Notes from a Loud Night

I should be studying for finals, but it’s almost midnight and I’m sitting at my desk with the lamp still on, my laptop open and my mind wandering. One click led to another, and I ended up on YouTube, watching a video of Shaykh Abdal Hakim Murad talking about Al-Ghazali. I just stopped. Everything felt too loud tonight, and his voice was the only thing that made sense.

He talked about Sabr (patience) and Shukr (gratitude).

I used to think patience was just waiting for the bus or sitting through a boring lecture. But he explained it like this: patience is the “head” of your faith. If you lose your head, the rest of the body is useless. It’s about that silent, internal tug-of-war. Like, why is it so hard to just be? Why is my mind always racing toward the next thing, the next outfit, the next message, the next person?

Sometimes it feels like we’re all a little drunk on wanting things.

It made me look at my room. Piles of books, a messy desk, and that constant urge to check my phone. I felt so small. We’re being sold this idea that we need “more” to be happy, but he says that real freedom is actually being able to say no to yourself. It’s the self-restraint that makes us human. I don’t want my whole life to be just a series of reactions to things I want. I want to be more than just my impulses. I want to be present.

And then there’s Shukr. I realized tonight that I’m so ungrateful. Not because I don’t say thank you, but because I’m in what he called a “spiritual coma” (غفلة). I look at the blessings in my life like they’re just facts. Like I deserve them. I see the gift, but I’m totally blind to the Giver.

He said that true gratitude is using a blessing for what it was actually meant for. It’s not just a word; it’s an action. If I have eyes, am I looking at things that make my heart better? If I have time, am I just killing it?

I feel like I’m at this crossroads where I’m tired of the surface. Everything feels so plastic lately. I’m starting to want a “sound heart” (قلب سليم). I want to be the kind of person who can stay steady when everything is falling apart, and who can find the Divine in a piece of fruit or a sunset instead of just getting lost online.

My coffee is cold now, untouched on the desk, and the house is completely silent. Maybe this is what Sabr starts like. Just sitting here. Not running away from the silence.

I’m trying. I’m really trying to wake up.