“My name is Musa. This is my path.”

Like the Prophet I was named after, I entered this world in the middle of a storm.

They say I delayed my arrival, stubbornly staying in the womb beyond the normal nine months. Doctors worried. Family prayed. And still, I lingered maybe already fighting a battle only heaven could see.

But when I finally came, I didn’t just bring a name. I brought a shift.

It started at my mum’s aunt’s house. That’s where my parents met at her invitation. A simple meeting turned into a destined union. The date was set. The journey began.
But so did the chaos.

You see, my father had a wife already, a woman who bore him a daughter just a month before I was born. A daughter who left this world after only three months. Her death cast a shadow over my birth, and that pain, that grief, spilled into our home like rain into cracks.

Fights. Silence. Questions nobody had answers to. And me, just a baby, wrapped in cloth, passed between adults who were themselves lost in sorrow.

So Allah moved me.

Out of that house, into the arms of a woman who wasn’t looking for a child, but was praying for one.

My grandmother (from my mother’s side) had known brokenness too. A first marriage that fell apart. A womb that hadn’t carried since. She needed hope. I needed a home.

And when she held me something clicked.

Her new husband welcomed me like I was his own blood. Not a burden. Not a backup plan. But a blessing. A bridge between love and loss.

They say I lit up their home. But the truth is… they gave me light.

Sometimes, I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d stayed in that first house. Would I have been swallowed by the grief that birthed me? Would I have grown bitter before I even knew joy?

But like Prophet Musa (AS), I was pulled from a place of turmoil and placed in a home where divine purpose could grow.

It took me years to see it, but the signs were there.
I was separated to be saved.
I was rejected to be redirected.

One day, I looked back at the story of Prophet Musa: how he was placed in the river, how he ended up in Pharaoh’s palace not by mistake, but by divine design.

That’s when it hit me.
My story didn’t just resemble his.
It was echoing it.

And maybe that’s why they named me Musa.
Not just because it sounded good. But because it was a prophecy.
Because this path, this winding, painful, miraculous path was already mine.

My name is Musa. This is what I found when I stopped running.

See you on the next one — October 11th.

Episode 4: A Path of Papers – From Primary to Graduation Grit

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