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@0ffely: Le prix de mon full face 💶 vous validez ? @SEPHORA @Huda Beauty @Charlotte Tilbury @SAINT LAURENT @bacci_beauty #makeupbeauty #beauty #makeuptiktok
0FFELY
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Monday 22 June 2026 16:20:58 GMT
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2024 was a very special year for me. On January 13th, I learned how to pray. My first ṣalāh was Maghrib. My kitchen had caught the last golden light of the afternoon, sunlight stretching across the floor as excitement rushed through my body. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I’m actually going to pray now?!” And then I did. For some reason, I started crying. Even now, I do not know exactly why. Perhaps years of living as a comfortable atheist had left a quiet emptiness inside me. I had spent so long filling my heart with distractions, pleasures, and the illusion of freedom. Yet no worldly enjoyment could satisfy the ache that seemed to grow with every transgression against my own soul. Maybe that was why I cried. I miss that year. It was, in many ways, the loneliest year of my life. I had no friends. I felt distant from my mother. Food had lost its taste. I dreaded going to sleep because sleep meant lying alone in the silence, face to face with my thoughts, unable to drown them out with the noise of the day. I tried to become a better Muslim. I quit makeup. I quit music. I lowered my gaze. I stopped swearing. Yet even then, I often felt that my efforts were meaningless. I wondered if Allah loved me at all. How could He? How could the Creator of everything that exists—the One who knows what every corner of the universe conceals, from the storms raging across distant planets to the path of a single autumn leaf drifting toward the ground—care about someone like me? The Lord who spoke to Abraham, Moses, Jesus, and Muhammad عليهم السلام. How could He guide me? Why me? I could have spent my entire life as an atheist. My only constraints would have been the law and my own ever-changing conscience. Yet somehow, I was guided. And deep down, I knew why. Not because I was righteous. But because I wanted the truth, even when the truth stood against my desires. I knew. Allāh had been guiding me long before I ever learned how to pray. I remember when I was a child, staring at the sky and wondering: Is there something, or someone, looking down at me right now? Are we looking at each other? What does this Being think of me? That was my Fiṭrah. And my Fiṭrah had been longing for its Lord all along. Begging, thirsting, crying out for the One who created it. Perhaps that is why Islam felt so natural when I finally embraced it. Perhaps that is why my heart recognized something my mind had not yet understood. Perhaps that is why I cried during my first prayer. And perhaps that is why Maghrib will always be my favorite ṣalāh. #muslimah #islam
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