Years ago, I chose a path that brought me much good and relieved me of a long period of weariness. It was a path that brought me closer to those who cherish their Islamic faith, and to those who are still learning, searching for meaning, or for information to illuminate their way. I closed the door to doubt, confusion, and futility, not to escape questions, but to reject the aimless wandering that leads nowhere.
Many seek your opinion and support, not because they are searching for the truth, but because they are lost in their own decisions and want someone to share their confusion. I have closed the door on pointless arguments and outdated theories. If someone says they doubt something, I tell them: Perhaps you are right, so stay where you are. Not every question is worth wasting a lifetime on.
Life moves quickly, and we have no time to waste. The end is nearer than we think. Love stories end in court, and beautiful trips are torn apart by circumstances, leaving behind only photos and dates. The finest foods and most lavish feasts are emptied within hours. So what is the value of a materialistic life built on fleeting pleasures, photos, and memories, only to end in separation, or sleeping on the sidewalks, covered with a piece of cardboard, no different from a dog seeking warmth?
Painful questions, and even more painful truths. Many have disappeared without a trace; they left the homes where they were born, parting ways with their parents and their rooms adorned with photos and gifts, and years have passed without any news of them. Did they leave in search of themselves? Or were they fleeing a void they didn’t know how to fill?
What does it mean to eat in the most luxurious hotels with a golden spoon, while your father sleeps in the streets?
What does it mean to accumulate money through work and toil, then spend it on appearances that give you a false sense of value in the eyes of others, while your brother is in prison and your sister is lost in the world of drugs?
What does it mean to sleep with a full stomach while your neighbor is hungry?
I read a lot and learned a lot, until I found myself living in an intellectual stratum far removed from my family, friends, and neighbors. And when I learned about Islam, and when I bowed in prayer and prostration, I realized the true meaning of humility: to know your place in this life, and to realize that you are merely a consumer in a world you did not create, a world that came into being for you, and you never questioned who created it, prepared it, and made it so beautiful and perfect.
It is the same force, the same power, that decreed our departure one day through death. Hence, humility becomes a necessity, not a choice; silence is sometimes more truthful than chatter; and simplicity deeper than empty philosophy. For life needs not geniuses, but rather humble hearts that know their place and their purpose.
At one point, I decided to run away from the party.
A party where there is no place for values, nor for morals, nor for the unknown soldier, nor for the scientist, nor for the one who spent his life in laboratories searching for a cure, nor for the one who guards the borders, nor for the baker whose bread we find every morning on our tables.
I left the party for good, because the spotlight was only on the most beautiful, the richest, and the artistic and athletic figures, while there was no place for a single thinker or scientist. These were people whom society had granted a false stardom, and the rest of the people revolved around them, waiting for a photo or an autograph.
I asked myself:
Is this life?
Is this the reason for existence?
What about me if I leave this world alone? Who will ask about me? Who will care?
I don’t think so.
The unknown world cannot be understood by dancing at a party where there is no place for principles, values, or reason.
