Every now and then, usually late at night after the house has gone quiet and the children are asleep, my mind begins wandering.
Occasionally, it would wander toward one particular question: What do I still hope to do before I meet my Lord? I suppose you could call it a bucket list.
You know the kind. Climb this mountain. Skydive from that plane. Visit a hundred countries. Eat something strange. Collect enough stories so that one day, when you're old, you can say, I really lived.
I smiled because somewhere along the way, I realized my own list had quietly become something very different.
I'm not trying to squeeze every thrill out of this dunya (world) before it's too late. I'm hoping to fill whatever time Allah swt has written for me with journeys that bring me a little closer to Him before I return to Him.
Returning, not ticking off
When I performed Umrah earlier this year, I thought I was going to visit Makkah and Madina.
Instead, they visited me.
Months have passed, yet I still catch myself remembering the feeling of walking through the courtyards of the Prophet's Mosque after Fajr, or sitting in the Masjid al-Haram with no agenda except to be there. Those memories haven't faded. If anything, they have settled deeper.
People sometimes ask, "You've already been for Umrah. What's next?"
The funny thing is, my heart doesn't think of Makkah or Madina as places to tick off a list. They are places I hope to keep returning to, In sha Allah. Every visit reveals something I missed before. Every street seems to whisper another memory of Prophet Muhammad ï·º. Some places become ordinary with repetition. These cities somehow become more extraordinary. They don't belong in the same category as cities you visit once, take a few photographs, and move on from.
And perhaps that's how love works.
Following the footprints
From there, my thoughts wander.
I think about Istanbul, where centuries of Islamic history still breathe through places like Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque, and also about praying in Sultanahmet Mosque,. Then the UAE, where tradition and modern life somehow stand beside each other without either disappearing, where glass towers rise into the sky while the adhan still echoes across the city.
And then there are places like the Lakshwadeep and Maldives, where the endless blue of the ocean seems to slow life down. I want to watch the waves, appreciate Allah's breathtaking creation, and experience the quiet beauty of island life while seeking out the Muslim communities, local masjids, and the grace of modesty that still finds its place there.
Further east, I imagine wandering through Malaysia and Indonesia, hearing the adhan in unfamiliar accents, sharing halal food with people whose cultures are different from mine but whose qiblah is the same.
Even China and Japan find a place in my list. Not because they're famous tourist destinations, but because I've always wondered what it feels like to find Islam where you least expect it. I like the idea of discovering a small masjid tucked away on a side street, praying there, standing shoulder to shoulder in prayer, exchanging salams with people whose language I don't understand, and then sharing a simple halal meal afterwards.
Somewhere inside all these travel dreams is one small habit I hope never changes.
Whenever I travel, I want my memories to be marked not by shopping bags or souvenirs, but by the masjids where I prayed. I have a small wish that follows me wherever I go: I want to pray in as many masjids as Allah allows me to. The grand ones with soaring domes. The tiny neighborhood ones where only a handful of people gather. The centuries-old masjids that have witnessed generations of believers, and have witnessed history unfold, and the newly built ones where today's children are memorizing the Qur'an.
Those are the keepsakes I want to carry home.
More than beautiful buildings
There are places I long to visit not because they're famous, but because they remind us how far the light of Islam once travelled.
Al-Aqsa in Jerusalem. Samarkand and Bukhara along the old Silk Road. Sankore Mosque in Timbuktu. Pyramids of Giza, and the streets of old Islamic Cairo, and the halls of Al-Azhar.
These aren't just monuments standing quietly for photographs. They remind me of scholars who searched for knowledge, merchants who carried honesty across continents, architects who built beauty with ihsan, and ordinary Muslims whose lives became part of a civilization that reached across the world.
I'm not hoping to visit places because they're famous for their ruins or the tragedies and destructions they've endured, whether those tragedies belong to our time or to history. This isn't about collecting stories of destruction. It's about seeking out places that inspire faith, gratitude, and remembrance.
I'm searching for places that still carry barakah (blessings), beauty, and living reminders of our shared history.
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| image generated using the ChatGPT |
The journey beneath the journey
Then there are the places Allah created before any of us ever drew borders.
Sometimes I find myself wanting to sit beside the sea with nothing but the sound of waves.
Sometimes it's mountains.
Sometimes, green valleys after rain.
Sometimes, endless fields that remind you how wonderfully small you really are.
Whenever I read the verses in Surah Al-Ghashiya that invite us to look at the camel, the sky, the mountains, and the earth, I'm reminded that travel itself can become an act of reflection. Sometimes standing before an ocean or watching the sun disappear behind a mountain feels like another way of saying, SubhanAllah.
But if I'm honest, the hardest destination on my bucket list isn't on any map.
It's my own heart.
I want a heart with less anxiety and more tawakkul. More sabr when life becomes difficult. More shukr when life becomes easy. A heart soft enough to cry in sujood, yet steady enough not to fall apart whenever the dunya shakes beneath my feet.
Getting on a plane is easy.
Getting to a qalb-e-saleem is the real journey.
When I think about success now, it looks very different from what I imagined years ago. I don't dream about titles, followers, or a passport overflowing with stamps. I hope for heavier scales of good deeds than sins. I hope to leave behind something that continues benefiting people long after I'm gone. I hope my children remember me in their duas. More than anything, I hope Allah is pleased with me.
Maybe that's the only bucket list item that truly matters.
Everything else is simply helping me walk towards it.
Ya Allah, let every journey I take in this dunya bring me one step closer to You. Let every road soften my heart, every masjid strengthen my faith, every mountain remind me of Your greatness, and every return bring me back with more gratitude than when I left.
Ameen.
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