey to Islam, asked genuine questions, invited me for coffee.

Now back in Czech republic?

Totally different story.

People started staring at me right away. Not the curious kind, but the suspicious kind. When I told people I was Muslim, they looked surprised.

Suddenly I wasn't just ‘the typical Vietnamese guy’ anymore. I became ‘the Vietnamese Muslim guy’ — like I'd grown a second head and carrying bomb under my coat.

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And here's what I realized:

Society has this backwards way of celebrating people.

The guy who ruins his health for 20 years then loses 100 pounds is considered a HERO. Magazine covers. Speaking tours, you name it.

The guy who never got fat in the first place?

Nobody cares.

The person who converts to Islam after years of partying and addiction? ‘Wow, what a transformation story!’

The person who found Islam through genuine spiritual seeking and has been consistent in their practice? Nothing, nada.

We live in a world that rewards drama over discipline.

In Vietnam, this felt different. People there understand struggle. They've seen hardship, rebuilding, transformation. When someone chooses a different path, even converting to Islam, there's often respect mixed with the curiosity.

‘Why did you choose this religion?’ They'd ask over coffee, genuinely wanting to understand my perspective and choices.

But in Czech Republic, the questions feel different:

‘Aren't you afraid of being hated?’

‘Do you miss eating pork?’

‘When did you become the extremist?’

Bla bla bla …

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To them, religion equals restriction.

To me, it equals freedom.

Here's what I've learned about why society doesn't like people like us:

We don't fit the narrative.

Society loves the comeback story. The prodigal son returning home. The sinner who sees the light. The dramatic transformation.

But what about those of us who chose the straight path from the beginning? Or found our way through quiet contemplation rather than rock bottom?

Our genuine stories just don't sell.

We don't create drama. We don't have before-and-after photos that shock people. We just live consistently. Pray regularly. Try to be 1% better humans every day.

We make people uncomfortable with their choices.

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When you live by principles, whether that's praying five times a day, avoiding alcohol, or simply treating people with consistent kindness, you become a mirror.

Not an intentional one. Just by existing and making different choices, you reflect back what others could be doing but aren't.

That makes people squirm.

During my stay in Vietnam, I noticed people were more comfortable with this. Maybe because Buddhist and Confucian values and inflluence already emphasize discipline and self-improvement.

But in a secular society like Czech Republic, where weekend partying is the norm and Sunday morning hangovers are badges of honor, your 5 AM prayer looks like a fundamental error.

Even when it's not.

Here's the thing though:

Their discomfort isn't your problem to solve.

You can't live your life trying to make everyone comfortable with your choices. Whether that's your faith, your discipline, your refusal to participate in office gossip, or your decision to prioritize family over career advancement.

The responsible, consistent, principled people rarely get the applause.

But we get something better:

Peace of mind. Strong relationships. Clear conscience. And the respect of the people who actually matter.

Those Vietnamese friends who asked genuine questions about Islam? Several are still in touch. They send Eid greetings, ask about Ramadan, share articles they think I'd find interesting.

The Czech acquaintances who made assumptions? Most faded away when they realized I wasn't going to please them with drama or conform to their expectations.

And you know what?

I'm grateful for both experiences.

Vietnam taught me that curiosity beats suspicion every single time. Czech Republic taught me that my worth isn't determined by society's approval.

Your job isn't to be celebrated by everyone.

Your job is to live according to your values, serve your community, and be the kind of person you'd want your children to become.

Let the dramatic comeback stories get the headlines.

You just keep building a life worth living.

What choice are you making today that society might not celebrate but you know is right?

That’s it for today.

Peace and blessings upon you,
- Revert Muslim aka Adam

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Last year in Prague, I sat across from an elderly Japanese businessman at a halal restaurant near Wenceslas Square.

While I complained about inflation and rising costs, he quietly sipped his tea and said something that changed how I think about money forever:

Chisoku = Know when you have enough.

Chisoku (知足) is a centuries-old Japanese philosophy meaning ‘contentment with what you have’. It emerged during Japan's Edo period when economic growth was balanced with simplicity and moderation.

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The concept is simple but radical in our consumption-driven world:

True wealth isn't about having more.

It's about recognizing when you already have enough.

Think about it again.

When did you last open your closet and think:

‘Do I have everything I need’?

Or just check your bank account right now and feel genuinely grateful instead of anxious about what's missing.

As a revert Muslim who grew up between Vietnam's scarcity and Czech Republic's abundance, I've seen both extremes. My Vietnamese grandmother could make a feast from leftovers, while my Czech friends constantly upgrade phones they don't need.

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The tea master was absolutely right.

Most of our financial stress comes not from actual lack, but from the endless pursuit of more and more.

Here's what practicing Chisoku looks like:

• Before buying something, ask yourself: ‘Do I need this, or do I just want it?’

• Spend 5 minutes each day appreciating what you already own.

• Set a ‘enough point’ for major purchases — and stick to it.

Studies show that beyond meeting basic needs, additional consumption brings diminishing happiness returns. Yet we keep chasing the next purchase, thinking it'll finally satisfy us.

In Islam, we have a similar concept: ‘Qana'ah’ (contentment).

The Prophet (PBUH) said:

Richness is not having many possessions, but richness is being content with oneself.

Both traditions point to the same truth: contentment is a choice, not a circumstance.

This week, try practicing Chisoku in one area of your life. Notice when ‘enough’ is already present. You might discover that the wealth you're seeking has been in your hands all along.

That’s it for today.

Peace and blessings upon you,
- Revert Muslim aka Adam ‘Minimalism is a good thing’

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Most men (Muslim or not) are walking around with a woman-shaped blind spot the size of Mount Uhud. And by the time they figure it out, they've already crashed and burned in at least one relationship.

Growing up as Asian kid in Czech Republic, I had a front-row seat to both Asian and European perspectives on male-female dynamics.

Let me tell you this:

There's a universe of differences, but there are also some common truths that transcend cultures and religions.

Here's are 7 short lessons what most Muslim men learn way too late about women:

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1. She's Not Like You (And That's By Design)

The Quran doesn't mince words about men and women being different creatures. Not ‘unequal’ — just different. When Allah (SWT) says in Surah Al-Nisa that men and women complete each other, He wasn't kidding.

Yet most men keep expecting women to think, react, and process information just like them. When she gets emotional about something you consider ‘no big deal’, you're missing the point. Her emotional processing isn't a bug — it's a feature.

Allah designed her that way for a reason. So calm down dude …

2. Her Emotions Aren't A Weakness — They're Her Superpower

Here's where most men make their fatal mistake: viewing a woman's emotions as some kind of deficiency.

The Prophet (PBUH) never told his wives to ‘calm down’ or ‘be reasonable’. Instead, he engaged with their emotions with patience and understanding.

When your wife is upset, responding with ‘Why are you being so emotional?’ is about as effective as trying to put out a fire with gasoline.

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3. She Will Test Your Boundaries (And She Should)

Every woman worth her salt will test your boundaries. Not because she's trying to manipulate you, but because she's wired to seek security. And nothing says ‘security’ like a man who knows who he is and what he stands for.

When she pushes back against your leadership or questions your decisions, she's not being difficult — she's checking if you're the real deal or just another pushover in nice clothes.

4. How You Communicate Trumps What You Look Like

Pay attention: Your six-pack ABS mean nothing if you can't communicate with her. I've seen scrawny guys with nothing but confidence and communication skills win over women who wouldn't give muscle-bound meatheads the time of day.

It's not about what you say — it's about how you say it. Your tone of voice, your body language, your ability to listen without immediately trying to ‘fix’ whatever she's talking about.

5. She Needs Safety More Than Romance

Every romantic comedy and love song has sold men a colossal lie: that women primarily want romance and grand gestures.

What she really needs is safety — emotional, spiritual, financial, and physical.

When she feels safe with you — when she knows you won't explode in anger, when you're consistent in your deen, when you work hard to provide — that's when she'll move mountains for you.

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6. She Can Be Your Greatest Inspiration

Khadijah (RA) believed in the Prophet (PBUH) when no one else did. She used her wealth to support his mission. She comforted him when revelation overwhelmed him.

Behind almost every successful man is a woman who sees greatness in him before he sees it in himself.

But here's the catch:

She can only be this source of inspiration when you create the environment for it. When you treat her with respect and dignity, when you value her input, when you protect her honor — that's when she becomes your greatest ally.

7. The Fine Line Between Strength and Tyranny

The Prophet (PBUH) said: ‘The best of you are those who are best to their wives.’

True masculinity isn't about domination — it's about protection. It's not about making her small — it's about creating space for her to flourish.

There's a fine line between toxic masculinity and being a passive doormat. Finding that balance — being strong without being tyrannical, being gentle without being weak — that's the path of the Prophet (PBUH).

Most men figure these things out through years of trial and error, heartbreak, and conflict. The wise ones learn from others' mistakes.

Which one will you be?

That’s it for today.

Peace and blessings upon you,
- Revert Muslim aka Adam “trying to be a good man”

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LaunchGood is the world's largest crowdfunding platform created specifically for Muslims. What sets them apart? Zero platform fees and a community of generous donors ready to support meaningful causes.

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This edition of Unlikely Muslim is free for everyone. I send it out once a week, sharing insights from my journey. If you'd like to support my work, consider upgrading to a paid subscription.

Thank you!