A Hundred Years from Now: Who Will Remember Us?

A hundred years from now…

Perhaps no one will remember this very day.

This date—so ordinary, so personal today—will become just another faded number on a forgotten page of a century-old calendar.

Someone might glance at it, hanging on a wall in a room I once called my own, and ask,

“What happened on this day?”

Perhaps someone will walk through that room, unaware it was once filled with my laughter, my grief, my dreams.

“Someone used to live here,” they’ll say. “What was their name again?”

Maybe the house will still be standing. Maybe not.

But me—I won’t be there.

Maybe someone will offer a greeting, but not to me, not directly.

They’ll say: “Assalamu Alaikum, O people of the graves…”

By then, a mound of earth and a hundred years of silence will separate me from everyone I ever knew.

My beloved home—someone else might buy it, or maybe it’ll decay into ruins.

“Haunted,” they’ll whisper, walking by without a glance.

The car I cherished might belong to someone else,

Or stand as a relic in a dusty garage—“vintage,” they’ll call it.

And my clothes?

They’ll either be shredded into rags or tossed into some landfill,

Merging with the forgotten remnants of countless lives.

And me?

I might be the most forgettable of all.

Those for whom I sacrifice so much today—my time, my love, my energy—

May one day live on without even a passing thought of me.

And then I wonder—

Can I even recall my grandfather’s father’s name?

How often do I think of my great-grandmother?

If I can forget, why should I believe I won’t be forgotten?

So what is this race we’re running?

This striving, sweating, sacrificing for fleeting relationships, for recognition, for applause—

For people who will one day forget we even existed?

These questions echo loudly in moments of reflection.

The world doesn’t really change.

There were wars before us, there are wars today, and there will be wars after we’re gone.

But we—

We will not be here.

Just like we weren’t here a hundred years ago.

Just like generations before us vanished into the folds of history.

We too will pass, and others will take our place.

And in these thoughts, a realization grows inside me like a quiet flame:

Life is smaller than we imagine.

Do you remember those moments when your mother proudly said,

“My son is ten years old now”?

And neighbors smiled in disbelief: “You were just a toddler yesterday!”

You smiled, proud—“Yes, I’m growing up.”

But today, ask yourself:

Have you really grown up?

Is growing up just about getting older?

Or does it mean learning the truths of life,

And realizing how small we are before Allah?

The Final Truth:

One day, this world will keep spinning without us.

Our names, our smiles, our stories—

Will be erased by time.

But if we leave behind righteous deeds, sincere faith, and kind actions—

That will be remembered.

Not in this world’s memory,

But in the eyes of Allah.

Let the preparation begin—

Not for fame, not for legacy—

But for the eternal remembrance that matters.

Because time is short,

And life only comes once.