By The Destitute One, Ustadz Mohamed Sameer

كَيْفَ تَكْفُرُونَ بِٱللَّهِ وَكُنتُمْ أَمْوَٰتًۭا فَأَحْيَـٰكُمْ ۖ ثُمَّ يُمِيتُكُمْ ثُمَّ يُحْيِيكُمْ ثُمَّ إِلَيْهِ تُرْجَعُونَ ٢٨

How can you deny Allah? You were lifeless and He gave you life, then He will cause you to die and again bring you to life, and then to Him you will ˹all˺ be returned.

Quran 2:28

Inna Lillahi wa Inna Ilaihi Rajioon. From Him it all began. To Him it shall return. We write this with the intention to be reminded of all the kindness that our Lord has bestowed on us and to deepen our service to Him. Specially dedicated to our beloved Prophet Muhammad ﷺ, our teachers and our parents who gave birth to our spiritual and physical existence.

He is Ever living. My Journey? Sameer is just a jenazah (corpse) whose bathing, shrouding and burial have been delayed for now. He breathes life into the dead and strips life from the already dead to return it back to its true reality. We were just the passengers. I am just a passenger. The announcement will be made soon to pray over me and to bury me. Do not be deceived that this body died, and thus Sameer perished. This body was already dead. But it is kept alive by His Love. Love continues on its journey back to its Beloved. Do not mourn. Just hope and pray that this soul is not turned away. But deep inside, it yearns and longs to be ready to return.

Where do we begin this story? At the onset of when the spirit was breathed into the cage of a body and a temporal name tag was attached to its forehead or shall we go back further in time when it was pure light gazing at the majestic source of all lights.

وَإِذْ أَخَذَ رَبُّكَ مِنۢ بَنِىٓ ءَادَمَ مِن ظُهُورِهِمْ ذُرِّيَّتَهُمْ وَأَشْهَدَهُمْ عَلَىٰٓ أَنفُسِهِمْ أَلَسْتُ بِرَبِّكُمْ ۖ قَالُوا۟ بَلَىٰ ۛ شَهِدْنَآ ۛ أَن تَقُولُوا۟ يَوْمَ ٱلْقِيَـٰمَةِ إِنَّا كُنَّا عَنْ هَـٰذَا غَـٰفِلِينَ ١٧٢

“And ˹remember˺ when your Lord brought forth from the loins of the children of Adam their descendants and had them testify regarding themselves. ˹Allah asked,˺ “Am I not your Lord?” They replied, “Yes, You are! We testify.” ˹He cautioned,˺ “Now you have no right to say on Judgment Day, ‘We were not aware of this.’ “

Quran 7:172

Beautiful dwelling. No veils between us and the Real Beauty. Forgotten memories. Erased. To be tested and to return among the sincere, loyal and devoted to true love and sacrifice. To become His Beloved. And love requires sacrifice. There is no duality in true love. Only He. The ‘I’ must be removed. The introduction was already answered in the question, “Who am I?” Hu. هُوَ. He.

The past life. Vague memories. But a taste and the thirst remain. I needed quenching. I needed to be ready to return a soldier ready to sacrifice his life for His Lord. A servant at the Mercy of my Lord, my King. In order to be knighted as a true warrior, one has to prove his courage and valour. Courage does not lie in heavy armour or sophisticated weapons. The power of true courage is kept secret within, within the heart. Thus, stripped of its truest potential and covered deep in mud & clay, men were delivered to this world of means. To prove to our Lord that we truly submit & surrender. To be deserving of earned honour and dignity. To be called His Servants. Together with formidable enemies: The Satan, The Ego, The Lowly World & its Admirers. The biggest battle ever. The Ego vs The Lord. So the arena was set: This World.

Weapons were provided to defend and to eventually conquer these enemies. But one has to delve deep within to uncover those ancient powers. Deep within the darkness of the heart, the biting cold of the deeper soul and the deepest mystery of the Sirr (essence) lies the essential tools to defeat these sworn enemies. His Secret. The Guardian of the seas and the earth. Only with His Power can we overcome the enemies we can’t see. The eyes of the body has to close in order for the eyes of the heart to be lit. Imagine night vision devices.

Growing up as a regular primary school boy competing for grades and the acceptance of parents & friends were the primary concerns, I guess. Religion was of cultural importance only during important functions like Hari Raya or perhaps on Fridays. When reminded by Mum, I may have prayed with a focus to return to TV once done with the chore of prayers. I hated Islamic classes as the teachers that I was exposed to were allowed to be physically abusive even for simple mistakes. It would be no surprise then that football and a weekly dose of Taekwondo garnered more interest in me as a young boy. God-given talents and a competitive spirit allowed me to taste ‘success’ in whichever pursuit I deemed important at that time. Primary school went by quickly with 4 As on the PSLE score sheet, but I chose a neighbourhood school at Chai Chee (Ping Yi Sec Sch) just because they offered football as a CCA. Funny thing is, I eventually settled on NPCC (National Police Cadet Corps) as a CCA. I guessed it felt purposeful to be part of something bigger than yourself. Wearing a police uniform also kindled a sense of righteousness, I suppose. Thinking back, NPCC did equipped me with some will, discipline, sacrifice and teamwork, etc. It did keep me off the streets. It is said that you adopt the conduct of your companions, the instructors and the mentors who trained us did their part to ‘nurture/tarbiyah’ young teenagers into disciplined individuals. I also had a classmate named Ummar who always ensured that he and I prayed our 5 daily prayers (solat) whenever we hung out, even though we also had unproductive habits. But looking back, that companionship subconsciously formed at least one good habit in me—to pray, regardless of the circumstances. It wasn’t anywhere near a quality spiritual prayer and there were many missed prayers too along the way without much regret in the teenage me. But each time a prayer was done on time, a sense of responsible good was felt. He put my friend to help mould a little sense of spiritual responsibility in me. May Allah ﷻ continue to reward him well.

Apart from working hard to top my cohort each year and daily football games after school hours, I grew a deeper interest in the things I was learning outside the classrooms, much more than the regular subjects I was learning through textbooks. I did not aim to top my cohort for ‘O’ Levels anymore, though I still did well enough to enter a Junior College (JC). Even though I was just 16, deep down, going through the motions of a typical Singaporean life, my soul felt really empty chasing grades. After my ‘O’ levels, I remember a brief period of deep sorrow and thoughts on my real purpose of my living. Why bother to live and go through these motions? These misgivings were temporarily answered when I met a handicapped Muslim convert whom I befriended and became his caretaker for the next 2-3 years, though I was manipulated by him for the sympathy shown for his circumstances. Many things happened in that couple of years which requires a separate reflection. But one thing I remember on the day when I met that legless convert, my heart wanted to pray to Him to say thanks to Him for the legs He has given me.

In 2007 at the age of 20, it was time for National Service at SCDF (Singapore Civil Defence Force). I was excited. It was the real deal to officially serve my nation and prove my worth. I geared up physically and mentally, ready to give my all and do my best in all the tasks that awaited. The hard work did paid off and awards were acquired in the units that I was posted in. Whether it was a fortune or otherwise, I was never satisfied with scratching the surface of matters I was tasked with. If a matter was of deep interest, I would strive to get to the bottom of it & sacrifice my personal comfort in order to taste the deep truths for myself. I was assigned as a Physical Training Instructor (PTI) and 2 years went by swiftly. I was physically & mentally productive. Weekdays were spent with an active lifestyle of exercising, training and serving the force. It was easier for me to stay in the SCDF camp during the weekdays instead of travelling an hour to and from home, from the east to the west. Weekends were not as productive and disciplined as they were spent in heedless activities in the name of winding down. Interestingly though, the SCDF camp was located at Jalan Bahar beside the Muslim Cemetery. It was very peaceful and calm. The scenery was filled with beautiful sunsets, unblocked views of nature and plenty of Muslim graves surrounding the boundaries.

During the early training days as a recruit, a brother who was steadfast with his daily prayers was my bunkmate, and he helped me to re-instil the habit of praying the 5 prayers daily. Just the 2 of us prayed, though there were many other Muslim brothers. But it felt like the right thing to do. Again, He was there guiding my steps towards Him through this brother. And I never gave up on the 5 daily prayers afterwards, at least during the weekdays when I stayed in camp for the next 2 years. I also received a summary of the Quran in English from a fellow PTI colleague later on. There were no smartphones, no TVs and no access to the internet in camp. The only thing to feed my mental quotient was to read. Apart from the physical productiveness I was enjoying, I was also ushered to feed my mind with knowledge (by reading) and my soul with prayers. My weekends though, unfortunately, felt like a personality disorder from the disciplined life I was living during the weekdays. A double life. An identity crisis. Weekdays = Muslim. Weekends = Not so sure. But my soul was slowly expanding. Inertia was gaining momentum. Deep down, I preferred the calm near the cemetery to the noise that the world faked as entertainment and enjoyment which I pretended to savour.

But I was actually really enjoying the solitude during my stay in camp. But was I really alone? Where was God and my religion during my first 22 years, you might wonder? Rather, the better question would be “Where was I in the midst of God?” He was always around. He was always looking over my shoulder, waiting for me to return. Preparing me gently and allowing me to take a peek at what this lowly world had to offer before showing me the path to eternal peace and light. So that I could choose. So that I could let Him choose for me. It was almost time to complete my 2 years of service for SCDF and time to choose a career or a study path. I was confused, but I was reading a bit more about Islam and religion now, somehow. I did not want to take a university loan nor trouble my parents for any financial responsibilities at my age where I felt I should be an independent man. I wanted success but independently without depending on anyone else. I thought I still needed a degree because everyone had it. Perhaps I could sign on with the uniformed forces or a Physical Education Teacher with MOE (Ministry of Education).

Then it happened—an accident. But a strange one. A few weeks before I completed my National Service while riding to SCDF camp after hanging out with friends, I was thrown off my bike at 4am along the PIE expressway. I rolled on the expressway a dozen times at least. I realised then, that I was a polyglot as I remember cussing and cursing in every possible language I knew for every round I rolled on the road.

NOT ONCE DID I SAY ‘ALLAH’. I DID NOT KNOW HOW TO. IF I HAD DIED WITH THOSE VULGAR WORDS AS MY LAST, WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED? IT IS STILL SCARY TO THINK BACK ABOUT THIS.

I stopped rolling. I thought it was a dream. It wasn’t. Now I was sitting in the middle of one of Singapore’s busiest expressways. But to my surprise, there was no car in sight on both ends. Just me and my blue Honda motorcycle in the next lane, destroyed. For a full 5 minutes, I was just sitting there confused. A kind soul in a car stopped shortly after and enquired about me. He helped me to the road shoulder and asked if I was alright and if I needed an ambulance. I checked myself. There was no pain and my limbs worked fine. No bleeding or small abrasions on my knee and hands. I was miraculously fine. Then he suggested to remove my bike from the 2nd lane to the road shoulder. I acceded to his suggestion and I am still surprised that a guy who had just kissed the PIE tar a dozen times had the strength to carry a motorbike to the sides. And so we did, now taking a closer look at the damage that was done to a bike made of metal and iron. After observing my wasted bike which the below picture resembles almost accurately, he asked me one more time:

“Are you sure you are ok?” I checked myself again. No fractures, no bleeding. And I just carried a motorbike off the expressway. In any case, the police and an ambulance came after reporting the ‘accident’. The bike indeed looked like it was run over by a lorry. The rims were destroyed. The exhaust was facing the opposite direction from where it was supposed to be. It was perfect as a metal scrap.

I went to Changi General Hospital for a full scan and a check-up. X-rays, a doctor’s consultation as well as a police report. The doctor concluded that I was perfectly well and only offered 1 day of sick leave. I did not sleep the whole night, rolled all over the PIE in the middle of the night, a wasted bike, and this cheeky doctor is telling me to report back to work the next day? I took a nap afterwards and then the body started to ache badly when I woke up. The adrenaline was wearing off and the after-shock effects were coming in. But still, no injuries. Just tiredness and fatigue. I saw another doctor who gave me an extra two days of sick leave. Now I could settle the pending tasks of my destroyed bike. I went to my mechanic where my bike was towed. When he saw me, he asked in disbelief: “What happened, lah? So Jia Lat ah?“. To this date, I still do not know the details of that life-changing incident. I had suffered more serious injuries playing football than a ‘bike accident’ along Singapore’s expressway.

I sold off that bike and got another new bike thinking that the previous one was unlucky. Little did I know, that accident turned out to be one of the luckiest means to change my life around. Life went on as normal after that or so I thought. I was enjoying my new ride and the attention it was garnering on the roads. It boosted my ego. Or rather I was using it as a substitute to run away from the truth that was seeking me deep inside. I was still looking outside.

National Service in SCDF was coming to an end and I had to choose the next phase of my life. My friends went on to study for their degrees. But I was not compelled to sign on with any uniformed groups, nor did I felt that I should study for a degree yet. I tried to apply for a position as a Physical Education teacher with the MOE but it was unsuccessful. I was still confused on my next course of actions. So in the next few months, I found myself at home, aged 22, unemployed with a bit of savings to tide over a few months. My friends still called me to hang out with them over the weekends but I developed a lethargic disinterest in heedless entertainment. I was changing inside. I was thirsty for wholesome activities. I was thirsty for truth.

August 2009. Ramadan came. So I decided to adjourn my future plans after Ramadan is over. Life slowed down. Now I was just chilling at home, fasting, praying the 5 prayers, breaking fast and exercising a bit. Time was at my disposal. Plenty of free time which was exactly what I needed to answer buried questions I had been harbouring. To think deeply. So my curious mind often wandered off to the bike accident I had encountered just a couple of months back. I still could not fathom the difference between the state of my bike and my human body. My bike was destroyed. I survived with a small scratch. It felt like some magic. Like a miracle. And I had no participative choice or control over that incident but I survived and yet, here I was, still alive, lying down on my bed thinking deeply about the rational possibilities of survival from that incident.

THOSE THOUGHTS HAUNTED ME. EVERYDAY NOW I WAS THINKING ABOUT IT. WHAT SAVED ME? OR WHO PROTECTED ME? WHAT WAS IT EXACTLY? I WANTED ANSWERS. OR WERE THE ANSWERS FINDING ME?

God? Wait a minute. Who was God? Where is He? And what does He do? Was He not some unfathomable being in the Heavens whom we just prayed to without much thought? I always assumed He was far and mystical. Ironically, my secondary school Muslim mate who prayed together with me had also warned me previously not to dig too deep into Islamic matters, calling it a Pandora’s box. And so we never explored Islam beyond the 5 daily prayers. But wait, where do I start understanding why I am even Muslim? Were there other Gods alongside the God of Muslims? I realised I did not know many things about the religio-cultural identity I was born with: A Muslim. In fact, I knew nothing. I did not choose this identity and I could not continue blindly. I wanted to seek the truths for myself. I wanted to compare and decide.

I considered the possibilities of exploring other religions but the idea of taking created beings as Gods just did not make sense. But as someone who identified as a Muslim, I realised I had never attempted to understand the message of the Quran from cover to cover, so I eventually purchased a copy of the Quran in English from Wardah books after discovering them online. I requested my mother to teach me how to recite the Quran again. And so I sat down at home daily, reciting the Quran with the assistance of my mother and trying to understand the message of the Quran through the translation in English.

The moment I started attempting to understand the message of the Quran in English from Surah Al-Fatiha, it felt like veils were being lifted from my eyes and heart. The Quran was speaking to me. It definitely felt like someone was speaking to me right in front of me. As I continued reading the Quran in English, the confusions and questions in my mind were becoming thinner. As I started reading the next few pages of the second chapter Surah Al-Baqara, my drowsy heart felt like it was being slapped to a wake-up call. The experience was surreal. I found something. I found answers. I found God. I could not stop reading the Quran and wanted to understand it. With every page I read, the conviction in my heart kept becoming stronger and stronger. It was this God who saved me and protected me. It was this God who was guiding me. It was this God who was now calling me towards Him. I thought He was distant above the skies. But there He was, right in front of me. I felt His Nearness for the first time. I cried. I did not know crying was so calming, for I knew men do not cry. I cried more. My heart yearned. I wanted Him. He wanted me. I wanted His Love. I knew I had to choose. Now, I really wanted to be a Muslim by my own choice and conviction. It felt like a conversion that day. Like a ‘loving embrace’. I had to renounce my old lifestyle choices and take on a life dedicated to His Service. I wanted what He wanted. No more what my ignorant ego wanted.

So I sought. I wandered. Wandering let me find what was also seeking me. Not in the deserts or the forest. But within. In Singapore. At Masjid Malabar to be specific. And I found the one who would lead me to Him. My Teacher. My Murshid. “Who are you?”, he asked. “Who is Allah?”, he enquired. I could not give any satisfactory answer even to myself. He had answers, and he was willing to share it with me. I did not know, and I didn’t really know what to know.

“Whoever knows himself knows his Lord.”

And so it was that fateful day, my spiritual father gave birth to my new existential meaning. The Lailatul Qadr that I was looking for. On 29th Ramadan 1430H / 19th September 2009, my new birthdate. The one who was acquainted personally to The Master so that He could take me in and prepare for the great meeting with The Lord. The one who had to be firm to rub the dirt away from my heart and polish the diamond within. The compassionate one that took this spiritual orphan in, gave me a roof over my head and continues to nurture me. The one who called me ‘mine’ and gave me a dignified lineage back to my Beloved Prophet ﷺ. The one who is a sincere well-wisher and wants to guarantee our success in the Hereafter. The one who has tasted love and wants to share that love with us. The one with secrets and generously shares them with us so we too, can become connected with Him. The one with the firm handhold and tough love so we do not get devoured by the stray wolves that lay in ambush on this path towards Him. The one who has witnessed majestic horizons and terrains calls us to witness those beautiful scenery as well. Patiently repeating. Unconditionally serving. Just for His Face. My Murabbi.

لَوْلا مُرَبِّي ما عَرَفْتُ رَبِّي

“IF NOT FOR MY MURABBI, I WOULD NOT HAVE KNOWN MY LORD.”

29th Ramadan 1430H / 19th September 2009. And so that was when old Sameer passed away. And Sameer Zuhoori was born. But the next goal was to find my true self. To erase the I. And to see the We. And later on, only He. The spiritual path that unfolded in the next two decades was filled nonetheless with overflowing barakah but it was never smooth sailing. There were new terrains. I thought love was all about butterflies in your stomach. Little did I realise that there were bottomless abysses which I thought I could never get out from. Love was tough. It scarred. But a warrior has to have battle scars. But it was worth it. It is still worth it. Crying to Him helps. The journey continues. It never ends. It would be a miracle if you survived to read this thus far as we have far exceeded the word count. But this will never do justice to recall the favours of my Lord. My King. My Love. As His Beloved ﷺ advised:

“Be abundant in the Dhikr of Allah (Most High) until they say, insane.”

Ahmad

And if He wills, we shall continue writing in the next rendition to remind oursleves on how extremely kind He has been to us in the next 20 years to follow in the pursuit of Knowledge & Walking towards Him. Knowing & Experiencing Him. Unveilings & Witnessing. Attaining & Reaching. May He grant us Him.

Ameen.

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