The Faith I Inherited in Silence
I’ve always kept my religious side private. Faith, for me, was something deeply personal—something pure and delicate that I didn’t feel the need to express openly. I believed that acts of worship done in silence carried more sincerity, more meaning. And for a long time, I was comfortable with that. But recently, something within me shifted. I found myself reflecting on my father—not through big memories, but through the smallest, most ordinary moments. The way he would say “Bismillah” before eating, and “Alhamdulillah” after. The way he would quietly go to the mosque. He wasn’t perfect, not extremely practicing by outward standards, but there was a sincerity in his actions that I didn’t fully understand back then. I lost him early in life. And for a long time, I thought I had lost most of him with that. But now I realize—I didn’t. Those small, seemingly insignificant acts stayed with me. They lived quietly within me, shaping my thoughts, my habits, my connection with Allah. In my ...