Word of the Day: صبر Sabr – Patience

Word of the Day: صبر

Sabr – Patience

This morning began the way it often does for me—with silence and the rising sun. After opening my eyes, I didn’t rush. Instead, I stepped outside, letting the cool air brush against my skin. The sky over Islamabad glowed in soft shades of gold and pink, and for 10 or maybe 15 minutes, I just stood there, breathing deeply.

That quiet moment was a gift. The rising sun reminded me that life doesn’t stop. No matter what I’m going through, it rises faithfully every single day.

When I walked back into my room, I went straight to my bed. It may sound small, but fixing the sheets and pillows has become part of my discipline. In a world where so much feels uncertain, making the bed is a simple act of order. It’s like telling myself: I can put things in place, even if everything else is out of place.

After that, I moved to the kitchen. Breakfast time is not just about me—it’s about my family too. Even though I’m living in Islamabad, I constantly feel my family pulling me home—my father, my mother, my brothers. In my mind, I can hear them calling me, “Come spend time with us.” That invisible bond between us is strong, and sometimes it aches.

But beneath these ordinary routines lies my biggest struggle: money.

This week, financial weakness has been pressing on me harder than ever. It’s not a small issue—it’s a very, very serious one. I want to change my life, but I don’t know where to begin. I dream of going to Saudi Arabia or Dubai, working hard, earning enough to stand tall. But dreams need skills, and I don’t have any practical ones yet. Yes, I am educated, but education alone is like a certificate folded in a drawer—it looks fine, but it doesn’t feed you.

Sometimes this thought breaks me. Sometimes it makes me restless. And sometimes it makes me cry.

But then I remember: Allah Almighty is with me.

That thought changes everything. When faith rises inside me, it’s like the sunrise I watch every morning. It warms my heart, even if my hands are empty. I smile again. I remind myself: Allah has written something for me, and InshaAllah, it will be good.

That’s why I’m here, writing these words. Writing is one of the few things I can do with honesty, even if it doesn’t yet fill my wallet. Today, I’m trying my luck with Vocal Media. Maybe my words will reach someone who feels the same. Maybe they will inspire. Maybe they will connect. And maybe—just maybe—they will open a door I haven’t seen yet.

Because sometimes, the smallest step is the biggest courage.

I know my life is not extraordinary. I’m not a celebrity, I’m not rich, and I’m not traveling the world. But what I do have is real: mornings with fresh air, routines that ground me, a family that misses me, and a heart that is still searching for its place in the world.

That’s why I believe people might read this. Not because it’s glamorous, but because it’s human.

We are all carrying something heavy. For me, it’s finances and the fear of not knowing my path. For you, it might be heartbreak, or loneliness, or a dream that feels too far away. But whatever it is, we are united by one thing: we are waiting. Waiting for a door to open, for a chance to arrive, for life to finally say yes.

And that is where patience—sabr—comes in.

Sabr is not just sitting still. It’s not weakness. It’s not doing nothing. Sabr is trusting. It’s continuing to get up, fix your bed, cook your breakfast, and look at the sunrise even when you don’t know what tomorrow brings. Sabr is the quiet strength of believing that Allah has not forgotten you, even when the world seems silent.

Today, I tell myself: I may not have skills yet, I may not know how to reach Dubai or Saudi Arabia, but I have this moment, and I have faith. And that is a start.

I believe stories like this matter. Because they remind us that we are not alone. Somewhere out there, someone else is also staring at the sunrise, also fighting financial fear, also holding on to faith with trembling hands.

So if you are reading this, know that I’m standing with you in this waiting room of life. And even though we don’t know when the door will open, we can still take one small step today. For me, it’s writing this. For you, it might be something else. But together, step by step, InshaAllah, we will move forward.

Because patience is not empty. It’s a seed. And seeds always grow, in their own time.