“My name is Musa. This is my path.”

School was supposed to be the easy part.

Books. Uniforms. Morning assemblies.

People clapping when you spell a word right or pass your exams.
But for me, it wasn’t just about passing.

It was about proving. Proving that I belonged. That my name, my faith, my quiet strength – they all had a place in a system that never quite made room for people like me.

I was the only child. The only boy. The only one left to carry the dreams of those who were no longer here.

So, every report card felt heavier than a piece of paper. It felt like a mirror.

And sometimes, I didn’t like what I saw.

I wasn’t the loudest in class. I wasn’t the one teachers remembered. But I was there – watching, praying, surviving. Every Friday, I made sure to attend Jumu’ah, even when no one else did.

I didn’t always understand why,
but something about that sacred pause in the week gave me strength. It reminded me that there was more to life than grades and rankings.

Still, I chased the certificate.

Primary school. Secondary school. Then university. I followed the straight path on paper but off-paper, I was breaking.

What they don’t tell you is that for some of us, getting a degree feels like crawling through glass. Not because we’re not smart,
but because the world kept closing doors.

Nine years. Nine years I struggled to gain admission. Nine years of rejections, silence, shifting hope.

It was in those years I found something deeper. Not in the classroom but in solitude. Not in lectures but in late-night prayers.

I learned to listen.
To observe.
To think differently.

While others were memorizing theories, I was memorizing the ways Allah showed up through random acts of kindness, strangers who smiled at just the right time, verses that struck the heart when I opened the Qur’an without plan.

Eventually, I did get admitted. Not where I first hoped. Not how I first imagined. But I got there.

Graduated with a second-class upper, the kind of result people celebrate.

But for me, it wasn’t just a degree. It was survival. It was testimony.

I wasn’t just educated. I was refined. Because the paper didn’t shape me. The path did.

And the path wasn’t always clear.
But it was always straight when I followed the signs.

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

See you on the next one —  November 11th.

Episode 5: After the Gown – The Life They Don’t Teach

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