Return to the Island
The joy you forgot is still waiting
There’s something you used to do that made you feel— really feel—at least one of these forgotten states:
Alive
Grounded
Present
Joyful
Rapturous
Enchanted
Blissful
Connected
Maybe it was riding your bike—not as a commute, but just to feel the wind on your face.
Maybe it was walking—not to get somewhere, but to let your mind settle in the open air.
Maybe it was laughing with friends over coffee, the kind of laughter that you forgot could come out of you.
You might not recall it straight away.
You might need to sit still, put down your phone, and let a buried memory float up through the haze.
For me, it was playing football.
Table tennis.
Riding a bike.
And today—though I hesitate to admit how long it’s been—it was going to the mosque for Friday prayer.
I stopped after surgery. A justified rest. But that rest became drift. And drift becomes disconnection. And disconnection can so easily, so regrettably, become dissolution.
Today, I made tawbah. I returned.
And in that return, I found a jazeerat as-salaam—an island of peace.
Al Jazeera means “the island.”
Salaam, of course, means peace.
And tawbah?
It doesn’t mean guilt, it doesn’t mean repentance.
It means turning back.
The good news is: turning back is easier than you think.
After the shock of “What took me so long?” passes, you begin to remember what else used to light you up.
So you start again.
One quiet act at a time.
Until these lost joys become part of your rhythm.
Anchored.
Non-negotiable.
Held close—like a child you almost lost sight of.
And when that happens, you remember what life is really about.
If this stirred something in you, consider sharing it with someone you’ve lost touch with.
That, too, is a kind of return.