the oceans would run dry

Things I’m grateful for:

  • The ability to breathe
  • My home
  • Access to food and water
  • My parents
  • My grandmothers being alive & loving
  • My siblings
  • Being able to get an education
  • My job
  • Islam
  • Having a direct connection to God
  • Understanding Somali
  • Having a masjid close to home
  • Having had the opportunity to teach and inspire young children
  • Having people believe in my abilities even when I don’t myself
  • My little sister’s hugs and reassuring words (“don’t be sad”, “I love you”)
  • My mom taking care of me when I’m sick
  • Having memorized the little Qur’an that I know by heart
  • The rewards Allah gives when I stumble over the letters
  • Having no control over my smiles
  • The daily reminder of strength, beauty and Allah’s love that my hijab gives me
  • The power of people against injustices
  • Books
  • Kind-hearted individuals


Some of my notes from the meaning of Surah (Chapter) Luqman in the Qur’an:

  • Alhamdulillah: all praise & gratitude is to Allah
    • This is a fact, whether you want to acknowledge it is up to you
  • Allah gives us an example of how His praise works and that all of existence that praises and is grateful to Him isn’t doing Him justice

“If we have turned the entire trees on earth into pencils, and then the oceans (ink) would be extended into another seven oceans, the words of Allah wouldn’t run out, certainly Allah is the ultimate authority full of wisdom” (31:27).

  • What this verse means is that the praise of Allah, the wisdom of Allah, His commands, the way He unleashes His favors – if you were to document the things Allah does and the reasons in which He is to be praised, the oceans would run dry and every single pencil on earth made from ALL the trees would also “run dry”

When I feel ungrateful, I hope I come back to this.


fire with no end


There’s no other word to describe it. You were hesitant to claim that this was the truth at first, but it’s exactly how it looks. The words that kept tumbling out of her mouth were made of fire. It burned even before it touched you.

You know you’ve made mistakes. Plenty. But was there no room for softness?

To a point, you almost don’t exist. You found an asylum sitting in a mesh of green and only with the presence of your thoughts. You’re alone, and free to create a river that stretches as far as you can see.

Is this real? Her eyes; behind them is there a sort of sorrow? Maybe if you squinted hard enough you could see it. It must be there.

Did the horrors make her numb? She had been burnt too.

You realize the fire has become a cycle. And you know that it is possible for you to end it. But already too filled to the brim with the heaviness of words that you’ve been forced to carry; it is more so a hope.

You are a hypocrite in your own eyes. A smile so bright plastered on your face when the sun rises. But it always sets too soon.