“some people are waqf, sakib,” he said, with a calm certainty, like he had seen it firsthand.
i was intrigued immediately. “some people are waqf?”
he nodded, his gaze steady. “some people are waqf. they leave an impact singlehandedly that will continue to give, and give to millions even after they pass. but they have to move light in this world, so they can move to wherever Allah calls them to.”
a waqf is typically a community endowment, a project that people contribute to, continuing to give long after it is established. but there are some people so beloved to Allah that they become waqf on their own, leaving behind an impact that continues to benefit others even after they’re gone.
two days later, a video emerged that broke me. it felt mythical, like something out of legend. a man, with one hand completely severed, hurled a stick at the drone that hovered in front of it, cold and unfeeling, capturing his final moments. its camera was detached and mechanical, indifferent to the struggle unfolding beneath it. but the man, wounded and gasping for breath, used what little strength he had left in a final act of defiance. with his last breath, he chose resistance.
we live in a world where literally everything is choreographed for attention, curated for the cameras, for the views. but Allah chose to show the world through the enemy what true bravery is. it’s the kind of bravery we find in our history, the kind we read about in our books or hear in our classes. and now, we just saw it in front of our eyes.
i first saw the video at fajr. i kept rewatching it, over and over again. the weight of it wouldn’t leave me. and then, while driving to the gym, out of nowhere, i broke down crying. i have never mourned someone i didn’t know like this. not even some family members. but i didn’t know this man. i hadn’t followed his journey before his end. so why were these tears flowing?
it’s because in his death, he became something more than just a leader. he became a waqf. he became the embodiment of that selfless impact, one who would give and keep giving, even in his final act. the power of being waqf is that even in death, your struggle doesn’t end, it continues, inspiring and guiding others. that’s why he reached me, and why his death moved me so much.
there are moments in life when you realise that struggle itself is the gift, and that what remains beyond is shaped by how we respond. for some, the struggle does not end in ease but in defiance, with a final breath that echoes long after they are gone. he struggled his whole life, and his end was a reflection of that struggle. for the rest of us, the fight continues. we all walk through our own doors of struggle, each one heavy in its own way, shaping us as we pass through. the aim of a believer is not to find peace in this world, but to struggle through it, to meet your end still struggling. the key is not in seeking an easy path but in throwing the stick every day, in showing up to the struggle even when the fight feels endless.
i can only hope to follow that example in my own way. my journey and struggles may be small in comparison, but each test feels like a step toward something greater. just as some doors close, others open, and each one comes with its own weight. and it is in that weight that we find meaning.
Hakīm Ibn ʿUmair said:
مَن فُتِحَ لَهُ بَابُ خَيْرٍ فَلْيَنْتَهِزْهُ، فَإِنَّهُ لَا يَدْرِي مَتَى يُغْلَقُ عَنْهُ
“Whoever has a door of goodness opened for him, then let him make the best use of it, for he does not know when that door shall be closed.”
there are moments when struggle itself is a door of goodness, and we find strength in the weight of that door. for some, like him, the struggle ends with that final act of resistance. for the rest of us, we walk through these doors daily, showing up to the fight over and over again.
it’s never been about the outcome, it’s about the struggle. it’s about looking at your trials and knowing that strength comes from within them. our prophets never had easy lives. some even failed in transmitting the message widely, but they never stopped trying. they struggled until the end, and that is what i aspire to do. struggle until the end. the pain of it makes you stronger. be brave. walk through every door that opens, no matter how heavy it seems.
how can i lose as a believer when it has never been about the destination but about the journey? i look forward to the struggle because struggle brings me back to Allah. you only truly value freedom after you’ve been caged. you only grasp guidance after you’ve been lost.
there will always be more struggles ahead, but Allah, you made me strong, and you keep making me stronger. how have you designed my life so perfectly? there’s no one i can lean on more than you. i’ve never felt closer to you than when i was alone with you in a cell. if the life of a believer is meant to be filled with struggle, then let the hardest tests come.
i will fight harder. i will work smarter. i will be braver. i will build mountains and be ready to set them alight whenever the time comes.
i love my life. i love my tests. i am eager to see how much stronger they will make me, how much closer they will bring me to you. you are the best of planners, and i can see the beauty now. i can see the beauty in every turn, every stop, every crash. you are the best of planners, and i feel lucky to have my life guided by you.
Allah gave me this fire at the world, and it will fuel me for the rest of my life. He gave me sins to never stop repenting for, and they will fuel me for the rest of my life. nothing i do will ever feel like it’s enough. i just need to throw that stick every day.
