The Trail I’m Leaving Behind

I really have to share why I started Barakah Roots—not as a “brand” or a project, but so you can understand why I am here, opening up my house and my head to you.

I was born in 1981. I’m a child of that bridge generation—the ones who remember the silence of a house before the internet lived in our pockets. Now, it’s 2026. I live in Sharjah, managing a house of twelve. Ten children. A multicultural marriage where we are constantly translating our very souls across different languages and unspoken codes.

Most days, I am the logistics officer for a small army. My mind is a Forty-Tab Brain. I’m the one checking if the batteries in the emergency lamps are dead, hunting for the 10kg bags of rice that won’t break the budget, and trying to fix a broken cabinet with a butter knife and some 90s-style grit. It is easy, in the middle of all that noise, to feel like you are disappearing into the chores. Like you are just a manager of “stuff.”

But there is a deeper math at play here.

Our Prophet (peace be upon him) said:

“When a person dies, his deeds come to an end except for three: Sadaqah Jariyah (a continuous charity), or knowledge from which benefit is gained, or a righteous child who prays for him.” (Muslim)

I look at the world right now—this high-stakes reality we’re living in—and I realize that if I don’t write these things down, the “useful knowledge” I’ve fought for in the trenches of motherhood might vanish. I want to think that if one sister, sitting in her own kitchen feeling overwhelmed and unseen, reads this and breathes a little easier, then that is legacy enough for me.

I’m here to stand with you—Muslim or not—to celebrate the wins. I want to celebrate when that baby finally sleeps the whole night, and I can finally stretch out on the bed, knowing they are safe in the cot. I want to cheer for you when your picky eater finally swallows a piece of eggplant or a mushroom without a fight.

I want to celebrate hitting the jackpot on my Rendang—when this Eid Al-Fitr, it finally tastes like restaurant quality after years of trying—or those nights when I pull a big pan of my Legendary Lasagna out of the oven that actually satisfies ten different appetites. Whether it’s a simple Molokhia Stew or a Ratatouille with simple white rice, that makes everyone happy, I want to celebrate those moments with you, just as much as I want to sit with you in the ‘Waiting Room’ when the anxiety of keeping everyone safe feels like too much.

But I am also here to hold you in the parts we don’t usually post about.

I want to be here for the reality of motherhood that can be bone-deep lonely. The days when the work is entirely unthankful, when you feel completely unseen, and the exhaustion isn’t just in your muscles, but in your soul. I want to talk about how hard it is to keep your composure when you’re just plain tired.

I want to talk about the quiet victories: when that shy child finally makes a friend, or when they reach teenagehood and suddenly think their friends are ten times cooler than their mom. I want to be here for the way love in a marriage changes and evolves over decades, and how our bodies change, too. We can’t always keep up with the pace we once had, but we are still grateful for every wrinkle and every crease—they are the maps of where we’ve been.

There is also a quiet, private hope in these words.

One day, my children will be adults. Right now, they see me as the “Manager.” They see the woman who finds the lost shoes and reminds them of their Adab. But in the rush of a house of twelve, I don’t always share as much of my inner self or my Indonesian heritage as I should. I want them to find their mother here. I want them to see that I wasn’t just the person who kept the pantry stocked, but a woman who wrestled with her faith, loved the “Analog Sanctuary” of a good book, and found Barakah in the wrinkles and the mess.

I’m still tying my camel with a pretty frayed rope. I’m being honest. I’m still learning. But I believe the “ease” Allaah promised is found right here—in the writing and the refusal to let the chaos have the last word.

I’ve opened my doors to you. Now, I have to ask: What else do you want to hear about?

Do we talk about the “90s grit” tactics for keeping our kids’ minds away from the 2026 news cycle? The friction of a multicultural marriage when you’re both exhausted? Or the “Procurement” side—how I actually manage the rice, the budget, and the battery checks?

Tell me what’s on your mind. Let’s grow deep together.