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The Woman Who Read Tess Gerritsen
“Years later, we don’t only remember the stories. We remember who we were when we first turned the page.” A Familiar Name in an American Bookstore There are authors we enjoy for a season. And then there are authors who quietly accompany us through life. For me, that author was Tess Gerritsen. For years, I thought my story with her books began in 2005, during my first trip to the United States after getting married. My husband took me to what was, to us, the perfect place to spend an afternoon: a bookstore. I can’t even remember whether it was Borders or Barnes & Noble now. I only remember the…
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The Books That Built Me
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My Thoughts on Surah Al-‘Asr
Three verses. That is all. Three short verses that many Muslim children memorize before they fully understand what they are reciting. Yet generations of scholars have reflected on their depth. A statement widely attributed to Imam al-Shafi’i رحمه الله says that if people were to truly reflect upon this surah, it would be sufficient for their guidance, because it summarizes what a person needs for success in this life and the next. Every time I recite it, I find myself asking the same question: How can only three verses contain so much? By Time. Indeed, mankind is in loss, Except for those who have believed and done righteous deeds and…
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We All Smelled Like Cigarettes Anyway
Growing Up Around Smokers in Indonesia There are certain smells that instantly transport you back to childhood. Fresh rain. Old books. Fried noodles from a roadside stall. Cajuput oil. And then there is cigarette smoke. Not because I wanted to remember it. It was simply… everywhere. Growing up in Indonesia in the 1980s and 1990s, I don’t remember anyone asking whether smoking was allowed. There was always somebody smoking—a father, an uncle, the neighbour, the man waiting for the bus, a wedding guest, someone at the family gathering, or a stranger in a restaurant. Sometimes I think even the ashtrays had ashtrays. My own father smoked. Some of my friends…
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The Missing Ten Percent
Learning to Hold Appreciation and Correction Together Imagine a child comes home from school with an exam paper. He studied hard. He worried about the test. He did his best, and he scored 90%. The first question he hears is, “Where did the other ten marks go?” The question isn’t wrong. The missing ten percent exists. It can be corrected; it can become a lesson. But I sometimes wonder what quietly disappeared first in that moment—the missing ten, or the ninety that came before it? The Ninety That Quietly Disappears I think family life often works the same way. Someone forgets one thing, and somehow that one thing becomes the…
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Laughter, Lunch, and the Last Hour of Jumu’ah
Yesterday was one of those days that left me physically tired but emotionally full. The gathering began at 3 p.m. on a Friday. To be honest, I wasn’t in the best place emotionally before everyone arrived. There were things weighing on my heart, and for a moment I wondered whether I would have the energy to host at all. To make matters worse, my Temu order hadn’t arrived in time. The decorations I had planned weren’t there, and some of the games I’d prepared had to be skipped altogether. A few years ago, I probably would have felt disappointed. Yesterday, I learned that none of it really mattered. Because the…
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Finding Home in a Changing World
A Wayfarer’s Reflection Every now and then, one of my children asks a surprisingly difficult question. “Mama, where is home?” I never know how to answer in a single sentence. Is it Indonesia, where I grew up and where so many of my childhood memories still live? Is it Riyadh, where most of my children were born and where weekends often meant gathering with friends at the istiraha? Or is it Sharjah, where we are slowly building a community that once existed only in my du’ā’? The older I become, the less I think home is simply a place. Perhaps it is something much deeper. A Heart Scattered Across Maps…
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The Lost Art of Lingering
What Riyadh’s Istiraha Culture Taught Me About Community There are many things I miss about Riyadh. The wide roads. The familiar skyline. The call to prayer echoing across neighborhoods. But when people ask what I miss most, my answer always surprises them. It isn’t a place. It’s a rhythm. One of my favorite rhythms of life in Riyadh revolved around weekends at the istiraha. Looking back, I don’t think I miss the istiraha itself. I miss belonging to a culture that expected people to linger. There was no carefully planned two-hour schedule. No one checking the time after coffee. No awkward moment when everyone wondered whether it was time to…
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After Allah Answers the Du’a
There was a time when every du’a felt urgent. I prayed for healthy children. I prayed for enough money to pay the bills on time. I prayed for difficult conversations to soften, and for illnesses to pass. I prayed for Allah to simply make life a little lighter, as though my heart was constantly leaning against a heavy door, trying to hold it shut. My prayers in those seasons were raw, frequent, and fueled by a deep, instinctive awareness that I had absolutely nowhere else to turn. Looking back now, I can see that Allah answered so many of those prayers. Not all at once, and perhaps not always in…
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The Unglamorous Truth of Going Back to Fitness
Why My Journey Restarted with Workouts for Seniors When we talk about women reclaiming their health, the modern world loves to sell us an inspiring image of transformation. Join a gym. Buy new workout clothes. Commit to a challenge. Push harder. Push through the pain. Become the best version of yourself. But for a body that has spent nearly two decades occupied by pregnancies, interrupted sleep, caregiving, chronic conditions, and motherhood, that narrative feels strangely disconnected from reality. After years of carrying everyone else, you cannot always return to fitness in the same way you left it. You begin exactly where your body allows you to begin. And for me,…
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I See Myself in Her
On Overwhelmed Mothers, Changing Bodies, and the Bridge We Still Need to Build I do not write this because I am ungrateful. Alhamdulillah, Allah has blessed me far beyond what I deserve. A husband. Children. A home. Food on the table. Decades of memories. The immense privilege of motherhood itself. Naturally, I know these are blessings, and I am fully aware that many people long for exactly what I have. Yet, I also know that Allah says: لَقَدْ خَلَقْنَا الْإِنسَانَ فِي كَبَدٍ “Indeed, We have created humankind in toil and hardship.” Surah Al-Balad 90:4 Ultimately, hardship is not the opposite of gratitude; it is simply part of being human. Consequently,…
