Six years ago, I was broken, a shell of myself and I had the wrong understanding of Allah.
There were days when I questioned everything, days when the world was so heavy, the only reason I got out of bed was because two little eyes and a bundle of hair appeared by my side every morning. Telling me she needed me—and the guilt kicked me awake.
Days when I was so broken, all I could do was stare blankly at empty walls, days when rashes spread on my eyes and neck, days when my mother wept when she saw my shaken state, days when I felt like the world had moved on and left me behind— forgotten, alone. I often wondered: if I disappear, would anyone even notice?
Little did I know that through that time, Allah was healing me and lifting me up. Slowly, gently, and surely, in order to hand me my dreams in the most beautiful of ways. Six years ago, Sheikh Muhammad Al-Shareef dared me to dream, to ask for du’aas that gave me butterflies, and to put them into words.
Who stands in front of the King and asks for a penny? What if you could live the life you want and craft it with du’aa? Ask Allah for what you want, and leave the How up to Him.
— Sheikh Muhammad Al Shareef, Rahimahullah
Over the past six years I have borne witness to how Allah has meticulously answered my du’aas, whispered between sobs in sujood and woven seamlessly into reality by Al-Lateef. Small thoughts I scribbled down and don’t even remember uttering in du’aa have not only become true, but majorly shape my life today. Little things—like fundraise for my local Islamic school written down between a million-and-one other dreams, have come true over and over in multiple ways through my work at my local Islamic non-profit. It doesn’t go unnoticed how every step, every breath I take, has been carefully thought out, planned, and crafted by my Rabb.
Just for me.
And now, as I stand on the precipice of thirty, treading carefully on the last few months of my twenties, I am holding my daughter Mariam’s hand as we walk the cobbled streets of Andalus, another one of my du’aas that gave me butterflies, answered in real-time. The scent of orange blossoms fills the springtime air as we tour our rich Islamic history with a guide who breathes the ancient stories of Al-Andalus into life with such passion that we can see ourselves travel back in time, and I am in deep awe and reverence of my Lord.
I feel like I’m dreaming. But no, this is real.
I would have never imagined that my du’aa came true through the place where I work and the community I love. I have a camera attached to my hip with me every step of the way to capture the wonder of Al-Andalus—spilling flower pots on crowded window sills, ancient doors that serve as a time portal to our golden Islamic heritage, and intricate details in every wall and corner of monumental buildings, like Cordoba Masjid and Al-Hambra Palace. Places that speak to a time of Islamic glory. I wish I could capture it all: the colors, the scents, the grand beauty of the Islamic architecture, and save it in my pocket to take back home with me.
There are lessons in every city we visited: Madrid, Toledo, Cordoba, Granada, Seville, Algeciras, and Gibraltar. We learned that the Umayyad commander, Tariq ibn Ziad, set foot on the sandy shores of Gibraltar (Jabl-al-Tariq in Arabic) after seeing a vision of the Prophet ﷺ to tell him to bring Islam to Al-Andalus, a mere 80 years after his ﷺ passing.
I wonder how many people like Tariq Ibn Ziad have seen the Prophet ﷺ in their dreams, how he ﷺ continues to influence our lives from beyond this dunya. My heart yearns to experience the same:
I will, too, see him ﷺ in a dream —another whispered du’aa, another butterfly to add to my growing garden of du’aas (I collect butterflies now, it’s a habit).
We also learned about the 500-year downfall of the Muslims, when greed and power took over, as our tour guide walked us through the arc of Al-Andalus — from glory to loss. It reminded me of the stories we hear often in the Qur’an: of Fir’aun, Qarun, and the likes of whom so many exist in our lives: in our families, colleagues, doctors, politicians — greed is present everywhere we go.
And it brought one thing home for me, over and over again: this dunya is not worth losing my relationship with Allah for. We lost the strength of our Ummah due to ego. The glory they craved was temporary.
لَا يَغُرَّنَّكَ تَقَلُّبُ ٱلَّذِينَ كَفَرُوا۟ فِى ٱلْبِلَـٰدِ
مَتَـٰعٌۭ قَلِيلٌۭ ثُمَّ مَأْوَىٰهُمْ جَهَنَّمُ ۚ وَبِئْسَ ٱلْمِهَادُ
Do not be deceived by the prosperity of the disbelievers throughout the land.
It is only a brief enjoyment. Then Hell will be their home—what an evil place to rest!
(Surah Al-‘Imran, 196-197)
Cordoba Masjid stands as a reminder of the unity the Ummah once had, before the decline began. Many say it began with Al-Mansur, a man who let his ego take center stage, and began attacking others just to showcase his strength. Allah buried his town Madeenat-al-Zahra, which was only recently excavated. Buildings made of limestone were built to last, but only ruins are left.
It’s just like my father always told me: be a person who, when they pass away, people will remember in goodness and make du’aa for. Don’t be someone people are glad to have left. As I stare at the ruins of Madeenat-al-Zahra, I can only wonder: how many people were glad when Al-Mansur departed this world?
And yet in contrast, the Al-Hambra Palace, made of humble brick and plaster—absolutely mystifies historians as to how it still stands today, 800 years later. When the founder of the Nasrid dynasty, Muhammad ibn Nasr, reclaimed Granada in the 13th century, people praised him as the victor. He replied with
“La, wa la ghaliba illallah — no, and there is no victor except Allah.”
And that phrase is now etched over ten thousand times into the walls of Al-Hambra, along with other reminders and verses from the Qur’an. Sentiments from Surah Al-‘Imran, that the bounty, power, and honor is for Allah serve not only as decoration, but constant reminders to our heart: put Allah center stage, and not the ego.
The carvings are so vast, yet so intricate, and my eyes can’t keep up trying to scan every inch, trying to capture with my camera lens as much as I can. Every wall, every crevice, serves as a reminder to all of us—the palace reverberates with the glory of Allah, and my heart feels astounded by it.
Seeing those phrases pull at my soul, reminding me of my connection to my Lord and how my heart feels held by Allah. I can only imagine what the Sultan must have felt, walking through these walls with the weight of the world on his shoulders. I imagine it’s relief, tawakkul, shukr, and strength.
As I marvel at the level of craftsmanship it took to build every crevice, every tile as a dedication to Allah, I am humbled to think that even the beauty and details of Al-Hambra—the over ten thousand inscriptions all across the building, each one a whisper of du’aa, a glorification of Allah—cannot encompass the gratitude He deserves. Today, Al-Hambra is still standing, not because of its architecture or the materials it’s made of, but due to the echo of divine truth carved into every wall: wa la ghaliba illallah.
And with Mariam’s hand in mine, I walk through my living du’aa in Al-Andalus because of the divine truth that echoes in my soul:
وَقَالَ رَبُّكُمُ ادْعُونِي أَسْتَجِبْ لَكُمْ
And your Lord says “Call upon Me, I will respond to you”. (Surah Ghafir, 60)
Every step I take in life unlocks a new level of awareness and appreciation for Allah—not only in how He listens, but in how He has been answering every supplication, every cry of my broken heart with tenderness and exquisite detail. How He held and saw my brokenness and reshaped my heart with His love. Allah has turned those butterflies into reality, a beautiful garden of answered du’aas and closeness to Him.
I am truly honored and humbled that Allah chose me to be among those gifted with this journey. This journey to Al-Andalus wasn’t just an answered du‘aa — but a love letter penned by Al-Mujeeb. Every moment feels like walking through a time capsule from the world of our Muslim predecessors, to me staring in awe at the remnant of our Ummah’s former glory, and living its history in front of my very eyes, and that’s exactly what my heart had wanted, and more.
When I scribbled that du’aa down many years ago, when I asked Allah for it full of excitement and hope like a child in a candy shop, I never imagined this was how grand His answer would truly be. And if the taste of this is so sweet here in the dunya, then how much sweeter would that first step into Jannah be? The moment we meet our Lord? When the Angels say:
سَلَـٰمٌ عَلَيْكُمْ طِبْتُمْ فَٱدْخُلُوهَا خَـٰلِدِينَ
Peace be upon you! You have done well, so come in [to Jannah], to stay forever (Surah Az-Zumar, 73).
What led me to this moment didn’t come easy—I had to face the hardest trials of my life to reach this point, but I wouldn’t trade the bliss and sweetness of being this close to my Rabb for the world. All I can feel in this moment is a sense of humbling gratitude and awe in how truly Allah is the Most Loving, Most Merciful Lord, and how He is the One who weaves stories more beautifully than I could ever imagine. More exquisitely than any pen could ever write.
Alhamdulillah.
