Faith & Doubt
1 min
The Quran That Survived the Tsunami
When the 2004 tsunami took everything, one thing remained — my grandmother’s Quran, open and untouched.
Revert journeys. Identity struggles. Faith found, lost, and found again. Unfiltered voices from your brothers and sisters across the world.
In Egypt, a divorced woman is a tragedy. I decided to be a plot twist instead.
When the 2004 tsunami took everything, one thing remained — my grandmother’s Quran, open and untouched.
People keep asking me to choose between my culture and my faith. I refuse.
Our first year nearly ended because of the mahr amount. What saved us was an imam who understood honest communication.
When the pandemic hit, our tiny mosque became the beating heart of the neighbourhood — no questions asked.
Everyone in my shinto community thought I'd lost my mind. I'd never been more sane.
Fasting while working 12-hour shifts in Alice Springs tested everything I thought I knew about patience.
People keep asking me to choose between my culture and my faith. I refuse.
At school I was too Muslim. At the mosque I was too Sweden. I spent years feeling like I belonged nowhere.
They said wearing my kufi would hold me back in politics. I wore it anyway. They took me seriously regardless.
Our first year nearly ended because of the wedding guest list. What saved us was an imam who understood marriage counselling.
Our first year nearly ended because of the wedding guest list. What saved us was an imam who understood listening instead of lecturing.
When the factory closed, our community hall became the place everyone came to — for everyone who needed it.