A Passing Story

Memories should neither be held onto nor rewritten; they should simply be left where they are. Over time they fade, becoming like worn-out rags hanging from an old, rusted clothesline. Yet they remain, reminding us of a simple truth: life unfolds only in this very moment. Everything else is fleeting, like clouds drifting across the sky and over the fields, never stopping, simply following their course.

And perhaps it is this idea of passing through that deserves our attention. Once we realize that we are merely travelers in this world, our attachments ought to lose some of their power. Yet we continue to cling to homes, land, possessions, and wealth that, sooner or later, will no longer be ours.

Old films often remind us of this: life is not an easy walk. It is shaped by trials, sacrifices, and hardships. Today, however, we live in a society that seeks to eliminate every form of discomfort, as though suffering were a mistake to be corrected rather than an inevitable part of the human experience. We are constantly searching for something that will protect us from uncertainty, forgetting that vulnerability is something every human being shares.

Even a simple plane journey is enough to remind us of this. The moment we realize we are no longer in control, we become aware of just how vulnerable we truly are. A century ago, this awareness was part of everyday life. No one knew whether the harvest would survive the drought, whether loved ones would return from war, or whether tomorrow would be better than today. People lived in a far more direct relationship with nature, with time, and with the limits of human existence.

Today, many of our responsibilities have been entrusted to increasingly complex economic, technological, and social systems. This progress has undoubtedly improved many aspects of our lives, yet it has also made us forget how valuable self-reliance truly is. We have grown accustomed to buying what previous generations knew how to grow, repair, or build with their own hands.

Returning to the land means slowing down. It means observing the seasons, rediscovering the value of patience, and realizing that not everything depends on speed.

Perhaps it is during the heat of summer, when everything seems still, that we begin to reflect again—on the sacredness of water and rain, and on the sacredness of memory. Without memory, we could never recognize what has changed, nor understand that what we are living through today will also pass.

That is why we wait for the storm, which stirs the clouds and persuades them to release their rain, soaking the fields now turned golden and the earth the sun has reduced to dust.

Perhaps memories are like rain. They are not meant to keep us living in the past, but to nourish the present and remind us that every season, sooner or later, gives way to the next.

And so a question naturally arises—perhaps the most important one of all: are we truly happy with the life we are living?

In Islam, happiness is not measured by what we own or what we accomplish, but by our closeness to Allah, the sincerity of our intentions, and the peace that comes from remembering Him. This life is only a passage, not our final destination. True success is not found in reaching the finish line before everyone else, but in standing before Allah with a heart firm in faith and filled with sincere deeds.

Qur'an 57:20

"Know that the life of this world is nothing but play, amusement, adornment, mutual boasting among you, and competition in wealth and children. It is like rain whose resulting vegetation delights the farmers; then it dries, and you see it turn yellow; then it becomes dry and broken."