i give up trying.

bismillah.

lately, i’ve been thinking a lot about the popular saying “there’s a reason for everything,” because for the longest time, i truly disliked hearing it. it’s often said as a form of consolation, a way to comfort, but it never really sat well with me.

yet sometimes, as humans, we need closure. we need something to explain our mess, our setbacks — something to carry the weight of our current situation. so maybe, yes, there really is a reason for everything, even when that reason isn’t palpable or comprehensible.

the beautiful part is that i’m muslim, and we are taught to believe in qadr — destiny. it has been written. the pens have been lifted and the pages have dried. whatever you’re going through was never off script. for me, that brings a strange sense of relief. knowing that the best of writers — God himself— wrote my story. it keeps me looking forward to what unfolds next, even when it hurts. especially when it hurts.

sometimes i hold my chest and whisper, “ya rabbi, it is you who have written my life’s path in this world, and i trust you. so please, ease my way.”

it isn’t easy. as humans, we crave ease — a pain-free, stress-free life. but if we’re being honest, this world was never created for that. it will always be a blend of good and bad, joy and sorrow. maybe it’s designed that way so we don’t get too comfortable in this illusion. sigh.

my love, i imagine you trying to process what i’ve just written — and honestly, so am i. reality isn’t beautiful. more often than not, it’s painfully difficult to accept. but it is what it is.

and i am tired of complaining. it has never truly helped me. i’ve received so much love here — digital hugs, kind words — and i’m grateful, but at the end of the day, it still lies in your hands. you have to do the work of surviving, of feeling better, of not giving up.

there was a time when i complained only to God. i learned that from my father as a child. he would say, “when you complain at every point, you expose your struggles to people who can’t really help you. talk to god first, then your close ones.”

years later, while studying the qur’an, i came across this verse:

قَالَ إِنَّمَا أَشْكُو بَثِّي وَحُزْنِي إِلَى اللَّهِ وَأَعْلَمُ مِنَ اللَّهِ مَا لَا تَعْلَمُونَ

“he said, ‘i only complain of my suffering and my grief to Allāh, and i know from Allāh that which you do not know.’”

— qur’an 12:86

i felt a mix of emotions. pride, for one — seeing what my father taught me as a child reflected in god’s book. and awe, because it felt like Allāh was reaffirming something deep in my heart by allowing me to encounter that verse.

if i’m being honest, i miss that version of me. the one who woke up for tahajjud — not to ask for anything, but simply to cry to my lord. i just wanted to be vulnerable before the one who knows me better than i know myself. the one who understands my pain before i utter it. in the stillness of the night, it was just me and as-salaam, the source of peace.

i want to return to that place. i was the one who turned away — because my lord never turns away from his servant.

have you ever felt like no help was coming?

have you ever felt loneliness flow through your veins like oxygen, wishing someone could truly see your struggle?

has your heart been broken by the departure of friends, of loved ones, to the point where breathing itself feels like a fight?

i have. too many times.

i tried everything — talking endlessly, journaling, doing all the “right” things — yet nothing filled the void. for the longest time, i forgot that i could speak to the one who created the vessel that carries all these feelings. i placed Him last, and suddenly it made sense why the emptiness never left.

so i picked myself up, placed my forehead on the ground, and prayed — crying uncontrollably. the tranquility that settled in my heart tasted like honey. i knew i had gone too far, that i was undeserving of mercy — yet Allāh still let me taste what i had been missing all along.

ibn al-mubarak رحمه الله said:

“to Allāh alone we complain our loneliness, the departure of our brothers, and the lack of helpers.”

[al-bid‘ah li ibn wadah 84]

the companions understood the reality of this world — and the secret to surviving it — long before we were born. it’s astonishing how we have these guidelines freely available, yet we still struggle every single day.

i guess what i’m trying to say is this: i’m going to try again. to complain to Allāh alone — first. before i allow myself to speak to anyone else. and maybe it’s something you should try too.

i’m tired of thugging life out. none of my methods have truly worked, so i’m surrendering — to the one who placed me on this earth. fully trusting that He will never leave me to myself, not even for the blink of an eye.

maybe there really is a reason for everything — and maybe that alone is enough consolation.

so here i am, reminding myself — and you — of this:

when things don’t go the way you want, it may be Allāh reminding you that he alone is in control and knows what is best for you in both worlds.

when people walk out of your life, it may be Allāh protecting you from investing in something that would harm your dunya or your hereafter.

when people’s actions hurt you, it may be Allāh reminding you that he is still there for you.

when you don’t understand what’s happening, it may be an invitation to trust him more deeply.

when you cry endlessly to allah for something you desperately want and see no response, it may be that he is teaching you patience — and preparing something better than what you’re asking for.

it may take time to understand the wisdom behind every situation, but you must believe — truly believe — that there is goodness in everything, no matter how dark it gets or how broken you feel.

and one day, you’ll realize that you never needed this world or its people to be content.

all you ever needed was Allāh.

we belong to Allāh, and to him is our return — and everything in between is preparing us to meet our lord in the best way possible.