I meant it with all my heart. I turned away from my computer with the satisfaction of a man who had delivered a complete and self-evident ruling on the issue, and then I went to make tea. I mean, I asked my wife to make it for me…

But then the sisters, may Allah SWT reward them, had other plans.

My inbox everywhere, over the following days, resembled the aftermath of a minor natural disaster. “Sheikh, but why?” “Sheikh, but my intention is good!” “Sheikh, you didn’t even explain!” One sister in particular informed me, with some heat in her text, that a single word was “not a Fatwah” She was, admittedly, not entirely wrong.

So here I am. Commenting further, and may Allah SWT forgive all the sisters who pushed me all the way to complete this and reward them for their persistence.

Here we go. Bismillah…

First: The INTENTION…

The strongest part of the original question was the intention. And I genuinely want to honor that, because the sisters who asked were sincere. The Prophet PBUH said that deeds are judged by intentions.

“Indeed, actions are but by intentions.”

This is among the first Hadiths any student of knowledge knows by heart, and it is a magnificent principle that Muslims should live by.

But here is the difficulty, and I say it with love: a good intention does not sanctify the means by which we pursue it. If it did, we could justify almost anything. The scholars have a well-known principle on this, that a good end does not make an impermissible means permissible. One cannot, for instance, steal in order to give charity or feed his family and expect the theft to become righteous because the cause was noble.

So the question is not “Is her heart good?” I believe it is Insh a Allah. The question should be “Is the method sound?” And that is where we must slow down a bit.

Second: What is being PROPSED?

Let us describe the act plainly here…

The proposal is to record oneself in athletic clothing in mid-movement and broadcast the recording or LIVE video to the general public of the internet, which includes several billion people around the globe. This number is a meaningful percentage of whom are men and a further percentage of whom are not scrolling with the noble goal of improving their squat form.

I want to be fair. The sister did not propose immodesty in any way. She proposed inspiration, but the platform does not distinguish between the two. The algorithm is not a Sheikh. It does not ask about the intention of the uploader; it checks the engagement of the viewers, and it serves the content accordingly to whomever will watch longest. And we all know who watches longest. haa, answer yourself…

In Islam, haya is not only about the garments. It is about the gaze, and crucially, about not placing oneself before the gaze of those who have no right to it. Allah SWT instructs the believing women in Surahtun Noor (Ch.24) to guard their modesty and not to display their adornment or beauty except as is necessary. This means, don’t try to magnify what’s already beautiful unless it is absolutely and urgently required. The scholars across centuries understood this to include a general principle of not making oneself an object of public visual attention without cause.

A gym video (or any sport for that matter), by design, is public visual attention. That is its entire function. That is what “posting to inspire” means.

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Third: The husband who has been volunteering…

Now to my favorite part of the original question, the husband, for whose sake all of this is being undertaken.

The reasoning is… I must stay beautiful, lest my husband dislike me, lest the marriage suffer. I understand the fear. Marriages do require care, and a spouse making an effort for the other is genuinely praiseworthy in our tradition. The beautification of a wife for her husband is a good thing, even an encouraged thing.

For her husband.

Do you see the logic here? The stated goal is to remain beautiful for the husband. The proposed method is to display that beauty to the public. These are not the same husband. The public is not your husband. If the intended audience is one man, one does not begin by addressing four billion strangers. Come on… give me a little break.

If a sister’s husband requires visual inspiration to appreciate her, I promise you the solution is not to be found in the comment section of a fitness reel. That is a conversation for the two of them, ideally over the aforementioned tea ;)

Fourth: Inspiring OTHER sisters.

“But Sheikh, the goal is to inspire other sisters to fitness!”

Beautiful and genuine intention. Sisters supporting one another’s health and wellbeing is a wonderful thing, and physical strength is not un-Islamic. In fact, the Prophet PBUH told us the strong believer is more beloved to Allah SWT than the weak believer, though there is good in both.

But if the audience is sisters, then let the audience be sisters. Women’s only gyms exist. Private WhatsApp groups exist. Classes, circles, retreats, in-person communities, message threads with people you actually know and so on. All of these methods deliver the inspiration to precisely the intended recipients without broadcasting yourself to the wider public, who were never invited to this particular act of Da’wah in the first place. The moment the method requires a public platform to work, we should ask honestly whether the audience was ever really “the sisters.”

Back to the 1st NO…

• The intention is good. I affirm it. ✅

• A good intention does not repair a flawed method. ❌

• The method places one before a public gaze that Islam asks us to guard against. ❌

• The stated beneficiary (the husband) is not the actual audience (the public). ❌

• The secondary beneficiary (the sisters) can be reached far better by private means. ✅ (but not this way)

And so the ruling in its exansion, as required by the sisters, remained the same exact one word…

No.

But now you know why.

And so, this time, I really have no further comment.

I say this fully aware that Part III is now inevitable. LOL

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Finally, and after much delay, I have found the time to sit down and address a question that has reached me from many, many sisters across the globe. From the East and the West, from lands near and those far away.

The question, in summary, is this:

“Sheikh, is it permissible for me to post videos of myself at the gym, mid-exercise, in order to inspire other sisters to maintain their fitness and beauty? My intention is purely noble, and that is to help them remain beautiful for their husbands, so that no marriage should fall into ruin over a wife her husband no longer finds her pleasing. So, Sheikh… can I?”

A weighty question. One I did not take lightly.

I contemplated for hours. I consulted the words of the scholars. I turned the pages of the righteous who came before us. I reflected, I pondered, then I reflected again, but then I got a little mad, then I prayed, and after all of this, my answer is, in all its depth and wisdom…

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No.

No further comments.

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It’s 5:47AM. The Adhan app goes off. We wake up quickly, and in that half-second between sweet sleep and consciousness, before our brains could even remember our names. Our hands are already moving fast. Not towards the Wudu tap, but in the direction of the bedside table, where our most glowing rectangle-shaped thing lies down waiting for you. Our phones…

The alarm was for Fajr. But we had the audacity to silence the call to prayer using the very object we would be spending the next sixteen hours facing that same day.

Hmmm, that was hard to even type down. 😮‍💨.

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The Ayah that named our FACES.

Allah SWT could have easily said when you pray, “Pray towards Makkah.” Simple, geographic and easy to grasp. But no, the command was given in a much deeper sense.

Listen to what He SWT actually said:

قَدْ نَرَىٰ تَقَلُّبَ وَجْهِكَ فِي السَّمَاءِ ۖ فَلَنُوَلِّيَنَّكَ قِبْلَةً تَرْضَاهَا ۚ فَوَلِّ وَجْهَكَ شَطْرَ الْمَسْجِدِ الْحَرَامِ ۚ وَحَيْثُ مَا كُنتُمْ فَوَلُّوا وُجُوهَكُمْ شَطْرَهُ

“We have certainly seen the turning of your face toward the heaven, and We will surely turn you to a Qiblah with which you will be pleased. So turn your face toward al-Masjid al-Haram. And wherever you are, turn your faces toward it.”

Qur’an 2:144

Three times in one Ayah. Not “turn your body, if you can”. But your face. Wajh. And then again in Ayah 2:149. And again in Ayah 2:150. Several mentions of the FACE across three Ayaat, as if Allah SWT is grabbing us gently by the chin and saying, ‘this part of you, the part that looks, longs, and attends, this part you need to direct to the appropriate Qiblah.’

Why the face? Because in the Qur’anic language, your Wajh is not just the front of your head. It is your attention, your identity, and your direction of devotion. When Prophet Ibrahim PBUH declared his Tawheed, he didn’t say, “I believe in my heart.” He said:

إِنِّي وَجَّهْتُ وَجْهِيَ لِلَّذِي فَطَرَ السَّمَاوَاتِ وَالْأَرْضَ

“Indeed, I have turned my face toward He who created the heavens and the earth.”

Qur’an 6:79

In other words: show me where a man’s face habitually points, and I will show you his real god/desire.

Which brings us to an uncomfortable scene. AUDITING our lives.

The audit: Where does your face actually point?

Let’s do the maths, and I promise it will ruin your day LOL.

Praying properly 5 times every single day might occupy your face for 30–40 minutes (let’s say an hour) a day, pointed toward al-Masjid al-Haram.

The average adult now spends somewhere between 4 and 7 hours a day with their face pointed at a glowing screen. Picking up the phone dozens upon dozens of times daily. Many of those pickups happen before our feet have even touched the floor in the morning.

So here is the provocative question, and I want you to sit in the discomfort of it rather than scroll past it.

If someone mapped everywhere your face pointed in a single day, what would your true Qiblah be?

The Ka’bah did not move. The Qiblah of the Ummah is exactly where it has been for generations. But somewhere along the way, we quietly installed a second Qiblah. It fits in our pockets, it glows brightly, and it calls us 500 times a day, and interestingly, and unlike the Adhan, we never hit snooze on it.

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“And stand before Allah SWT” — While lying down before Netflix

Now the second Ayah that I’d like to remind you and myself of, and this one stings even more:

حَافِظُوا عَلَى الصَّلَوَاتِ وَالصَّلَاةِ الْوُسْطَىٰ وَقُومُوا لِلَّهِ قَانِتِينَ

“Guard strictly the prayers, especially the middle prayer, and stand before Allah in devout obedience.”

Qur’an 2:238

Qumu lillahi qanitin. STAND before Allah SWT. Upright, alert and present. Qiyam is the posture of a servant reporting for duty before The King of all kings. Allah SWT.

Now picture the posture of the modern believers at 1:15AM

Flat on the back. Or worse, facing down, chin propped, and spine curled like a question mark that has given up on asking questions. One eye has been shut down already; the thumb has been doing its little zombie flick, and the screen is usually six inches away from the face that Allah SWT had honored. Doing what? hunting for content that we will never even be remembered by breakfast that very day.

We don’t mind standing up in long queues or cooking for long hours, but when we speak about Qiyaam, we’re immediately feeling the pressures mounting. And lying down, the posture of rest and death, has become our longest, most devoted and beloved daily act of “worship”.

The Sujud we never intended

Here’s the part that genuinely unsettled me when I first noticed it.

Physiotherapists have a name for the modern head posture: tech neck. Head tilted forward and down, roughly the angle of... go on, say it... Ruku’. Some of us are closer to a full Sujood over our phones at the dinner tables.

We bow hours a day, head lowered, eyes fixed downward, the world around us muted, in a state of complete Khushu’. Undistractable and unreachable. You can call your kids three times or more, and they won’t ‘hear’ at all. That, my brothers and sisters, is the presence of a heart. That is the concentration the scholars wrote volumes about. It’s just pointed at the wrong Qiblah.

Allah SWT asked for the face five times a day. The screen took it without even asking, and we handed over the neck, the spine, and the sleep schedule as a bonus. If the phone charged us Khushu’ as a subscription fee, we’re all on the premium plan. May Allah protect us. Ameen

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This is not a “burn your phone” message.

My honest truth is…

I run an online academy; I write on Substack. You are reading this on a screen, and I published it from a screen, and if you like it, you’ll share it with other screens. So, please don’t get me wrong. The rectangle thinbg is not the enemy. It is a tool, and like every tool, it has a Fitrah of its own: it serves whoever holds it, or it enslaves whoever it holds.

The Ayah of the Qiblah wasn’t revealed to make Muslims hate every other direction. Muslims still faced their farms, their trade routes, and their families. The Qiblah did something subtler: it gave the face a home base. A default, a direction it returns to, five times a day, no matter where the day dragged it.

That’s the fix. Not deletion, but a direction.

Reclaiming the Wajh: A practical Qiblah check

Try these this week. They are small, and that’s the point Insh a Allah, the qiblah was changed with one Ayah, not 40 days bootcamp:

1. First face of the day. Before your face meets the screen, let it meet the ground. Even with two Rak’ahs. Let Sujud be your face’s first appointment, not your notifications. The phone’s feelings will not be hurt LOL. It has no feelings in case you have forgotten.

2. The Qur’an 2:238 posture test. Once a day, catch yourself once while relaxed and browsing aimelessly, then ask yourself: what am I standing for right now and what am I lying down for? Then stand and pray two Rak’ahs Shukr, just to remind your spine who it was built for.

3. Screen-facing Du’a. Every time you unlock your phone after Salah, say to yourself: my face just came from THE Qiblah; let it not forget the way back. Perhaps it’s weird to say that out loud, but it’s very effective if you at least reminded yourself of the main purpose of why you were created.

4. The mini-I’tikaf. Airplane mode for the last hour before sleep. Yes, consider it a retreat. The scholars of olden days had caves and mosques for I’tikaf; but we also have Do Not Disturb trick. So don’t distrub yourself by frequently using the most disturbing instrument of our time.

5. Face-audit Friday. Once a week, open your screen time report and read it the way you’d read a deed scroll. Because on some level IT IS one.

The Qiblah never moved

1400+ years ago, our Prophet PBUH kept turning his face to the sky, longing for a direction he loved. Then Allah SWT, Al-Latif, the Subtly Kind, didn’t rebuke the longing. He honored it. “We will surely turn you to a qiblah with which you will be pleased.”

Your face was made to long for a direction. That longing hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s just been hijacked by an algorithm that discovered what the Ka’bah has always known: the face follows what the heart loves.

So tonight, when the rectangle glows and your neck begins its automatic bow, then please pause. Lift your face up because it has an actual home with an address. It has a Lord who mentioned it 5 times in 3 Ayaat because He knew, 14 centuries in advance, exactly what would compete for it.

Wa haythu ma kuntum, wherever you are. In bed. On the train. Mid-scroll, turn your faces to the most important Qiblah.

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He looked at me for a long, scary time and then said:

“A will? as a gift? Sheikh, who wants to be reminded of death on their birthday?”

I smiled, because that question is exactly why this project existed.

The champions of postponing

Let me say something with full confidence that might hurt a little bit.

We, as a community, are the world champions at avoiding one particular topic. We will read reviews for forty minutes before buying a toaster. We will watch YouTube videos of a person opening a box to share his experience over a single product. We will compare seven phone plans before deciding on any of them. We will back up our photos to two clouds, just in case. But our final words to the people that we love the most? Our wishes that we wanted to honor?

Insh a Allah later is the most frequent response. Or maybe when I am a little older, is the second favorite response.

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Brothers and sisters, everyone who ever said “when I am older” believed they had time to say it again. But here is the strange part. It is not that we do not care about the final will. Not at all. I have sat with enough families in grief to know that we care very deeply. The problem is that nobody ever handed us a beautiful reason to start off that journey. A will sounds like a lawyer’s office, or a cold paper, a serious font and someone asking you for your Tax File Number. So we push it away, and we tell ourselves that pushing it away is optimism. But it is not. It is actually a false hope and a mere postponement.

What Allah SWT and His Messenger actually said

Allah SWT tells us plainly:

كُلُّ نَفْسٍ ذَائِقَةُ الْمَوْتِ

“Every soul will taste death.” Qur’an 3:185

Please note that Allah SWT did not reveal this Ayah to frighten us. He revealed it to direct us, to allow us to focus on a very serious reality. Because a person who remembers the ending reads the whole story differently.

And the Prophet ﷺ was even more practical about it. He said that it is not right for a Muslim who has something to bequeath to let two nights pass without his will written down and kept with him. Two nights. Not two decades. When Abdullah ibn Umar RA heard this, he said that not a single night passed after that except that his Wasiyyah was with him.

Two nights. While some of us have been saying “I really should sort that out” since the last World Cup or even longer.

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The thing about scent

And man, did I include perfume in the Wasiyah. And I know some of you are still wondering what fragrance has got anything to do with leaving a message behind!

The Prophet ﷺ loved perfume. Anas RA said he never smelt any musk or ambergris finer than the scent of the Messenger of Allah ﷺ. Decades after he passed, the companions still spoke about his fragrance. It stayed in their memory like light stays in a room.

Scent is the closest sense to memory. You know this from your own life. One breath of a certain perfume and suddenly you are eight years old in your grandmother’s kitchen. One trace of Oud on a jacket and a person you miss is standing beside you again. Nothing else does this. Not even photos or particular voices. Scent goes straight past the mind and knocks on the heart directly.

So I kept asking myself one question. If scent can carry a person back to us so powerfully, what if we paired it with the words that person left behind?

So we made something

It is called ATHAR. In Arabic, أثر means a trace. The mark that remains after someone has passed through. The footprint in the sand. The fragrance in the room after the person has left it.

Inside one gift box, shaped like a book, there are two things.

The first is a fragrance. ATHAR Eau de Parfum, composed to be remembered, intentionally. (And if you already know me, I don’t joke when it comes to perfume, so it’s one of my favorites.)

The second is a letter. The Last Letter is a short guided booklet. Five brief chapters. Honest pages that gently refuse to let you close the book without writing something down. Your wishes, your words, your forgiveness, your Imaan etc. All of it grounded with the Qur’an and the authentic Sunnah of our Prophet ﷺ

Two things. One story.

The honest part

Yes, I am selling it. This project took about a year of my life, and I believe in it enough to put my name on the box.

The first edition is deliberately small. 500 sets only, each one individually (and handwritten) numbered from 001 to 500, and this first edition will never be given with these handwritten numbers again. Reserving a set is completely free. No payment is required when you reserve your copy. You claim your number, and when production is confirmed, you receive a private checkout link with a locked pre-order payment link to conclude your order.

A scent they will never forget. Words they will keep forever.

You can reserve your numbered set here: awareacademy.com.au/athar

And if you never buy anything from me, then hear this, because it is the real reason I wrote today. Write your will/letter for your loved ones anyway.

Tonight, if you can, just grab a plain notebook and a nice pen. Tell your family what you wish for them. Settle what needs to be settled. Forgive everyone and don’t forget to write down their names. Write the Du’as you want them to make for you. Do not leave your most important words unsaid because you were waiting for a beautiful box.

The box helps. I made it because it helps. But the Sunnah does not require a gift box. It requires two nights. Don’t ever forget this.

May Allah SWT grant us endings that we will never be ashamed of, words that outlive us, and a trace that testifies for us and not against us. Ameen, Ameen, Ameen…

Sh.Wael

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There’s a pattern that I have been noticing almost every week in my counselling space.

Someone sits across from me, exhausted, battling loads of marital relationship issues or carrying a habit that’s eating them alive. And many of them say different versions of the same sentences:

And the method usually has a name with a catchy and promising label on it. Like “The 5-Second Rule: How to Hack Your Brain.” “Atomic Habits: Tiny Changes, Remarkable Results.” “Radical Acceptance: Whatever-Whatever.” There’s always a TED Talk; there’s always a man in a fitted T-shirt pacing a stage with a headset mic, telling you that the answer was inside you all along — for only $499 plus the cost of the workbook. Or… maybe you could join 1000s of others like you in a private group for the cost that will basically lead you to bankruptcy.

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And here’s what I want you to know before you assume where this is going:

I don’t hate any of that.

Some of these systems are genuinely useful and beneficial. Many of them are rubbish, while others are frankly just our own tradition but wearing a fashionable hoodie. So whatever it is, I’ve always had ONE RULE, and I will never break it no matter what.

And that is, I will never hand you a tool unless I can trace its roots back to the Qur’an and the Sunnah. Not because I’m allergic to the modern strategies, not at all — I have a smartphone and a Substack account, for God’s sake, and I’m clearly not living in a cave — but because of a question that I can’t get past:

Why would you go searching the whole earth for water when you’re sitting on top of the well?

We were given the Criterion. Literally. So why run after a new strategy?

Allah SWT named an entire surah Al-Furqan — The Criterion. The thing that separates truth from falsehood, the real from the counterfeit, the gold from the spray-painted brass.

And in that very Surah, He SWT says something that should stop every self-help-shopping believer in their tracks:

وَلَا يَأْتُونَكَ بِمَثَلٍ إِلَّا جِئْنَاكَ بِالْحَقِّ وَأَحْسَنَ تَفْسِيرًا

“And they do not come to you with an argument except that We bring you the truth and a better explanation.”

— Al-Furqan 25:33

Sit with the audacity of that promise for a little bit.

It’s not; ‘they bring an argument, and We bring an equal counter-argument.’ It’s not ‘We match them.’ It’s AHSANA TAFSIRA – a better explanation. Every single time.

The scholars explain that whatever objection, whatever doubt, whatever shiny alternative anyone brings to the table — the revelation of Allah SWT answers it more truly and more beautifully than it was ever posed.

So when the world shows up with a “better way”, I don’t shiver in my pants. I may get a little bit curious but never become nervous. Because I already have a promise from the One who owns the truth. AL HAQQ, Allah SWT. The One who guaranteed us that whatever they’ve got, He SWT will always have the upgraded version ready for you to install. And even better, that promised and upgraded version doesn’t come with a subscription that auto-renews while you’re not even looking.

The matter is already sealed.

Allah SWT didn’t leave us guessing about how complete this religion is; He SWT told us clearly that it was already perfected:

الْيَوْمَ أَكْمَلْتُ لَكُمْ دِينَكُمْ

“This day I have perfected for you your religion.”

— Qur’an 5:3

Completed, finished and polished. There’s no “Volume 2 coming up next season”. Imam Malik, may Allah have mercy upon his soul, said it with precision: “Whoever innovates something into this religion and considers it good has claimed that Muhammad ﷺ betrayed the message” — because the implication of “I found something better” is that something was missing from the message. But that was never the case.

Here’s an Ayah that I genuinely think every Muslim should carve on their hearts and minds:

وَنَزَّلْنَا عَلَيْكَ الْكِتَابَ تِبْيَانًا لِّكُلِّ شَيْءٍ

“And We have sent down to you the Book as a clarification for all things.”

— Qur’an 16:89

An explanation for everything.

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Now—let me be the responsible adult in the room for a second, because someone’s already typing “So the Qur’an has a recipe for Biryani?” into the comments.

No. But I have to admit that you’re the smartest person ever if this is how you think 🫤

The scholars are precise on this point: the Qur’an and Sunnah give us the principles, the framework, the ultimate guidance for everything that matters to your salvation and your soul. It’s not a manual for changing a tyre or how to lose weight in 30 days. But your anxiety? Your marriage? Your compulsions? The aches that keep you up at 3 am? Your acts of worship? That’s exactly the territory the Qur’an was sent for.

So where do the “Modern Tricks” fit?

Here’s where people expect me to slam the door. I won’t. But I will also never be dragged into NOT using my faith as the base of solving everything.

There’s a beautiful principle the Prophet Muhammad PBUH taught:

‏‏ الْكَلِمَةُ الْحِكْمَةُ ضَالَّةُ الْمُؤْمِنِ فَحَيْثُ وَجَدَهَا فَهُوَ أَحَقُّ بِهَا ‏

"The wise statement is the lost property of the believer, so wherever he finds it, then he is more worthy of it."

— Jami` at-Tirmidhi 2687

Which means you may take a tip or two from someone that will add value to your life so long as it does not contradict the Deen of Allah SWT. But that does not mean that you should ONLY hunt for these tips.

So when a psychologist describes “habit loops” — cue, craving, response, and reward — I don’t panic. I smile. Because the Prophet ﷺ was managing cues fourteen centuries ago when he told us to change our physical state to break a harmful one:

"‏ إِذَا غَضِبَ أَحَدُكُمْ وَهُوَ قَائِمٌ فَلْيَجْلِسْ فَإِنْ ذَهَبَ عَنْهُ الْغَضَبُ وَإِلاَّ فَلْيَضْطَجِعْ ‏"

“If one of you becomes angry while standing, let him sit down. If the anger leaves him, well and good; otherwise, let him lie down.”

— Sunan Abi Dawud 4782

That’s not “anger management”. That’s the Sunnah issuing a physiological state-change intervention before there was even a clipboard to write it on.

When the therapists talk about “naming the emotion to tame it”, I think of the Prophet ﷺ teaching us to name our distress out loud to Allah SWT— Allahumma inni aʿudhu bika min al-hammi wal-hazan —naming the worry and the grief, by name, in sequence. When they discover “social accountability” and “community as the strongest predictor of recovery”, I gently point out that we’ve had a thing called jama’ah for a while now, and the Prophet ﷺ said the wolf eats the sheep that strays from the flock.

‏ "‏ مَا مِنْ ثَلاَثَةٍ فِي قَرْيَةٍ وَلاَ بَدْوٍ لاَ تُقَامُ فِيهِمُ الصَّلاَةُ إِلاَّ قَدِ اسْتَحْوَذَ عَلَيْهِمُ الشَّيْطَانُ فَعَلَيْكُمْ بِالْجَمَاعَةِ فَإِنَّمَا يَأْكُلُ الذِّئْبُ الْقَاصِيَةَ ‏"‏

Abu Ad-Darda said: 'I heard the Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) say: "There are no three people in a town or encampment among whom prayer is not established, but the Shaitan takes control of them. Therefore, stick to the congregation, for the wolf eats the sheep that strays off on its own."

— Sunan an-Nasa'i 847

So I’m not throwing the modern tools away. I’m checking their birth certificate 😂. If it’s got an Islamic blood in it — and by the way, a lot of it does — then I’ll use it, and I’ll thank the researcher who rediscovered what we were handed for free centuries ago. If it contradicts the revelation — if the “solution” asks you to make peace with something Allah SWT called HARAM-FUL or harmful — then it’s not a tool. It’s a trap with good marketing.

So listen up. If you’re trying to contact me for counselling:

If you’re looking for the coach who’ll have you walk across hot charcoal to “conquer your fears“ – brother, the only thing you’ll conquer is the burns unit’s waiting list in the nearest hospital. If you want someone who’ll tell you to scream your trauma into a pillow, manifest a Lamborghini by vision-boarding it onto your fridge, or stand in a power pose in front of the mirror until your marriage fixes itself — then I’m not your man. If you’re after ice baths as a substitute for Tawbah, breathwork as a replacement for Khushu’ or a mantra to repeat that conveniently never mentions Allah SWT—then keep on scrolling every time you see my name. And if you want me to validate every desire your Nafs has ever whispered to you and call it “self-love” — I will, very gently (but passionately), do the opposite. What I offer isn’t a hack, a high, or a weekend of barefoot bravado. It’s the truth, weighed against the Criterion, applied to your actual life. Less dramatic than the charcoal and considerably more effective.

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The test is not “Does it work?” The test is “Is it true?”

This is the part that’s uncomfortable, so let me say it plainly.

Plenty of things work in the short term but ruin your life in the long term. A loan shark “works”. A second helping of dessert “works”. Numbing yourself works beautifully — right up until it doesn’t.

The believer’s question is never simply, ‘Does it work?’ but rather, ‘Is it true, and does it lead me where I actually want to go?’ And in our case, where we wanted to go is towards Allah’s path. The criterion isn’t outcomes measured on a six-week chart. The criterion is Al-Furqan.

فَإِن تَنَازَعْتُمْ فِي شَيْءٍ فَرُدُّوهُ إِلَى اللَّهِ وَالرَّسُولِ

“If you disagree over anything, refer it back to Allah and the Messenger.”

— An-Nisa’ 4:59

Rudduhu — refer it back. Weigh it. Every method, every framework, every viral thread that promises to fix you goes onto that scale. The ones that balance against the Book and the Sunnah, I keep. The ones that don’t, I leave without any ceremony or regret — no matter how many followers the man with the headset has. (And between us, the follower count has never once been a Daleel. Fir’awn had followers too 😉.)

So…

I’ve watched people spend years and small fortunes assembling their salvation from spare parts — a little Stoicism here, a manifestation podcast there, a paid breathing technique that the Prophet ﷺ taught for free in a Hadith about yawning and sneezing.

And the whole time, the answer was sitting on their own shelves, collecting dust.

So no — I’m not against modern solutions. I use them. I’ll keep using them. But I run every single one of them past the Criterion first, because I refuse to send you out borrowing buckets of water when you are standing — right now, this very moment — on top of the deepest well that was ever dug for humanity.

You don’t need to find the truth.

You need to stop walking past it.

That’s it for a Tuesday. Go now and read Suratul Furqan.

Sh. Wael.

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In my own living room. In front of my wife. Minutes before the Arsenal vs PSG Champions League final.

I know. I know.

What I remember…

My friend was coming over to watch the match with me. As a good host, I did what any responsible adult would do — once I heard him knocking, I got up so quickly from the couch, speed-walked to let him in, exchanged the standard hugs and greetings, and walked him inside like a man with a purpose.

That purpose lasted approximately 12 seconds.

Baaaam… I fainted.

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Just like that. No warning. No dizziness. No slow-motion movie fade-to-black. Just — gone.

My wife, Alhamdulillah, caught me before my head slammed the floor. I came back, stood up like nothing happened — like I had simply taken a brief, unscheduled break — walked to my recliner, and sat down, pointing at the couch next to me for my friend to feel at home, and then...

I fainted again.

This time, I was told later that I snored. For about 20 good seconds. On my recliner. Eyes closed. Gone from this world with no recollection of memory as to what was happening during this time.

I was woken up by the sound of my wife’s hands clapping against my face – not a gentle pat, not a whispered ‘Habibi, are you okay? — but a full, committed slap-wake-up, the kind that means serious business. The kind that says, ‘I love you, but come back please because tomorrow is the first day of the month and you need to pay the bills.’ LOL

I opened my eyes for the second time and life continued…

What was actually happening?

Turns out it’s orthostatic hypotension (believe me, I didn’t know about this complicated term before this night). A sudden drop in blood pressure when you stand up too quickly. The blood rushes down, the brain gets briefly starved of it, and your body simply powers off. Like a laptop that’s been running too hot for too long and decides, on its own terms, to shut down.

My ChatGPT explained it, then I virtually nodded. I whispered to myself, OK. I understood.

What I actually understood was this: Allah SWT, who controls my body decided to shut it down. It was never my plan, not my schedule and not my timeline.

And that, right there, is the whole lesson.

The reminder that we keep ignoring

كُلُّ نَفْسٍ ذَآئِقَةُ ٱلْمَوْتِ

“Every soul shall taste death.”

Qur’an, 3:185

Notice it doesn’t say ‘every soul shall experience death at a time of their convenience.’

It doesn’t say ‘every soul shall taste death after a long, fulfilling life, surrounded by loved ones, having ticked off the bucket list.’

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It says ‘taste’. As in, it will come to your lips. It will arrive without a prior date plan. And you will have no say in that timing.

I tasted something last night. Not death — as you can see, I am writing this, so I am still very much here. But the edge of it. The briefest flicker of what it means to be here one moment and gone the very next. No announcement. No countdown. Just: OUT.

And what’s humbling — almost embarrassingly so — is that I was doing nothing heroic when it happened. I wasn’t climbing a mountain. I wasn’t saving anyone. I was opening a door. I was walking a friend in. I was doing the most ordinary thing a human being usually does on a daily basis. Opening a door.

Because that’s how it works, isn’t it? It doesn’t wait for a dramatic moment. It doesn’t hold off until you’ve sorted out your affairs or said your goodbyes or finished that project you’ve been putting off since Ramadan last year.

It comes when it comes.

“The most prepared person for death is the one who treats every ordinary moment as if it matters — because it does.”

The gap we live in…

There’s a gap we all live in, and most of us have made a permanent home there. It’s the gap between knowing something and truly reckoning with it.

We know death is real. We know it’s coming. We know it has no appointment, no RSVP, and no courtesy text message fifteen minutes beforehand. We know all of this without any doubt.

But then we act as if we have unlimited time on this planet Earth.

We push off the conversation we need to have. We delay the apology that’s been sitting in our chest for years. We postpone the Salah we ‘just need five more minutes’ for. We tell our kids we’ll be present ‘after this session of work’. We save the meaningful moments for later, because later feels safer. Later feels like it will be there sooner than later.

And most of the time, it is there. Alhamdulillah. But sometimes — you’re opening a door, and your body simply turns off.

And you realize that ‘later’ is not a promise. It’s just a hope.

The Prophet PBUH told us to prepare for this moment. He PBUH said:

كُنْ فِي الدُّنْيَا كَأَنَّكَ غَرِيبٌ أَوْ عَابِرُ سَبِيلٍ

“Be in this world as though you are a stranger or a traveller passing through.”

Sahih Al Bukhari

A traveller does not get too comfortable. A traveller doesn’t renovate the hotel room. A traveller keeps their bags close, knows the checkout time, and doesn’t confuse the place they’re staying with the place they belong.

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We are travellers. All of us, with no exception.

Some of us have just been in the same hotel room for so long that we’ve started hanging pictures on the wall.

The Prophet PBUH also said — and this one cuts deep:

اغْتَنِمْ خَمْسًا قَبْلَ خَمْسٍ: شَبَابَكَ قَبْلَ هَرَمِكَ، وَصِحَّتَكَ قَبْلَ سَقَمِكَ، وَغِنَاكَ قَبْلَ فَقْرِكَ، وَفَرَاغَكَ قَبْلَ شُغْلِكَ، وَحَيَاتَكَ قَبْلَ مَوْتِكَ

“Treasure five before five: your youth before your old age, your health before your sickness, your wealth before your poverty, your free time before your preoccupation, and your life before your death.”

Musannaf Ibn Abi Shaybah, Hadith 33629

Your health. Before your sickness.

I read that differently now than I did last time.

Last time, I read it as advice. Good counsel for a general audience.

This week, I read it as a direct message. Personally addressed, because I have seen it firsthand.

Funny how the floor has a way of personalizing things. I felt it back then when I was pinned down to the ground during my slip disc days. But I will keep this for later, perhaps.

So what do we do with this now?

I’m not going to be that guy who has a health scare and becomes unbearable about it. I’m not selling you a morning routine. I’m not telling you to delete Instagram and drink more water, though — actually, drink more water (this is what my wife always says).

What I am saying is this:

The ordinary moments of your life are not filler. They are not the waiting room before the real stuff begins. They are the real stuff.

The Salah you’re about to pray right now — not the one from yesterday that you’re still feeling guilty about, not the one tomorrow that you’re hoping to do better in — is the one right now. That one matters more than anything.

The person in your house who you pass in the hallway without really seeing. See them before it’s too late.

The words you’ve been meaning to say — the ‘thank you’, the ‘I’m sorry’, the ‘I love you’, the ‘I was wrong’, etc. — say it. You are not guaranteed another window.

The Dhikr you skip because you’re lazy, the Qur’an you’ve been ‘getting back to,’ the Du’a you keep drafting in your head but never actually make — make it quickly. Now IS the perfect time.

We are always waiting for a better moment to be the person we want to be. But what if this IS the moment? This one, right here, with all its mess and all its noise and all its Arsenal-PSG anticipation?

What if you’re already in the best moment you’re going to get?

“The floor doesn’t care how busy you were. It just holds you where you land.”

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The last thing…

I’m fine, by the way. I checked with my ChatGPT doctors, and they said I am fine. No stress, Alhamdulilah, and no dramatic sequel planned, Insh a Allah.

My friend and I watched the match. I remember Arsenal scoring, then PSG equalizing, then extra time taking place, and finally PSG winning by penalty kicks. I also remember my friend leaving sad as he was hoping that Arsenal might lift that trophy.

Then, I woke up for Fajr. Alhamdulilah, my wife was there, my kids were, and things were back to normal. Yet another opportunity was given to do better and to be better.

I was reminded, in the gentlest and also most embarrassing way possible (and the floor can testify to this), that I am not in charge of the timeline (nor any of us). That this body I inhabit is on loan; it is an Amanh/ a Trust from Allah SWT. That every moment I’m given is a gift I didn’t earn and can’t extend on my own terms.

And that is enough to change how you walk through a door.

Please remember. Go slowly, look around, say Bismillah, and put your trust in Allah SWT. And for the love of Allah SWT — don’t stand up too fast.

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There is a kind of hurt that doesn’t make the news of your own life.

It doesn’t produce a story you can tell at the dinner table. It doesn’t earn a standing ovation at an event. It’s not necessarily felt in a funeral, a diagnosis, or a clean line you can point to and say, 'This is where my heart broke.’

It just sits very deep inside of you.

It sits behind your eyes while you nod your head through a meeting. It sits in the back of your throat while you laugh at a joke you didn’t even hear. It sits beside you in the car while listening to an Ayah that hits you so hard to a point that you’d pull over for a crying session for no reason at all. It’s too dark to navigate.

And the strangest part is this: nobody (or almost nobody) in your life is doing anything wrong. They aren’t ignoring you. They aren’t cruel to you. They’re just… not in the same room as your pain. So, they simply don’t get it.

The hurt without a name

We have a vocabulary for everything. For grief, for anger, for betrayal, for fear and so on. But there is a particular kind of suffering for which Arabic, Urdu, English – and all other languages – have not come up with a single word for it yet.

It is the hurt of being misunderstood by the very person you most want to understand you.

It is the hurt of doing the right thing and still feeling like the villain in someone else’s story.

It is the hurt of carrying a decision you know was correct, while the cost of that decision quietly eats at you in the dark.

It is the hurt of loving someone whose choices you cannot bless or approve of — and discovering that loving them was never the problem; the problem was that love alone was not enough for them. They needed more than love, and you simply don’t know what else to provide!

This kind of pain doesn’t scream. It hums quietly. And the worst thing you can do with a hum is try to explain it to someone who can’t even hear its frequency. You end up being looked at as dramatic, controlling, extremist, or cold – when the actual truth is that you’re just very, very tired already.

There is a hurt that hums beneath the noise of your life — quiet enough that everyone misses it, loud enough that you cannot sleep. Unknown

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Why we cannot speak it

Part of the reason this hurt stays silent is that it is bound up with shame. Not the shame of having sinned, but the shame of being seen as weak. Of being seen as the one who couldn’t hold it together. Of having to admit, out loud, that the picture you presented to the world was a kind of bandage over something very raw.

Men, in particular, are taught that pain has a translation: anger, withdrawal, work. We don’t weep — we get busy. We don’t lament — we lecture. We don’t name our grief – we dress it up as a principle and serve it as an opinion. And so the hurt builds pressure inside the chest until it leaks out as harshness with the people we love the most.

Women carry a different version of the same disease. The world demands that they be the soft place everyone else lands on, even when they themselves are bleeding. So they smile, they host, and they hold, and the hurt accumulates in places that no one is allowed to see.

Both ways of hiding lead to the same place: a soul that has not been heard, even by itself.

But Allah SWT acknowledges and sees that pain.

The Qur’an does something extraordinary here. It does not wait for us to find the words.

When the Prophet Ya’qub PBUH lost his son, Prophet Yusuf PBUH, his other sons came to him with a shirt and a fabricated story. They expected from him some anger, accusations and a demand for explanation. But what he gave them was something almost very strange:

‎فَصَبْرٌ جَمِيلٌ ۖ وَاللَّهُ الْمُسْتَعَانُ عَلَىٰ مَا تَصِفُونَ

“So patience is beautiful. And Allah is the One whose help is sought against what you describe.” — Qur’an 12:18

Read that last clause again. against what you describe. Ya’qub PBUH was not seeking refuge from what actually happened. He was seeking refuge from the version of events being narrated to him. He was not only hurt by the loss, but he was also hurt by the framing — by the story being told about his pain by people who do not understand it at all.

Have you ever felt that before? I am referring to two kinds of pain here. The loss is one wound, and being misread and misunderstood is a second. Layer upon layer of pains.

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Ya’qub PBUH teaches us something the world will never do: you are allowed to grieve a thing and also grieve being misunderstood about the same thing. They are two different types of pains, and Allah SWT sees them both.

The complaint that is not a complaint

A few verses later in the same Surah, after years of silent endurance, Ya’qub PBUH finally says something that, on the surface, sounds like he has cracked:

‎إِنَّمَا أَشْكُو بَثِّي وَحُزْنِي إِلَى اللَّهِ

“I only complain of my anguish and my sorrow to Allah.” — Qur’an 12:86

Notice the precision of the language here. Bathth is not an ordinary sadness. The scholars have explained it as the kind of grief that is so heavy that the one carrying it cannot keep it inside any longer; it spills out by itself. It is the hurt that bursts.

And what does Ya’qub PBUH do with that bursting hurt? He does not pour it onto his sons. He does not pour it onto his wife, his servants or his community. He addresses it to Allah SWT—and only to Allah—(I know It’s hard to reach this conclusion.)

I look at this as the ultimate prophetic technology and remedy for the hurt that no onesees –: not silence, not suppression, not explosions but redirection. You take the part of the pain that no human can hold, and you place it where it can actually be held. In the hands of Allah SWT.

Allah SWT is not threatened by the size of your sorrow or pain. He is not exhausted by your needs. He is, as He declared to us, closer to you (yes, YOU, the broken-hearted one) than your jugular vein.

How to deal with a hurt that has no language

So what do we actually do, in the middle of an ordinary day, when we are carrying something the people around us cannot see or feel? Or when you try to explain but all what you get is “Hey bro, things will be alright” - Oh, how I wish it was that simple.

Here is what our beautiful Deen gives us. Not theory, but actual practice.

ONE — NAME IT TO ALLAH SWT BEFORE ANYONE ELSE

Before you draft that message, before you start this argument, before you explain yourself for the seventh time, go and make Wudu. Pray two Rak’ah. And, in your Sujood, pour it all out to Allah SWT. Tell Him exactly what you cannot tell anyone else. Do not edit. Do not philosophize your plea. Cry if you need to. The Prophets of Allah PBUT wept, and so you’re allowed to do the same.

Most of our worst conversations happen because the hurt has not yet been spoken to its rightful Listener, and so it climbs toward the nearest human ear possible.

TWO — STOP DEMANDING THAT THE WRONG PEOPLE UNDERSTAND YOU

Some people in your life do not have the equipment to understand a particular pain (or any specific experience they didn’t live). That is not always a failure of love. It is sometimes a limit of experience.

A spouse, a parent, a child, a friend — they may love you completely and still not be able to enter that specific room your hurt lives in. Demanding that they do, again and again, will only make you feel more lonely.

Bring the hurt to Allah SWT. Bring fragments of it, gently, to the humans who can hold those fragments. But stop trying to make one person hold the whole sea. It’s exhausting for all parties.

THREE — LET SABR JAMIL BE A REAL PRACTICE, NOT A SLOGAN

Beautiful patience does not mean pretending you are fine. It means refusing to let the hurt make you ugly – toward yourself, toward the ones you love, toward your Creator.

It is the discipline of saying, ‘I am in pain, but I will not pass that pain on to someone else. I will carry it infront of Allah SWT until He lifts it or transforms it or teaches me what it was for in the first place.’

FOUR — REMEMBER THAT THE STORY IS NOT OVER

Ya’qub PBUH went blind from weeping. He sat with that grief for years. And then, in one moment, the shirt of Yusuf PBUH was placed on his face, and his sight was restored.

Allah SWT does not narrate stories the way we would. He delays. He hides. He weaves things together in ways that we can only understand backwards. The hurt that nobody sees today is being recorded, witnessed, and answered by the One who sees everything. So be patient while expecting goodness to come out of that painful experience.

A word for the one reading this in the dark

If you have read this so far, I suspect you didn’t open this article casually. You opened it because something in the title named a thing you have been carrying alone.

Whatever it is — a child whose path is breaking your heart into pieces, a marriage that has gone quiet in a frightening way, a betrayal you cannot prove, a regret you cannot undo, a loneliness inside a full house — I want to tell you something simple.

You are not invisible.

Allah SWT who counted every tear of Hajar PBUH in the desert, is counting yours as well. The Lord who heard the whisper of Zakariyya PBUH in his chamber, hidden from everyone, is hearing you right now. The Lord who answered the silent grief of Maryam PBUH beneath the palm tree, when she was certain no one would ever understand, is answering you — not always in the timing you want, but always in a way that, eventually, you will recognise as part of Allah’s mercy.

The hurt that no one sees has always been seen. Held in the hands of the One who never sleeps. Allah SWT.

And one day – InshaAllah – every hidden thing will be brought into a light so kind that we will wonder how we ever doubted it was being recorded and observed by the Most Gentle One.

‎أَلَا يَعْلَمُ مَنْ خَلَقَ وَهُوَ اللَّطِيفُ الْخَبِيرُ

“Does He who created not know? And He is the Subtle, the All-Aware.”— Qur’an 67:14

OK. enough darkness. Share the post with someone else having fun with his pain.

Sh. Wael

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You wanted that phone. You got it. You loved it for exactly 11 days (I am exaggerating here. Usually it’s 11 hours). Then you started noticing the newer model in someone else’s hand, and suddenly your perfectly functioning and excellent phone felt like a brick from an ancient Egyptian archaeological dig.

You wanted that job. You got it. First week, you walked in like you owned the place. By month 3, you were already Googling other jobs while at the job.

You wanted that house. That car. That holiday. That relationship. That child. That promotion. That handbag. That watch. That — and I say this with full love and zero judgment — perfume. (Some of you know exactly what I’m talking about.)

You got them all. You smiled. Then, almost on schedule, the smile faded. And the search began again.

Welcome to the hamster wheel population: all of us.

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The happiness myth

We have been sold—and eagerly purchased—the idea that happiness is a destination. A goal. That once we arrive there, we stay forever. We are always telling ourselves that there’s a piece of our existence somehow missing a few elements that, if they were found, would make us happy ever after.

This idea is not just wrong. It is spectacularly wrong. And yet, all of us, every single day, act as if it’s true.

We chase happiness the way a child chases a soap bubble—with a genuine belief that this time, this time at last, they’ll catch it without popping it. It never pops on the way to you. It only pops the moment it’s in your hands.

The thing you’re sure will make you happy has a built-in expiry date. And the expiry date, believe it or not, is the moment you get it.

Don’t believe me? Think of the last five things you were absolutely certain would make you happy. Where are those things now? Are you radiating joy from them as we speak right now? Or are they sitting somewhere quietly, already part of the furniture of your life—noticed only when they break?

The Prophet PBUH told us this 1,400 years ago

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Here is the remarkable thing: the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ diagnosed this condition with such precision over fourteen centuries ago. No psychology department. No self-help industry. No TED Talk. Just revelation, wisdom, and the kind of clarity that cuts through every era.

لَوْ كَانَ لِابْنِ آدَمَ وَادٍ مِنْ ذَهَبٍ أَحَبَّ أَنْ يَكُونَ لَهُ وَادِيَانِ

“If the son of Adam had a valley of gold, he would love to have two valleys. Nothing fills his mouth except dust, and Allah accepts the repentance of whoever repents.”

— Al Bukhari 6439 & Muslim 1048

Read that again slowly. Nothing fills his mouth except dust.

That is not pessimism. That was a loving, accurate, mercy-filled warning from the one who cared most about our well-being. He’s not saying life is meaningless. He’s saying: don’t build your house on sand and then act shocked when your feet get wet.

The son of Adam was created with a hole inside. A genuine, real, persistent emptiness that nothing in this Dunya was ever designed to fill up. You can stuff it with money, status, pleasure, experiences, achievements, and relationships—and it will stretch to accommodate every single one of them and then look at you and ask, "Is that all? I NEED MORE”

Because it was made for something bigger. Something outside of this world.

Happiness vs. contentment: A brutally and honest comparison

Let’s be clear about something. I am not saying happiness is undesirable or bad. I’m saying happiness is unstable — it comes and goes like a charger cable that only works at a very specific angle. Contentment is different.

Let me explain the difference in a way that will hopefully make you slightly uncomfortable. Ameen (lol intended)

Happiness chases the new thing.

Contentment appreciates the current thing.

Happiness says: “I’ll be fine once I get that.” Contentment says: “Alhamdulillah for what I have right now, even as I work toward better.”

Happiness is a passing feeling.

Contentment is a state.

Feelings come and go. States are more stable and solid. You can be content on a difficult day. However, on a difficult day, genuine happiness is impossible without some form of denial.

Happiness depends on circumstances.

Contentment doesn’t.

This is the one that stings the most. Happiness is entirely at the mercy of what happens to you. Lost your job? Happiness is gone. Argument with a spouse? Happiness evaporated. Scratched your new car in the parking lot? Happiness did not survive a single contact with actual reality.

Contentment is different. Contentment can look at a difficult situation and say: “This is not what I wanted. This is hard. But I trust in Allah’s wisdom, and Insh a Allah, i’ll be Okey.” That is not passivity. That is strength.

Happiness wants what you like.

Contentment seeks what benefits you.

And this is perhaps the most important distinction. The pursuit of happiness is, fundamentally, the pursuit of what I like right now. It is the child in the candy aisle. It is the impulse buy at midnight. It is the relationship chosen because of how someone makes you feel in the first 90 days.

Contentment—the real, Islamic, and prophetic contentment—asks a different question: What is actually good for me? What does Allah SWT decree as beneficial? What serves my Deen, my character, and my hereafter best?

Contentment can decline what it likes. Happiness can never do that.

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The Qur’an and its guidance in this direction…

Allah ﷻ says something extraordinary in the following Ayah.

وَعَسَىٰ أَن تَكْرَهُوا شَيْئًا وَهُوَ خَيْرٌ لَّكُمْ ۖ وَعَسَىٰ أَن تُحِبُّوا شَيْئًا وَهُوَ شَرٌّ لَّكُمْ

“Perhaps you hate a thing and it is good for you, and perhaps you love a thing and it is bad for you.”

— Qur’an 2:216

There it is. The entire premise of chasing happiness—that what I love is good for me—was quietly dismantled in one ayah.

We are not reliable narrators of our own good. We love things that harm us and hate things that would have been our greatest blessings. Our happiness radar is not just slightly off — it is frequently pointing in the completely wrong direction, with great confidence.

The person who chases happiness is someone who lets their feelings be their GPS in a city where all the roads have been recently restructured. They’re going somewhere urgently, with total conviction—and often in the entirely wrong direction.

Al-Qana’ah: The forgotten treasure

A proverb described the above Arabic word as:

الْقَنَاعَةُ كَنْزٌ لَا يَنْفَدُ

“Contentment is a treasure that never runs out.”

Think about what that means. Every other treasure in this Dunya depletes. The bank account can become empty. Health can easily deteriorate. The status can crumble in seconds. Beauty fades. The possessions break. Life itself is bound to end etc.

But contentment? The more you practice it, the more you have. It is the one investment that gives compounding returns — not in your bank account, but in your heart.

The richest people are not those with the most. The richest people are those who have made peace with what Allah SWT has given them while striving with full energy toward what is better. That combination—Tawakkul and Qanaʿah—is the formula the Prophet ﷺ modelled in every chapter of his life.

So what do we do now?

I am not here to tell you to stop wanting things. Want things. Work for things. Make Du’a for things. This Deen is not one of passive resignation.

But want things for the right reasons. Want things that actually serve you. And when you get them—or when you don’t—say:

“Alhamdulillah. This is enough. Allah SWT knows what I need better than I do.”

Train yourself to notice the expiry date on happiness before you buy in. Ask: “Will I still care about this in five years?” Ask yourself: “Is this desire coming from my values or from an advertisement?” Ask, "Am I pursuing this because it’s genuinely beneficial — or just because it’s new?”

And when the wheel starts spinning again — when you feel that familiar itch for the next thing — pause. Just for a moment. Look at what you already have. Not to stop striving, but to remember:

The wheel is a choice. You can get off. If you want to.

And, look at this final word…

The Prophet ﷺ was asked about the richest of people. He said:

الغِنى غِنى النَّفسِ

“True richness is the richness of the soul.”

— Al Bukhari 6446 & Muslim 1051

Not the richness of the bank account. Not the richness of the wardrobe (though there is nothing wrong with a good wardrobe — and a good perfume). The richness of the Nafs. The inner self. The soul that has learned to rest in Allah’s provision.

That is the goal. Not happiness. Not the feeling. Not the temporary rush of the new.

Fullness. Completeness. Peace.

And the remarkable thing is. Once you stop chasing happiness—once you genuinely stop—you'll often find it quietly waiting at home. It had been there the whole time. You just kept running past it on the way to somewhere else.

If this story hit close to home, it was supposed to, by the way, then share it with someone on the wheel.

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It is 6:45 in the morning. I have just finished Fajr. The house is quiet. The world is still. And somewhere between the prayer mat and the bathroom, I make a decision that will — without fail — define the next several hours for everyone within a thirty-metre distance of whare I am.

I reach for the perfume. That’s right. But, not for quick dab, but a very considered, deliberate, almost ceremonial application. Multiple bottles are consulted and scanned quickly, the occasion then is evaluated. The mood is assessed. And then — with the precision of a man who has thought about this more than most people think or imagine — the fragrance is chosen.

My wife, from somewhere down the hallway, already knows what is happening. She has a sixth sense for it at this point being married for more than 2 decads. And right on cue she would say:

“Are you going to a wedding or are you opening a perfume shop soon?” — Umm Ibrahim, every single time, without a change of a tone that says “I’ve given up”, since approximately 2003.

And here is my response, which has also not changed since 2003:

“It is a Sunnah.” (Though I wouldn’t use the exact word back then. I would just argue and insist,)

She, on the other hand, would roll her eyes while I would walk out smelling magnificent. And so the cycle continues.

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It started with my father…

Before I was a man who applied perfume like a professional, I was a boy who watched his father do it.

My father was — and I say this with the full weight of the word — a man who smelled extraordinary. I do not know what he wore on any given day because he used to apply whatever smells good. I do not have the receipts, the bottle names, or the fragrance notes. What I have is the memory is: walking into a room after him and being met by something warm and dignified and entirely his own. A scent that said, without words, that this was a man who carried himself with absolute care.

Children absorb what they observe. I observed this. And somewhere along the way, without a formal lesson or a single conversation about it, I believe I inherited it.

They say a man’s character is built on the shoulders of those who raised him. My father gave me values, gave me mannerism, gave me the love of listening to others — and also, apparently, a very expensive relationship with Oud.

I read once the smell is the sense most powerfully tied to memory and emotion. My father’s generation perhaps did not know of this, but they applied it anyways. They just expressed as if they knew they’re gonna leave behind some good traces — by smelling incredible and saying nothing about it.

May Allah SWT have mercy on every father whose good habits quietly became his children’s identities. And may Allah SWT reward my father specifically for this one, because this particular inheritance has brought me — and everyone around me — a great deal of joy.

(It has also brought me a great deal of gentle mockery from my wife, but we will get to that later.)

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📿 The Prophet PBUH wore perfume — And he was serious about it

Now before anyone accuses me of using the Sunnah as a personal justification — let me be clear. I am absolutely using the Sunnah as a personal justification. But I am also, for once in my life, completely correct.

Anas ibn Malik رضي الله عنه reported:

مَا شَمَمْتُ عَنْبَرًا قَطُّ وَلَا مِسْكًا وَلَا شَيْئًا أَطْيَبَ مِنْ رِيحِ رَسُولِ اللهِ ﷺ

“I never smelled ambergris, nor musk, nor anything more beautiful than the scent of the Messenger of Allah PBUH.” — Sahih Muslim 2330

Read that again. Anas ibn Malik — a man who lived with the Prophet PBUH, who served him, who was around him constantly — said he had never smelled anything in his entire life more beautiful than the Prophet PBUH himself. Does this need any interpretation people?

This was not an accident. The Prophet PBUH was a man who understood how a person should present himself to the world — including how to smell. It is a form of honour. To your Cretor, to the people around you, and to yourself as well.

The Prophet PBUH further stated:

حُبِّبَ إِلَيَّ مِنَ الدُّنْيَا النِّسَاءُ وَالطِّيبُ

“From this world, women and perfume have been made beloved to me.” — Sunan an-Nasa'i 3939

Women, referring to his wives and perfume. The Prophet PBUH listed them together — and I want to point out, for the record, that my wife is also one of them. So in a very real sense, both of my great loves are Prophetically endorsed.

I have shared this point with my wife on multiple occasions. She remains unimpressed. (I wish to take a snap shot of her facial expression to show you how disgusted she is sometimes when the fragrance is too strong for her to take in. But sorry guys, that can never happen)

A note on Oud, Musk, and why they cost what they cost

The Prophet PBUH specifically mentioned Musk (Misk) as among the finest of scents, and the Islamic tradition has a long and rich relationship with Arabian oud, ambergris, and rose. These are not luxuries that developed separately from the Deen — they grew alongside it. Many of the scholars of Islam wrote about fragrances. So don’t ever judge a man when you smell greatness coming through his sight.

The people of Jannah are described as dwelling in a place where the fragrance of musk drifts through the air. So the next time someone raises an eyebrow at your perfume budget — remind them: it is historically, theologically, and prophetically defensible.

My wife, the perfume critic

I want to dedicate an entire section of this article to my wife because she deserves it — and also because she features prominently in the story whether she wants to or not. It’s her problem anyways, so forgive me honey.

My wife is a patient woman. She is patient about many things. She has developed, over the years, a remarkable tolerance for my various enthusiasms. Islamic books arriving in large boxes. Attending lectures at hours that polite society has agreed are unreasonable. Extended conversations about Fiqh over dinner. Spending the entire month of Ramadan overseas while being dragged into my lectures and events without complaints. etc.

But the perfume. The perfume is her ultimate test.

The ongoing debate in our household:

Her: “You don’t need more than two sprays. Don’t shower with it”

Me: “Two sprays is what you do for a casual Tuesday.”

Her: “It IS a casual Tuesday.”

Me: “Huh! Listen, there is no such thing as a casual Tuesday. Every day is an excellent day.”

She has been observing my perfume behaviour for years now. There is the Friday spray — acceptable, expected, even encouraged. There is the going-out spray — fine, she understands, but sometimes she suspects. There is the Masjid spray — blessed and justified. And then there is what she calls the Around the House spray, which she delivers with the kind of look that communicates a great deal without requiring any words at all. JUST THE LOOK IS ENOUGH.

“You are going to the kitchen,” she will say. “You do not need to smell like a luxury hotel lobby to make a sandwich.”

And she is not wrong. But she is also not right. Because why would you choose to smell average in your own home? This is the place you spend most of your time (Supposedly). Surely it deserves the most fragrance.

She disagrees. We have agreed to disagree. We have been agreeing to disagree about this for longer than some people have been married entirely. In fact, now I do enjoy this repeated conversation which we call it “broken record conversations.”

For the record, she also benefits from this arrangement. Our home smells extraordinary. Our children will always remember the fragrances even after we pass. This is called a legacy. I have explained this to her. She is still not yet convinced.

May Allah SWT bless her patience, increase her reward, and soften her heart and nose toward the responsible use of 12-15 sprays on a non-special occasion.

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The question I get asked more than any other

More than questions about Aqeedah and addictions. More than questions about Tafsir or motivational tips. More than questions about marriage or anything I have ever studied or taught or written — the question I receive most consistently, most enthusiastically, and most universally across all demographics, genders, ages, and backgrounds is this: “What perfume are you wearing?”

It happens at the Masjid. It happens at the shops. Airports. It happens mid-lecture, which — I want to clarify — is slightly disruptive, but I understand how stressing it is. It happens when I am walking past someone in a corridor and they physically stop and turn around. It happens almost everywhere.

I have received messages from a brother asking me to to send him a list of my favorite perfumes. Some of the brothers would text me to settle debates they were having with their wives about what I was wearing at last Friday’s Khutbah. I have had people describe the scent to me in poetic terms that I would frankly be embarrassed to even repeat, except that they are fairly accurate.

Here is what I have learned from all of this: fragrance is one of the few things that reaches people before you do. And it does stay with them after you leave. You can say something meaningful to a person and they might forget the words. But a scent — a truly beautiful scent — lodges itself somewhere deeper. People remember it. They carry it home with them. They associate it with you.

The Da’wah dimension seldom talked about

I am not joking when I say this: there is a Da’wah dimension to smelling good. People are drawn to you. They approach you. They open conversations. The Prophet PBUH was described as having a scent so remarkable that people noticed it even when he wasn’t around. He was approachable. He was magnetic. He drew people to him — and then he gave them something far more valuable than a fragrance recommendation. You may not be the Prophet PBUH of course. But you can carry yourself with the dignity that he embodied. Fragrance is one small, accessible, joyful part of that.

A Practical note: Perfume as gift, as character, as Sunnah

If you have reached this point in the article and are thinking — I would like to smell better, but I do not know where to begin — allow me to offer some gentle guidance from a man who has made many fragrant mistakes on his way to fragrant wisdom :).

Start with Oud-based Arabic perfume. They are pure, alcohol-free, concentrated, and have roots in the Islamic tradition that go back centuries. They last. They project. They are unmistakably distinctive. And they are, to use a technical term, extraordinary. But please remember this note very well - Oud is one of the perfumes that you will either LOVE IT so much or HATE IT so much. So test before you hurt your pockets. And always, when it comes to Oud, ALWAYS, consult your wife.

Then move into the broader world of niche perfumery when you are ready. There is a universe of fragrance beyond the department store counter, and it is worth exploring. Some of it will be expensive. Budget accordingly. Apologise to your wife in advance, and remember to always say: “It’s a Sunnah”

And if anyone ever challenges your perfume budget — return them to the Hadith. Return them to the Prophet PBUH who listed perfume among the things made beloved to him from this world. Return them to the companions who competed in fragrance and were praised for it.

Then spray again with courage and confidence. Spray like there’s no tomorrow :)

~~ Financial planning tip from someone who has no business giving financial advice:

Books: necessary. Clothes: reasonable. Perfume: non-negotiable. Adjust accordingly.

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To My father, my wife, and my collection

To my father: wherever this love came from — whatever morning ritual of yours I absorbed and watched a man preparing himself with dignity — I thank you and I pray for you. I carry it with me till date. Literally.

To my wife: you are correct that I use too much. You are incorrect that this is a problem. I love you, and I love that you tell me anyway, and I will almost certainly not change :) but the fact that you keep trying says everything about how consistent you are. So keep on trying.

To my collection: you are beautiful. Every bottle. Even the ones I bought impulsively at midnight. Especially those.

And to you, dear readers, brothers and sisters — whoever you are, wherever you are in the world — I want to leave you with this:

The Prophet Muhammad PBUH was the most beautiful human being who ever lived. In character, in conduct, in mercy, in wisdom — and yes, in the way he presented himself to the world. He cared about how he looked. He cared about how he smelled. He accepted gifts of perfume and he gave them. He did not treat the outer self as something unworthy of attention, because he understood that how we carry ourselves is a reflection of how seriously we take the gift of being alive, effective and beautiful human beings.

Smelling good is not vanity. It is not extravagance. if it is done with the right intention, it becomes an act of gratitude — to Allah SWT for the sense of smell and to the people around you who deserve to be met with something pleasant. This is something that the Prophet Muhammad PBUH used to care about. A tradition of a man who walked through this world and always left behind something beautiful wherever he went.

May we all do the same. Even if it takes 12-15 sprays to get there.

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That has been Shaytan’s Ramadan for generations.

And now — the last night has arrived. The chains are coming off. The gates swing open. Shaytan steps out, cracks his knuckles, adjusts his horns of mischief, and prepares for what he assumes will be an epic comeback season.

Except... he has no idea what’s been happening while he was away.

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The great release — And the great shock

The Prophet Muhammad ﷺ told us plainly:

“When Ramadan comes, the gates of Paradise are opened, the gates of Hellfire are closed, and the devils are chained.” — Sahih al-Bukhari & Muslim

That’s Shaytan’s month of shackles. A month of watching from the sidelines while humanity prays; fasts; gives charity; cries in Sujood, recites the Qur’an frequently; and racks up deeds like a believer should.

Shaytan on the other hand, somewhere in his cell during the odd nights of Ramadan whispering to himself: “I cannot believe they’re still awake. It’s 2 am and they’re STILL in the Masjid. Who ARE these people?” haven’t I misled them enough all these months?

So picture the scene on the last night. The chains fall away. Shaytan emerges blinking into the world — and runs a quick audit on the Ummah (Yes, he has access).

He checks the books. He reviews the records. And what does he find?

📊 Shaytan’s post-Ramadan damage report

✅ Millions of Qur’an Khatms completed. ✅ Billions in Zakah and Sadaqah distributed. ✅ Countless tears shed in the last third of the night. ✅ Mountains of sins erased through sincere Tawbah. ✅ Laylat al-Qadr — better than a thousand months — witnessed by millions and millions of devoted hearts. ✅ An Ummah that woke up earlier, ate less, slept less, and gave more. Filed under: Catastrophic.

Allah SWT promised us in the Qur’an:

إِنَّ الْحَسَنَاتِ يُذْهِبْنَ السَّيِّئَاتِ

“Indeed, good deeds remove evil deeds.” — Qur’an11:114

A month of consistent good deeds? Shaytan’s entire year’s work — the whisperings, the doubts that he casted in people’s hearts, the slow drift from Salah — potentially were wiped out clean. He didn’t just lose ground. He lost the whole battlefield.

The council of despair — Shaytan rallies his troops… (Watch out. They’re coming for you)…

Now, Shaytan is no amateur. He’s been doing this for a very, very long time — since before your great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother was born. He is patient. He is strategic. And he is, unfortunately, not going to take this loss sitting down.

He convenes an emergency meeting. His generals and lieutenants gather. The agenda is simple: the Believers just had the best month of their lives — how do we ruin what comes next?

Shaytaan, opening the meeting: “Right. Ramadan was a disaster. They fasted, they prayed, they cried, they gave. But now — NOW — we have the first nights of Shawwal. And I have a plan.”

And this is where it gets serious, dear brothers and sisters in Islam. Because Shaytan’s real weapon is not temptation at its loudest — it is disappointment at its quietest.

His plan for early Shawwal is not simply to get you to sin. It is to get you to sin, then feel so bad about it that you give up entirely and become convinced that Allah SWT did not accept Ramadan from you.

Shaytaan’s playbook for early Shawwal

Step 1: Wait for the first moment of tiredness, hunger, or distraction after Eid.

Step 2: Create an opening — a missed Salah, a harsh word, a glance at something you shouldn’t, an argument with a family member.

Step 3: Immediately flood the person with guilt, shame, and despair.

Step 4: Whisper: “You ruined everything. After all that Ramadan? You’re hopeless. You’ll never change.”

Step 5: Watch them spiral into bitterness, regret, and distance from Allah SWT while dreaming and telling themselves: “Insh a Allah I’ll do better next Ramadan.”

This is exactly what Allah SWT warned us about:

وَلَا تَهِنُوا وَلَا تَحْزَنُوا وَأَنتُمُ الْأَعْلَوْنَ إِن كُنتُم مُّؤْمِنِينَ

“Do not weaken, and do not grieve — you are the superior ones if you are [true] believers.” — Qur’an 3:139

Weakness and grief after Ramadan is not humility. It is a trap. The believer who falls into post-Ramadan despair has handed Shaytan a victory that even a month of chains could not give him.

How to trap Shaytaan back

So how do you flip the script? How do you take the hunter and make him the hunted? Here is your post-Ramadan survival toolkit.

1. Guard the six fasts of Shawwal

The Prophet ﷺ said:

مَنْ صَامَ رَمَضَانَ ثُمَّ أَتْبَعَهُ سِتًّا مِنْ شَوَّالٍ، كَانَ كَصِيَامِ الدَّهْرِ

“Whoever fasts Ramadan then follows it with six days of Shawwal — it is as if he fasted the entire year.” — Sahih Muslim

Six days. Six opportunities to tell Shaytaan: the fast did not end with the moon. It evolved. We are still here and ready for more.

2. Hold your Salah like It’s still Taraweeh season

Our scholars say: the sign that your Ramadan was accepted is that after Ramadan, you are better than before it. That you haven’t quit what you have started within the blessed month. And that standard begins with Salah. The five prayers are the main foundations of the Deen — if the pillars hold, the entire structure remains standing no matter what winds blow.

The Prophet PBUH described the believer whose deeds are consistent:

أَحَبُّ الأَعْمَالِ إِلَى اللهِ أَدْوَمُهَا وَإِنْ قَلَّ

“The most beloved deeds to Allah are the most consistent, even if they are small.” — Sahih Al Bukhari & Muslim

Shaytan cannot stand consistency. A small deed done every single day is more devastating to him than an enormous deed done once and then forgotten for life.

3. Replace despair with Istighfaar

You will stumble after Ramadan. You are human. A messed up Salah. A lost temper. A moment of weakness. When it happens — and it will happen — do not give Shaytan the reaction he is waiting for.

Instead, do what Allah SWT described as the mark of the righteousness:

وَالَّذِينَ إِذَا فَعَلُوا فَاحِشَةً أَوْ ظَلَمُوا أَنفُسَهُمْ ذَكَرُوا اللَّهَ فَاسْتَغْفَرُوا لِذُنُوبِهِمْ

“And those who, when they commit an immorality or wrong themselves, remember Allah and seek forgiveness for their sins.” — Qur’an 3:135

Notice: they did wrong then they remembered Allah SWT. They sought forgiveness from Him and did not allow themselves to entirely collapse and despair. They returned to Him SWT. That is the cycle that Shaytan can never break.

4. Stay connected to the Qur’an

The Qur’an was your companion throughout thirty nights of Ramadan. Do not let it become a stranger by the second week of Shawwal. Even a page. Even five Ayaat. The connection matters.

Allah SWT describes the Qur’an as:

وَشِفَاءٌ لِّمَا فِي الصُّدُورِ

“And a healing for what is in the hearts.” — Qur’an 10:57

The unsettled, anxious, distracted feeling that creeps in after Ramadan? That is a heart in need of medicine. And the medicine is right there, on your shelf, waiting.

5. Keep good company — Shaytan Hates a crowd of believers

The Prophet PBUH told us that the wolf takes the lone sheep — never the one close to the flock. Community is not just emotional support; it is a spiritual shield. Stay near people who remind you of Allah SWT. Go to the Masjid. Attend the circles of knowledge. Be among those whose company pulls you upward.

One of Shaytaan’s least favourite sentence is: “Brother, you coming to the Halaqah tonight?”

Remember: You have already won the opening round

Here is a truth Shaytan does not want you to remember: you completed Ramadan, Alhamdulilah. Whether it was your best Ramadan or your most difficult — you made it through to to the end by Allah’s will. You fasted. You prayed. You did your best. And Allah SWT knows what is in your heart better than Shaytan ever will.

The Ummah has just emerged from the most spiritually intensive month of the year. We are not tired soldiers limping back home. We fully charged, forgiven Insh a Allah, and renewed — if we choose to receive that amazing gift.

And the greatest trap we can set for Shaytan is simply this: continue. Not perfectly. Not without stumbling. Just continue — with repentance, with consistency, with the unshakeable belief that Allah’s mercy is greater than any sin we could ever commit.

قُلْ يَا عِبَادِيَ الَّذِينَ أَسْرَفُوا عَلَىٰ أَنفُسِهِمْ لَا تَقْنَطُوا مِن رَّحْمَةِ اللَّهِ

“Say: O My servants who have transgressed against themselves — do not despair of the mercy of Allah.” — Qur’an 39:53

That Ayah alone terrifies Shaytan more than any good deed. It is the antidote to his most powerful weapon. Read it again. Let it settle in like never before…

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🌙 عيد مبارك — Eid Mubarak 🌙

To every single Muslim reading these words — wherever you are on this planet — to those in the prayer halls of Perth to those in the mosques of Cairo, to the families gathered in living rooms in Kuala Lumpur ready to eat their snacks, to the students in the Suraus accross the country, to the elderly praying in their rooms and the young finding their way back to Allah SWT:

Taqabbal Allahu minnā wa minkum.

تَقَبَّلَ اللهُ مِنَّا وَمِنْكُم

May Allah accept from us and from you.

O Allah — You are the One who accepts. Accept our fasting, our prayers, our tears, and our striving in this blessed month. Do not let us leave Ramadan as we entered it.

O Allah — protect the Muslim Ummah in every land where they are oppressed, afraid, displaced, and forgotten. Grant them safety, dignity, and a way out of every difficulty. You are their Wakil and their Wali.

O Allah — let the spirit of Ramadan remain with us not just for days, but for a lifetime. Keep our hearts soft, our tongues moist with Your Dhikr, and our limbs in Your service.

And O Allah — trap Shaytan with our consistency/Istiqamah, our repentance, and our refusal to despair of Your mercy. Ameen Ameen Ameen

آمِيْن يَا رَبَّ الْعَالَمِيْن

Eid Mubarak — from our family to yours. 🌙

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Among the most painful realities a believer may face is when the trial comes not from strangers, but from those closest to the heart—our own family members. The Qur’an does not shy away from this difficult truth. Rather, it prepares us for it with clarity, wisdom, and absolute honesty.

Allah STW says:

“O you who believe, indeed among your spouses and your children are enemies to you, so beware of them…”
— Qur’an 64:14

This Ayah is not a call to hatred or cruelty toward one’s family. Islam places immense value on kinship, mercy, and compassion. Yet the Ayah highlights a profound spiritual reality: those whom we love the most can sometimes become the greatest test of our loyalty to Allah SWT.

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The test of love and loyalty

Love for family is natural. It is part of the human Fitrah. Parents sacrifice endlessly for their children, nurturing them, protecting them, and hoping to see them grow into righteous servants of Allah SWT.

But Islam teaches that no love can surpass the love of Allah SWT and His guidance.

Allah warns:

“Say: If your fathers, your sons, your brothers, your spouses, your relatives, the wealth you have acquired, the commerce you fear may decline, and the homes you cherish are more beloved to you than Allah and His Messenger and striving in His cause, then wait until Allah brings His command…”
— Qur’an 9:24

This Ayah reminds us of a very important and fundamental principle. And that is, faith is proven when it is tested by competing loves.

When obedience to Allah SWT clashes with emotional attachment, the believer faces one of the most difficult internal battles. So, what will you choose here? It’s painful to even think about it.

A trial faced by the prophets of Allah SWT

This struggle is not unique to ordinary believers. It was experienced by the greatest of humanity—the Prophets of Allah SWT themselves.

The story of Nuh PBUH illustrates this very deeply. When the flood came, his own son refused to listen to Allah’s call and rejected the invite of his father.

Allah SWT records the moment:

“O Noah, indeed he is not of your family; indeed, his conduct was unrighteous.”
— Qur’an 11:46

Despite the natural love of a father for his child, faith ultimately defined the true bond.

Similarly, Ibrahim PBUH faced rejection from his own father because of faith. The Qur’an narrates how he was threatened for rejecting idol worship, yet he remained firm upon Tawhid and what Allah SWT commanded him to do.

These stories are reminders that faith can isolate a person even within their own household. So, the question for all of us again is this: What will we choose?

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The pain of parental trials

Perhaps one of the most heartbreaking tests is when a parent sees their child walk away from the path of Islam. When they think they know better and follow the footsteps of their peers and other influencers somewhere.

Parents invest their lives in raising children upon faith, prayer, modesty, and devotion. They hope to see them as righteous believers, the coolness of their eyes in this life and the next and even better than them in every aspect of their existence.

Yet guidance ultimately belongs to Allah SWT alone.

Even our beloved Prophet, Muhammad PBUH, was reminded of this reality:

“Indeed, you do not guide whom you love, but Allah guides whom He wills.”
— Qur’an 28:56

This Ayah teaches us that we are responsible for conveying the truth, nurturing Imaan in their lives, and making Du’a day and night, etc. but the hearts remain in the hands and control of Allah SWT.

Between mercy and boundaries

Islam calls the believers to maintain compassion, patience, and prayer for their loved ones. However, it also teaches us that faith must remain uncompromized.

The believer cannot endorse actions that contradict the commands of Allah SWT. Nor can emotional attachment justify abandoning the principles of our Deen.

History shows that the earliest Muslims have faced similar dilemmas when their own family members opposed Islam. Some were forced to distance themselves spiritually from their relatives in order to remain steadfast upon the straight path.

The challenge, therefore, lies in balancing two truths:

1. Maintaining the dignity and boundaries of our faith

2. Maintaining hope for the guidance of our loved ones

Both are part of the believer’s daily struggle.

The hidden wisdom in these tests

Trials involving family strike at the deepest part of the human heart. They shake our emotions, challenge our patience, and force us to examine the sincerity of our faith.

Yet such tests often carry immense spiritual weight.

They ask a painful question:

Who do we ultimately belong to?

If the believer chooses Allah SWT even when the heart aches, it becomes a sign of sincere submission to His will.

And perhaps within that patience lies a hidden mercy: that the steadfastness of a parent may one day become the reason for a child’s return to faith. Who knows!

Holding onto hope

Even in moments of deep pain, the believer does not despair from the mercy of Allah SWT.

The Qur’an repeatedly reminds us that hearts can change, guidance can come unexpectedly, and Allah’s mercy is vast and could touch hearts at any given moment.

Many who once walked away from faith eventually return to it—sometimes after years of distance.

Thus, the believer holds onto two things simultaneously:

• Firmness upon the truth that Allah SWT had revealed, and

• Hope in Allah’s ability to guide hearts before it’s too late

A test that refines faith

When faith and family collide, the believer stands at a crossroads between emotion and devotion.

It is one of the most severe tests a person can face.

Yet those who endure such trials with patience, sincerity, and reliance upon Allah SWT may find that the hardship, though painful, becomes a means of purification and closeness to Allah SWT. And there’s nothing more important in the entire existence than being closer to the One who caused you to exist.

For in the end, every believer must answer a single question:

When everything else is stripped away—who do we choose?

And the believer’s answer must always be:

Allah SWT.

May Allah SWT guide us all and our families. Ameen

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Ramadan this year found me thousands of kilometres away from home.

Away from my children.
Away from the familiar streets of Perth.
Away from the little routines that make a house feel like a home.

Yet strangely… I did not feel alone.

Because this Ramadan, Malaysia has given me something I didn’t know I was missing: family that I never knew I had.

And this Ramadan, Allah SWT blessed me with exactly that.

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A Ramadan that never sat still…

Since arriving here, the days—and especially the nights—have been full in the most beautiful way. Alhamdulilah

My Ramadan routine has looked something like this:

• Almost daily Qur’an reflection classes

• Counselling sessions with individuals and couples

• Late-night lectures and community events

• The annual retreat

• Long conversations with great people over coffee and cakes that somehow last until past midnight.

• Reconnecting with genuine friends who have become more like family

These are not just events on a schedule.

These are moments of connection.

Moments where hearts open.

Moments where people cry, laugh, confess struggles, and seek guidance.

Moments where you realize that the Ummah is not just an abstract idea—it is people sitting in front of you searching for Allah SWT in the most genuine way.

And that is a powerful feeling that can never be described in words.

My “Lost family”

There is something else I’ve discovered this Ramadan.

When you travel for Da’wah long enough, you start noticing something strange.

You begin collecting families around the world.

Not intentionally.

But slowly… quietly… they appear.

People who check on you daily to see if you have eaten, what you were eating and how you managed to go through your day.

People who argue about who gets to host you for Iftaar and insist on driving you everywhere or even lending you their own car.

And somehow they all end their messages by saying:

“Sheikh, you are family.” or “we love your company”

And the strange part is?

You start believing them.

SubhanAllah. After years of travelling and spending long periods away from my own family, I have come to realize something very refreshing:

Allah SWT replaces loneliness with people whose hearts recognize yours.

These brothers and sisters in Malaysia… they are not just hosts.

They are my lost family.

And every time I am about to leave, it hurts a little.

My wife: The real MVP (With some conditions)

Of course, there is one person who deserves a special mention in this story.

My beloved wife.

Now let me be honest.

Travelling for Da’wah is not easy on the family.

Our children are back home.

Mischief is very possible

My wife misses them far more than she will ever admit.

Yet she chose to come with me to Malaysia this Ramadan to support my Da’wah activities.

She sat patiently through long days.

Late nights.

Endless programs and meetings that somehow start with “Just a quick chat, Sheikh…” and end three hours later.

She supported every class.

Every talk.

Throughout the retreat.

Wholeheartedly.

With only one small condition.

Every now and then she reminds me:

“You know… it would be nice if you took me somewhere nice too.”

Translation:

“If you have time to give lectures to 300 people, surely you have time to take your wife for some shopping, you know!.”

Fair point.

And yes… sometimes there is a bit of nagging involved.

But let me say this publicly:

Behind many travelling speakers is a spouse who sacrifices far more than anyone sees.

And I am deeply grateful for that.

Even if it means I occasionally get reminded that a Nasi Lemak date night can be considered a very important Sunnah act.

Then my foot decided to join the conversation

Ahh. I forgot to mention...

Just as I was about to begin the journey of Ramadan this year, specifically on the first night of Taraweeh, my foot decided to introduce some drama into the story.

I fractured it.

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Not a small bruise.

A proper fracture.

So, naturally, I went to the doctor.

He looked at the scans very seriously and said:

“You must wear the cast 90% of the time.”

“You must rest.”

“You must not put weight on your foot.”

“You must avoid unnecessary movement.”

At this point I was quietly thinking:

“Doctor… I think you must have misunderstood my travel itinerary.”

Because I had left Perth with the intention of:

Daily classes.

Night lectures.

Community events.

Counselling sessions.

The retreat.

Travelling between venues.

Standing on stages.

Walking between audiences.

And occasionally chasing down someone who says:

“Sheikh, just one quick question, please.”

So I politely nodded as the doctor continued explaining the importance of resting.

Meanwhile my brain was calculating:

“If I can stand only on my right foot during the lecture… does that count as resting?”

When Allah SWT writes a different schedule

This injury forced me to reflect on something important.

Allah SWT stated:

وَعَسَىٰ أَن تَكْرَهُوا شَيْئًا وَهُوَ خَيْرٌ لَّكُمْ
“Perhaps you hate a thing and it is good for you.”
(Qur’an 2:216)

Sometimes Allah SWT slows us down because we forgot how to slow down ourselves (Although I didn’t really rest)

Pain has a strange ability to make you pause.

To think.

To reflect.

To appreciate.

To notice the people around you who support you and fear for you.

And perhaps most importantly…

To remember that you are not the one carrying the mission.

Allah SWT is.

So, just smile and consider the pain to be just “a little stuff” that will soon go away.

Surviving Ramadan on the roads of KL.

Now let me share another Ramadan experience that deserves its own chapter.

Driving in Malaysia.

Or more accurately…

Surviving the Malaysian roads. Crazy and furious version.

Let me say this with love to my Malaysian brothers and sisters:

You people are incredibly kind, generous, and hospitable.

But when you get behind the steering wheels…

Something transforms your demeanour.

It is as if every driver suddenly believes they are participating in a Formula 1 qualifying round.

Indicators are optional; lane markings are more like suggestions. Motorcycles appear from places that defy the laws of physics. And sometimes three lanes magically become five.

Coming from Australia, driving in Kuala Lumpur turns into a daily Shahadah moment… because you’re never entirely sure you’ll make it to the destination alive.

And don’t even get me started on the traffic horror. I sat in my seat many days (so far) reflecting… “Is this how my story ends? Is my Ramadan going to end between cars in the middle of nowhere on a very high place called a 'flyover'?

Yet somehow, by the mercy of Allah SWT, everyone arrives safely. Alhamdulilah

Every time.

It reminds me of something interesting about human beings.

We often think we are the ones in control.

But in reality…

Allah SWT is the One who protects us in ways we never even realize.

Allah SWT says:

وَهُوَ الَّذِي يُسَيِّرُكُمْ فِي الْبَرِّ وَالْبَحْرِ
“It is He who enables you to travel on land and sea.”
(Qur’an 10:22)

SubhanAllah.

We think we are steering the wheel. But the One truly protecting us on those chaotic roads is Allah SWT Himself.

Still…

To all my Malaysian drivers reading this:

May Allah reward your kindness.

But please…

Use the indicator.

It should be the Sunnah of every driver in the country.

A lesson from the road

Travelling, teaching, and meeting people across the world has taught me something that no book ever could.

People are hungry.

Not for food.

Not for entertainment.

But for meaning.

For guidance.

For someone to listen to them.

For someone to remind them of Allah SWT and of their obligations.

And sometimes the biggest impact you make is not the lecture you deliver on stage.

It is the conversation you have after it.

The quiet moment when someone says:

“Sheikh… can I tell you something I have never told anyone before?”

Those are the moments that make every kilometre of travel worth it.

Even with a fractured foot.

Gratitude

This Ramadan in Malaysia has been many things:

Busy.
Painful (literally).
Emotionally intense.
Spiritually uplifting.

But above all…

It has been a reminder of Allah’s kindness.

Kindness through:

Friends who feel like family.

A wife who supports the mission unconditionally (with the exception of demanding some visits to bazars and shopping centres).

Communities that welcome you with open arms.

And even a fractured foot that reminds you to slow down and trust Allah’s plan.

As Allah SWT says:

لَئِن شَكَرْتُمْ لَأَزِيدَنَّكُمْ
“If you are grateful, I will surely increase you.”
(Qur’an 14:7)

So to my Malaysian family…

Thank you for reminding me that the Ummah is still full of love.

And to my foot…

Please heal quickly.

Because the schedule after Ramadan is not looking very "rest-friendly".

Advance Hari Raya to one and all.

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Let me begin with something we all instinctively understand.

A dog is not born “good” or “bad.”
A dog was created to be a trainable animal.

Give it structure, boundaries, consistency, and leadership, and it becomes loyal, calm, predictable—and even impressive.
Remove those things, and the same dog becomes destructive, impulsive, loud, and sometimes dangerous. Not because it hates you, but because it has learned that it is in charge.

I had 2 dogs back in the day, Mac & Cheese. They used to sit down instantly every time I put my hands in my pockets. Because they were trained that a little treat is hidden somewhere in my pockets.

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And before you object, please—no, I am not calling human beings dogs.
I am saying that there’s something far more unsettling:

Parts of you function exactly like one 🐕

The reward system in our brain never ask moral questions

A dog does not sit because it understands obedience.
It sits because it understands reward.

You show it a treat, and it performs.
You repeat the treat; it memorizes the behavior.
You delay the treat, and it gets confused—or frustrated.

The dog does not ask:
“Is this good for my long-term wellbeing?”
“Is this harmful to my future?”
“Will this embarrass me later?”

It simply asks:

What worked last time?

Now pause for a moment and reflect.

How different is that from the way many of us live today?

🧠 Your brain is a brilliant animal

Modern neuroscience has finally caught up with what Islam has always known:
The human brain is designed to seek pleasure and avoid pain. That simple.

Dopamine rewards what feels good.
Repetition wires habits.
Short-term pleasure overrides long-term wisdom if left unchecked.

Your brain is designed to be incredibly intelligent, but it is not moral.
It does not care if something is Halal or Haram.
It does not care if something ruins your marriage, your Salah, or your Akhirah.

It cares about one thing:

Did this feel good, and can we do it again?

That’s not a flaw.
That’s a tool.

But a tool without a master becomes a weapon.

The Nafs: The spoiled trainer

And then there is the nafs.

Allah ﷻ does not sugarcoat it.

“Indeed, the nafs constantly commands towards evil…”
(Qur’an 12:53)

The Nafs is not logical.
It is persuasive.

It doesn’t shout.
It whispers.

“Just this once.”
“You’ve had a hard day.”
“Allah is Forgiving.”
“Everyone does it.”

And the brain—being an obedient animal—starts building the pathway.

This is how sins become habits.
This is how habits become identities.
And this is how people wake up one day saying,

“I don’t know how I got here.”

You didn’t fall.
You were slowly trained & conditioned.

Islam’s invitation to get in control

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Islam does not ask you to kill your desires.
It asks you to govern them.

The Islamic model is beautifully balanced:

• The Qalb (heart) is meant to lead, connected to Allah SWT

• The ‘Aql (intellect) is meant to advise and reflect

• The brain is meant to execute

• The Nafs is meant to be restrained

When this order is reversed, chaos follows.

When the nafs leads, the brain rationalizes, and the heart becomes silent.

That’s when you see people who can quote Qur’an, attend Halaqahs, and still live double lives.

Knowledge without leadership is just information.

Ramadan: Alla’s obedience training

Ramadan was never about hunger and thirst.
It is about retraining.

Allah ﷻ temporarily removes:

• food

• drink

• Halal intimacy

Not because these are bad, but to teach you something profound:

If you can say no to Halal,
you can say no to Haram too.

This is obedience training at its finest.

Salah throughout the day is the same. Once you hear the call, life should come to a pause, and you should respond to Allah’s command.
You submit—even when you don’t feel like it.

You are teaching your inner animal one thing:

“You do not decide. I do.”

When the dog walks the owner

We live in an age where many people are being dragged by their cravings.

Dragged by:

• impulses

• screens

• desires

• ego

• validations

• urges

And then we label it as:
“Personality.”
“Struggle.”
“Human nature, etc”

Islam calls it something else:
lack of Mujahadah.

Striving against the Nafs is not optional in Islam.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

“The strong one is not the one who overpowers others, but the one who controls himself when angry.”
(Bukhari & Muslim)

That is leadership.

The good news: Retraining is always doable

Here is the mercy of Allah SWT.

Anything that was trained into you can be retrained out of you.

The brain is plastic.
The Nafs is adaptable.
Habits can be unlearned.

But only if you stop negotiating with impulses and start issuing commands.

Consistency beats intensity.
Structure beats motivation.
Leadership beats guilt.

And above all:
Connection to Allah SWT beats willpower.

Take the leash of your life back

If you don’t train your dog, it will embarrass you.
If you don’t discipline your Nafs, it will humiliate you.
If you don’t lead your brain, it will betray your values.

Allah SWT did not create you to be dragged by instincts.
He created you to rise above them.

So take the leash back.

Let the heart lead as commanded by Allah SWT.
Let Iman set the direction.
And remind everything inside you:

“I am not a slave to my urges.
I am the slave of Allah SWT.”

That is not repression.

That is the true freedom. or else, don’t be offended by the comparison 🐕 …

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Let’s be honest for a moment. (As Muslims, honesty is not an option)

Muslims are some of the most creative people on earth.

Not always in ‘Ibadah though… but definitely in justifying what we’re already doing.

Music? 🎵 ~~ Not problem!

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Just:

• Put a Nasheed-style beat

• Add a slow-motion video

• Throw in a Qur’anic font

• Write “Islamic Song” in the caption

…and congratulation — Halalified with guilt-free conscience 😌

📱 The new Da’wah playlist

Scroll through Muslim social media today and you’ll probably find:

• Emotional reels about Palestine — with background music

• Reminder videos about Jannah — with background music

• Marriage advice taking from powerful lectures — with background music

• Even Qur’an verses… yes… with background music

And if you ask,

“Brother, sister… isn’t that music?”

The answer is usually one of the following:

• “My sheikh allowed it.”

• “There is a difference of opinion.”

• “It’s not music music really.”

• “It’s just vibes.”

• “It helps the message reach more people.”

SubhanAllah…we’ve gone from ‘Is it pleasing to Allah SWT?’ to ‘Does it perform well on the algorithm?’

🧠 Let’s be clear (Without being rude)

This is not about:

• Attacking people

• Questioning intentions

• Declaring who is or isn’t righteous

Most people mean well.

Most creators want Khayr.

Most Muslims love Islam.

But loving Islam also means being honest with ourselves.

📚 So what does Islam actually say?

Yes — there is scholarly discussion on music.

But here’s what isn’t disputed:

🔹 The Qur’an never needed music to soften hearts

🔹 The Sahabah didn’t need background tracks to feel Iman

🔹 The Prophet ﷺ transformed hearts with words, character, and revelation — not melodies

Allah SWT says:

“And among the people are those who purchase idle talk to mislead others from the path of Allah…” (Surah Luqmān 31:6)

Many classical scholars understood Lahw Al-Hadith to include music that distracts hearts from the remembrance of Allah SWT.

At the very least, music has never been a spiritual necessity in Islam.

🎭 The real question we avoid

If the Qur’an doesn’t hit our hearts anymore unless it comes with a beat… that’s not a creativity issue — that’s a heart issue.

When music becomes:

• The emotional trigger

• The motivational force

• The attention grabber

Then the Qur’an slowly becomes… background noise. And that should worry us.

📖 Replace, don’t just remove

Islam doesn’t just say “stop” — it says “replace”.

Replace:

🎧 Music with the 📖 Qur’an

🎶 Vibes with → 🕊️ Khushu’

🎼 Emotional hype with → 💎 Meaningful reflection

The Qur’an:

• Already has rhythm

• Already has depth

• Already has power

• Already shook mountains 🌄

It doesn’t need a remix.

🌱 A gentle invitation (Not a cancel campaign)

This isn’t about calling people out.

It’s about calling ourselves up.

Ask yourself:

• Would I still post this if there was no music?

• Does this content bring people closer to Allah SWT, or just closer to me and my account?

• Am I trying to move hearts… or just boost reach?

If music helps views but weakens values, the trade isn’t worth it.

🤍 Final say

The Ummah doesn’t need:

• “Islamic songs”

• “Halal beats”

• “Faith-based vibes”

The Ummah needs revived hearts.

And nothing revives the heart like the speech of Allah SWT.

Let’s bring the Qur’an back into our lives and let us make it the center of our existence — without background music.

Because when the Qur’an speaks…

everything else should fall silent.

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Every December, Muslims in the West (and even in Muslim countries) experience a very familiar feeling. It’s not quite joy. It’s not quite guilt. It’s more like… awkward spiritual confusion.

The Christmas lights go up. The carols start playing. The emails begin with “Merry Christmas!” And suddenly, many Muslims find themselves trapped between two fears:

• What if I offend people if I don’t celebrate or greet them?

• What if I offend Allah SWT if I do?

Welcome to the annual Christmas Conundrum.

Let’s talk about it—calmly, clearly and Islamically…

The awkward Muslim smile 😬

You know that one very well.

Someone says, “Merry Christmas!” and your brain goes into a whirlpool:

• Can I say it back?

• Can I say ‘Happy Holidays’ instead?

• Can I just nod softly while squeezing my face to indicate that I am smiling? or

• Is nodding during Christmas is Bid‘ah?

So you respond with a strange and confusing phrase like:

“Ah… yeah… hope you enjoy the… um… festive season… take care… inshaAll— I mean… enjoy.”

No disrespect was intended here—but confusion was definitely achieved.

Islam, however, does not leave us confused. It gives us clarity without harshness and principles without hostility.

The ultimate reality.

Let’s be very clear and very fair.

1. Christmas is a religious celebration for those who believe that Jesus Christ (PBUH) is God Himself in human form.

Christmas is not just about food, gifts, and Mariah Carey.

At its core, it celebrates beliefs that directly contradict the very Islamic ‘Aqeedah, including:

• The divinity of ‘Isa (Jesus) عليه السلام

• The concept of sonship, and

• The Trinity

Allah says:

“They have certainly disbelieved who say, ‘Allah is the Messiah, the son of Mary.’” (Qur’an 5:72)

For this reason, Muslim scholars across all four Madhahib/schools of thought are clear about this:

👉 Participating in, endorsing, or celebrating religious festivals of other faiths is not permissible.

Not because Muslims are rude. Not because Muslims are arrogant. But because our faith has boundaries. Many times, very strict boundaries.

2. Not celebrating ≠ Disrespect

This is where many Muslims panic.

Islam does not teach us to insult, mock, belittle, or look down on others.

In fact, Allah SWT commands the opposite:

“Allah does not forbid you from being kind and just toward those who do not fight you because of religion.” (Qur’an 60:8)

You can:

• Be kind

• Be respectful

• Be professional

• Be generous

• Be a good neighbor, etc

Without saying “Merry Christmas.”

Not celebrating a religious festival is not hatred. It is identity.

The slippery slope (The real danger)

The danger isn’t in one greeting. The danger is in normalization.

It usually starts small:

• “I don’t believe in it; I’m just saying it.”

• “It’s just for the kids.”

• “It’s just food and vibes.”

Then slowly:

• The heart becomes casual

• The lines blur

• Islamic distinctiveness fades away

The Prophet ﷺ warned us clearly:

“Whoever imitates a people is from them.” (Abu Dawood)

This hadith is not about clothing styles or language alone—it’s about religious identity and allegiance.

When Muslims feel embarrassed to be Muslim, Shaytan doesn’t need to push much harder.

“But I live in the west…”

So did many companions—in Abyssinia.

They lived under a Christian ruler. They showed excellent character. They were deeply respectful. They contributed to the community and so on…

Yet they never:

• Celebrated Christian holy days

• Endorsed Christian theology

• Compromised their beliefs to fit in

They proved something powerful:

👉 You can coexist without dissolving.

So what can a Muslim say?

Islam is practical. Here are dignified, respectful alternatives:

• “I wish you well.”

• “Hope you enjoy your time with family.”

• “Thank you—wishing you well.” etc.

Clear conscience. Clear boundaries. No drama.

A Gentle reminder to fellow Muslims ❤️

If you’ve already fallen into this trap—breathe.

Allah SWT is Al-Ghafoor. Most forgiving.

This is not about shaming. It’s about awakening.

Many Muslims did not compromise out of rebellion—but out of:

• Social pressure

• Fear of being judged

• Desire to be liked, and so on.

But our honour was never in fitting in.

Allah SWT says:

“And whoever seeks honour — then to Allah belongs all honour.” (Qur’an 35:10)

Final thought

Islam does not teach us to cancel people. It teaches us to stand firm with mercy, kindness, and good manners.

You can smile. You can be kind. You can be the best colleague, neighbor, and friend.

But you don’t need to wrap your ‘Aqeedah in gift box or decorate it in anyway to be accepted.

Being Muslim is not a social embarrassment. It is a divine responsibility. So be who Allah SWT expects you to be.

May Allah SWT grant us wisdom without weakness, firmness without harshness, and confidence without arrogance.

Ameen, Ameen, Ameen… Yallaa, do better this year Insh a Allah.

Yesterday’s tragic shooting at Bondi Beach broke our hearts and tore through our sense of security. To the families who lost their loved ones, to those injured, and to everyone who saw that horror unfold—may you find strength and peace. Ameen. No one should ever face such terror in what should be a place of joy and calm.

Yet, in those few horrific minutes, we also witnessed something deeply beautiful: bravery. People helping strangers, lifeguards turning rescuers, and first responders heading straight toward danger instead of away from it. And among those heroes was a man named Ahmed ElAhmed—a Muslim man who tackled one of the gunmen and managed to take away his weapon. He was then shot twice in his arm and later was rushed to the hospital for a surgery.

And then came the twist no one saw coming: Pauline Hanson (I mean the clown), the leader of One Nation—the same political brand that has been surviving on building fears in the hearts of people who dedicated their entire career to creating campaigns blaming Muslims for every problem from terrorism to traffic jams—posted a tribute praising Ahmed for his courage. hmmm strange huh!!!

For once, Pauline’s words were right… just delivered to the wrong audience. She called a Muslim man a hero. Yes, a Muslim, the very group she’s spent decades warning Australians about. Imagine her surprise when she realizes that the man she commended acted because of his faith—not in spite of it.

It’s really funny: while she’s spent years shouting “go back where you came from,” a Muslim man was out here protecting people from terror and putting his entire life to danger. Maybe One Nation should start handing out Qur’ans instead of pamphlets—they might learn that Islam already teaches the values they claim to defend.

Allah SWT tells us clearly in the Qur’an:

“Whoever saves one life, it is as if he has saved all of mankind.” (Qur’an 5:32)

And Prophet Muhammad ﷺ said:

“A true Muslim is the one from whose tongue and hand others are safe.” (Sahih al-Bukhari)

That’s the Islam Ahmed acted upon—an Islam of courage, mercy, and selflessness. Not the twisted picture that gets painted by opportunistic politicians who thrive on fear.

But as we grieve for what happened in Sydney, my heart turns to another tragedy—one far away but painfully familiar. I can’t help but think of the people of Palestine, who have lived through seventy-plus years of fear, bombardment, and occupation. If Australians were horrified watching a few minutes of gunfire at Bondi, imagine how it feels to live under that terror day after day, generation after generation.

Children who go to sleep uncertain if they’ll see the morning. Mothers who bury their sons and cannot even grieve properly. Whole neighborhoods erased in minutes. What Ahmed saw in seconds on Bondi Beach—Palestinians see daily.

This isn’t about comparing tragedies. It’s about expanding our compassion. A life lost in Sydney and a life lost in Gaza are both sacred. Both deserve to be mourned. Both demand justice.

So, as some politicians use these moments to divide, may we choose to unite. While voices like Hanson’s continue to recycle slogans and sow fear in the hearts of others, may we respond with reason, empathy, and the absolute truth. Because violence has no religion—but peace does.

May Allah SWT bless the brave, comfort the grieving, heal the wounded, and soften the hearts of those who still can’t see that love, justice, and courage know no race, color, or creed.

Bismillah…

People often see counsellors sitting in a chair nodding wisely, holding a notebook, maybe sipping on coffee or tea, and they think, “MashaAllah, such a calm job!”
Ya Allah… if only they knew.

Being a counsellor is one of the most enjoyable-difficult-beautifully-exhausting-spiritually-draining-heart-expanding jobs on earth.
(Yes, I made that one word on purpose. Because that’s exactly how it feels.)

Every day, I sit with people carrying oceans inside their chests—some waves are gentle, some waves are extremely violent, and some are tsunamis. And while I’m trying to help them swim around, I’m also making Du‘a constantly that I don’t drown with them.

Some days, after a session, I walk out of my office, run to my wife, and just grab her and hug her like I just survived an earthquake. She probably thinks, “What have you done wrong?” Or, “What did your client say this time?” But Wallahi, it’s because listening to the pain of others reminds me of how much Allah SWT has blessed me with a woman who supports me, serves our family, tolerates my weird sleeping hours during Liverpool matches, and still smiles.

Other days…
Let’s just say the floor looks very inviting. Very much so.
I sit down right there and feel my throat tightening, and I just want to cry like a child who dropped his ice cream. Because some of the struggles people carry—you wouldn’t imagine them even in a movie script.

And there are days when I can’t even speak.
I go straight to the prayer mat, fall into Sujood, and pour my heart out to Allah SWT.
“Ya Allah, ease their pain. Heal their homes. Mend their hearts. Save them from what is destroying them.”
Because sometimes you realize that you can give them your ear, your compassion, your knowledge… But only Allah SWT can give them the necessary healing.

Then there are the best days—the days that make every tear, every late night, and every emotional migraine worth it.

The days a client looks at me and says,
“Sheikh… I did it.”
Or,
“We’re back together.”
Or,
“My addiction is gone.”
Or even just,
“I’m okay or better now.”

That happiness you cannot even put into words, you cannot measure it, or explain it. It’s the kind of happiness that your inner soul feels. It’s like witnessing a sunrise after a long winter in London🥶—and knowing Allah SWT allowed you to be a tiny part of it.

With time, I started realizing something:
This job is not really a job.
It’s a gift.
Allah SWR put me here—in front of people’s secrets, pain, shame, and hope—not because I’m special, but because He wanted to test me… and maybe, to bless me at the same time.

And here's why I said all the above.

You don’t have to be a certified counsellor to be a counsellor.

Wallahi, the Ummah is starving not for professionals, but for compassionate hearts.

Be someone’s counsellor.
Be someone’s safe space.
Be the shoulder that doesn’t move away.
The smile that gives them hope.
The voice that says, “I’m here.”
The hand that pulls them out.
The friend that hears without judging.
The sibling who stands even when others walk away.
The person who reconciles broken families, reunites wounded hearts, and protects relationships instead of spreading rumors and destruction.

Our Prophet ﷺ said:

“The best of mankind are those who are most beneficial to others.” al-Mu’jam al-Awsaṭ lil-Ṭabarānī 5937

So be beneficial.
Be kind.
Be gentle.
Be present.
Be available.
Be generous.
Be the one who lifts, not the one who pushes away.
Be the one who mends, not the one who breaks and destroys.
Be the relief, not the reason for pain.

Don’t underestimate the healing power of sitting with someone for 5 minutes and saying, “Tell me, what’s wrong?”

Don’t underestimate what a sincere Du’a for someone can do. (And I want you to imagine someone you’ve helped making Du’a for you.)

Don’t underestimate what one comforting sentence can save someone from.

And don’t underestimate your ability to change a life—with nothing more than love, mercy, and sincere intentions.

As for me…
I will keep walking this enjoyable-difficult-sweet-painful-hilarious-emotional path.
I will keep crying on the floor, hugging my wife unexpectedly, laughing with clients when breakthroughs happen, and falling into Sujood when the load becomes too heavy.

Because at the end of the day, being allowed to serve others—even in small ways—is one of the greatest honors Allah SWT can give a person.

May Allah SWT make us all keys to goodness, locks to harm, and counsellors to every heart around us.
Ameen.

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As I write this piece, I can’t stop myself from laughing, 😂 and you will know why very soon when you reach the part of my prayer and Du’a for this poor lady. Just keep reading.

Lately, it feels like the Australian Senate is moonlighting as a comedy club. And guess who’s the headline clown? None other than Pauline Show Hanson. Or as I’d like to call her, Pauline Pantomime Hanson, who, AGAIN and bizarrely, walked onto the Senate floor wrapped in a Burqa.

Now, I know that many people are offended by her act, but not so much in my case. In fact, I am so grateful for that Burqa stunt, because finally, here comes a chance for Pauline’s face to sign off. Or to sign a long-term peace treaty with the public’s eyeballs. Honestly, I am currently praying so hard for the Pauline HanClown to get so comfortable and stuck inside that Burqa that she forgets how to exit—saving all of us from the daily horror of looking at her face. Ameen, Ameen, Ameen.

Or…

Maybe she would love the Burqa so much that she would later change her name to Pauline Hassan! Who knows!

Now, Sister Hassan feels that nothing could keep our great nation safe except dressing up like those she misunderstands and disrespects the most. Nothing keeps her awake late at night in horror other than a piece of fabric that devoted Muslim women decided to wear. What a wise thing to do, right? But in any case, her entry to the chamber didn’t suddenly enlighten the nation. In fact, the entire room (or the majority) was filled with disgust as a result of her irresponsible behavior.

Let’s get one thing straight—Muslim women who choose to wear the Burqa are not auditioning for a part in some foolish political drama. They are simply living their faith, quietly, and with dignity. Meanwhile, in Parliament, sadly, sometimes we get a one-woman circus, where her script is very lost and low-budget, but the chaos and foolishness are front and center. Under the watch of our government.

It’s easy to laugh (and believe me, the temptation was strong), but these stunts have consequences. They feed stereotypes, fuel ignorance, and show the world that some so-called leaders would rather perform than do anything beneficial for the people they are supposed to serve. My faith (the one she mocks) teaches me that dignity isn’t a costume—you earn it by respecting others, even when you don’t understand them or don’t agree with them.

May Allah SWT grant us all a little more wisdom than what we see through this clown. Pauline, if you’re truly curious about the people behind the Burqa, how about making an effort to talk to them? How about sitting down humbly with them? Listen to their stories, etc., and maybe, just maybe, you’ll learn something other than where the Parliament bathrooms are.

Until then, one can only hope our leaders start filling the Senate with more brains, genuine compassion, ZERO racism, and a sprinkle of some sense—because after last night’s one-woman costume drama, it’s clear Burqas belong to the faithful sisters, and they are not made for political props on the governmental stage. This was shameful.

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I don’t know what went through me when I was staring at this picture…

This is a similar area to where I was born and grew up. Egypt, the beautiful city of Alexandria. That city was always alive with laughter, noise, and, of course, the unique calls of fruit and vegetable vendors. But honestly, what was most fascinating to me at this stage was the never-ending neighborhood debates and loud voices. Arguments about missing chickens, runaway donkeys (yes, it happened more often than you think!), or who owed whom a cup of sugar could bring the entire street together. But what stood out to me as a child (at least during those days, when respecting elders was normal) was how everyone actually listened, especially to elders in the neighborhood—sometimes with arms folded, sometimes with veins popping out of their throats, and other times while nodding their heads without actually listening to a single word! But they were always determined to reach some kind of peaceful solution. And that, my friends, was my first taste of street-corner counselling, and maybe it planted the “counsellor seed” in my heart.

Years later, SubhanAllah, here I am: an “official” counsellor in the community.

But let me be very honest with you. I still firmly believe that old neighbors had more advanced conflict resolution techniques than most psychology textbooks today! (I am not even joking). Sometimes I catch myself mid-session, thinking, “If Umm Hassan was here now, she’d probably fix this problem with a single tray of delicious pudding mixed with her legendary death stare.”

What most people don’t realize is how much a counsellor actually grows as a result of their clients’ contribution. Here’s a secret for you all. There’s a myth out there that counsellors are these wise, stoic gurus dispensing magical advice from high above!. But the reality, in my case at least, is that my clients have taught me a lot. They’ve challenged me, inspired me, and—without meaning to—completely revamped how I approach counselling and helping others.

I remember one young man who, during a session, looked at me and said: “Sheikh Wael, don’t talk to me like a therapist. Talk to me like a big brother. Can you do that?” That single request changed the way how I connected with people later on. (And yes, now every so often I get called “bro” in sessions, and I do love it. In Philippines, in particular, they call me Big Brother, and I love it even more.)

Some days my counselling sessions are pure comedy. There was a wife who once told me, very seriously, “Sheikh, my husband responds better to negotiations than lectures. I have literally bribed him to attend your sessions after cooking him biryani every single day for a week.” I nearly fell out of my chair laughing, but honestly, it became one of my official strategies with them—if every tip fails, try to bring him food.

Of course, it’s not all jokes and runaway donkeys. There are some days that are very tough—days when the pain in the room is so thick you can almost touch it. Sometimes, I find myself asking Allah SWT for strength, patience, and the wisdom to offer some healing to the wounded. Faith becomes your only solution here. There have been moments, after a heavy and dark session, when I simply sat quietly and asked Allah SWT (after an uncontrollable crying segment), “Ya Allah, please use me for good. Help me carry the burdens that I hear and turn them into something beautiful.” In Islam, gratitude, or Shukr, isn’t just something we express when life is going smooth and easy, but also when we’re feeling weighed down and miserable. Every client’s struggle is both a test and a trust, and every breakthrough feels like a Du’a answered for both of us.​ Alhamdulilah.

Over the years, these experiences have shaped not just my counselling style and approach but also my character. I’ve learned to see every client as a gift from Allah SWT, every story as a valuable learned lesson, and every awkward silence as a chance to show empathy and compassion. Sometimes, out of nowhere, a client will step out of their storm and say, “Alhamdulillah, I feel lighter now.” And that’s when I know—this path, with all its tears and challenges, is a path of I’badah/worship.

If you’re ever afraid to help someone because you “don’t have all the answers,” remember: the real secret is just to show up and listen. Whether on an Alexandria sidewalk or in a modern counselling offices. Compassion, faith, and a little sense of humor never go out of style. So, to every client (and neighbor) who ever trusted me with their story: thank you from the bottom of my heart. And to Allah SWT, the Turner of hearts, all praises and thanks are due to You alone—for this journey, for every lesson, and for the blessing of simply being there when someone needed a helpful hand.

May Allah SWT keep us all grounded, grateful, and content with all His decisions. Ameen, Ameen, Ameen.

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Is it lust?

If I asked you why people watch porn, you’d probably say, “Sheikh, it’s obvious. Lust. Desires. The nafs. Shaytaan etc.”

And yes, lust plays a role. But here’s a strange truth I’ve learned after years of counseling Muslims struggling with porn: the real root isn’t really lust. In fact, some of the brothers who reach out are happily married—with beautiful, pious wives. They have halal access to intimacy. And yet… they still sneak away at night, phone glowing under the blanket, whispering Astaghfirullah even while they click.

So what’s going on? If it’s not lust, then what is it?

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