Unfinished Projects

December 30, 2024. 

I, Zahra, sat down and wrote a New Year’s resolution list.

 If you'd told me a year ago that I’d be writing a New Year’s resolution list, I would’ve dismissed it as something people use to procrastinate on what they need to do.

 I totally believed I was above it all "raw-dogged" every year, expecting miracles. Looking back, that mindset explains why I have so many unfinished hobbies and projects.

 I hate that I convinced myself I understood life and was better than people who actually tried to get their shit together. It’s like I was trying to impress some imaginary "cool people" in my head—people who didn’t even exist. 

 This realization hit me while I was rewinding the year’s highlights in my mind, which honestly wasn’t a bad exercise. I’ve taught myself to appreciate every moment, even the horrific ones. Without that mindset, I would've lost my mind. I was in a cab on my way somewhere, listening to the radio, when someone said, "If you’re given two minutes to finish a task, you’ll finish it in exactly two minutes. But if you’re given an hour, you’ll take an hour." It made so much sense. 

 That’s when I started reflecting on my achievements. They were pretty great—but undefined. Most of them were random things I hadn’t planned, while I kept delaying my actual goals. I always thought, "Oh, I’ve got time." For someone who acts like they know what they need in life and criticizes themselves to the deep end, I realized I was all bark and no bite. 

 Finally, I gave it a shot. 

 I wrote down many important things, but the resolution that stuck with me most was prayer. 

 Not because it’s the most important thing in my life or because I should’ve figured this out already at 21—especially since I love my religion. 

 It stuck with me because it was something I was afraid to tell people about when discussing resolutions and goals. We’re all Muslims and, practically speaking, not judgmental. But I still found it embarrassing—so I kept it to myself. 

 I had to understand why. Why am I afraid to say: I love my religion, it keeps me sane, and I feel like I need to be more satisfied? Why can’t I say I want to get closer to it by practicing more and focusing on praying five times a day? 

 I’m not going to dive too deeply into this because it feels out of place here. But here’s the point: I live in a non-conservative country and was raised by religious parents who were conscious enough to let me find Islam on my own. 

 They say, "You will have to find Islam even if you are born a Muslim." It’s true. But at some point in that journey, you realize that giving so much value to other people’s beliefs while not receiving the same respect can make you undervalue your own. 

Being around the wrong people will cost you more than you think. 

I’m not even talking about Islam specifically but about religion in general. Most religions (from what I know) are pretty good for someone’s sanity. Woke culture has shifted from promoting political and social awareness to shitting on religion. 

The truth is, many people have been saved from dark places thanks to religion. I’m not saying everyone needs to believe in a higher power to survive, but I wish people understood that while some don’t need it, others really do. 

Three years ago, I didn’t think I’d make it to 21. Now, I’ve learned to accept whatever life throws at me—even the deaths of loved ones. So much fear has faded. I feel like I want to learn more about life. 

If you think my faith is a delusion making me better because religion isn’t real, that’s on you buddy. You’re just a miserable person who wants others to be miserable too. You’re not woke—you’re just horrible. 

I catch myself appreciating life’s little things, even in tough situations, and thanking God for every blessing. The more I do, the better life gets. 

 The best part of this reflection was realizing that having goals and working to achieve them aligns with my religion. 

I was folding laundry when I randomly remembered something my sixth-grade teacher used to say: “عصر المعجزات قد ولى وانقضى.” It translates to: “The age of miracles is over.” 

For years, I thought it was an odd thing for an Islamic teacher to say. At the time, I thought he was telling us not to rely on God. He never explained it. He’d just say, "You’ll get it one day, hopefully at the right time" 

 Now I understand what he meant: religion doesn’t mean asking God for something and expecting to wake up next to it the next day. It’s a process, and often a hard one. We don’t live in an age of miracles. If we don’t act, work, and learn, we’ll never truly achieve anything. That’s how humans grow. 

If you ask God for patience, you won’t wake up patient. Life will send hardships your way so you can learn, be tested, and repeat until you embody patience. 

 It’s a pattern that took me years to grasp. 

 So, writing this list is my way of acting and not waiting for a miracle. 

 Praying five times a day might not be easy, even with my realizations, but I understand how important it is to push myself and focus on the good results. 

 من اجتهد واصاب فله اجران ومن اجتهد ولم يصب فله اجر. - (The Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him).

 It means: "If you try your best and succeed, you get two rewards. If you try your best and fail, you still get one." 

You don’t have to be religious or Muslim to understand this. Life rewards effort if you look at it the right way. And I think that’s beautiful.