The Narratives – Mohamed Miah

Mohamed Miah | The Narratives

There comes a point in life where you stop chasing.

Not because you’ve given up, but because you’ve finally started to see clearly.

See the design. The pattern. The truth.

I’m not afraid of dying. Not really. When the time comes, it comes.

Will I be scared? Probably. Will I hope my affairs are in order? Of course.

But there’s a strange peace in knowing that this life moves on.

People will cry. They’ll grieve. Then they’ll carry on—until the trumpet sounds.

What I struggle with more is this obsession people have with not ageing.

This constant fight against time, against change, against the very nature of being human.

People run, starve, lift, inject, and edit their lives away—just to hold onto a version of themselves that was only meant to be temporary.

Let’s be honest—your 20-year-old body is gone.

It served you when you were a boy.

But your body at 40? It’s different.

It’s broader. It’s slower, sure. But wiser. Tougher. Built to carry more than just muscle—it carries your stories, your prayers, your pain, and your wisdom.

You should respect that evolution.

That transition from boy to man, girl to woman.

It’s not something to fight. It’s something to accept.

It’s the mercy of Allah that we grow, change, mature. That we aren’t stuck in the same skin forever.

What’s sad is we’ve raised a generation that wants to be grown at 16 and young again at 40.

Always skipping chapters, never living the page they’re on.

And it’s all rooted in fear—fear of irrelevance, fear of death, fear of not being desired.

But if you really believe in Allah’s plan, you know this body is just a temporary vessel.

A vehicle to worship with. To serve others with.

And eventually, it will return to the soil.

What matters more is what you carry inside it—your deeds, your intentions, your love, your tawakkul.

That’s what stays. That’s what rises with you in Barzakh.

That’s what will be reborn in Jannah, in a form beyond youth and age.

So let the lines form on your skin.

Let your pace slow. Let your beard grey.

Smile when you see yourself in the mirror—because that man or woman is still alive. Still trying. Still breathing the name of Allah.

That is not weakness.

That is survival. That is growth. That is purpose.

Because we were never meant to be perfect here.

We were meant to be temporary.

We were meant to fall, to ache, to age—

So we could long for the place where none of that exists.

Where we are finally whole.

Where beauty never fades, and youth never ends.

“When their appointed time comes, they can neither delay it by a single moment, nor can they bring it forward.”

—Surah An-Nahl, 16:61

That is the body worth longing for—not the one behind you, but the one ahead of you, promised by your Lord.