Retro: The abode of Faith - Returning to Terengganu

The abode of faith: Returning to Terengganu

My mind has been looping through thoughts, trying to figure out what truly defines the essence of who I am. This trip to the East Coast has, in many ways, reawakened parts of me that have been lying dormant in my subconscious—especially when it comes to my religious understanding and faith.

After having a long and meaningful conversation with my friend Fadzly Mubin, a computer engineer and professional photographer, it dawned on me that I’m not far off the mark in my chosen path of self-discovery. All these years of searching, trying to understand what matters most in my life, have brought me to a simple yet profound truth: that the essence of our being is rooted in the ability to love unconditionally—the kind of love only God can have for His creation.

Fadzly, a close friend of more than ten years, laid it out for me as we drove from one end of Kuala Terengganu to the other. At each coffee shop stop along the way, our conversation deepened. It became clear that through the power of Love, we worship the Lord, just as through that same Love, He created the Universe and mankind.

Terengganu Darul Iman

Terengganu Darul Iman—literally, “The Abode of Faith”—has always been for a kind of religious energizer, especially for Muslims. Each state in Malaysia carries such titles: Pahang is Darul Makmur (The Peaceful Abode), Johor is Darul Takzim (Abode of Dignity), and so on. Having spent a good part of my life in this East Coast state, it feels appropriate that I keep returning here to recharge my faith whenever I’m at my lowest ebb.

The people here seem deeply religious, more so than in other states. Early one morning while staying at Awi’s Yellow House on Pulau Duyong, I was stirred by the Subuh call to prayer—echoing from no fewer than six mosques and suraus surrounding the riverbanks. While driving to the worksite in Kerteh, some 80 kilometers south of Kuala Terengganu before dawn, I would see women dressed in flowing white prayer garments walking towards the mosque or surau. It moved me deeply to witness such piety.

A Painful Beginning, A Gradual Awakening

I converted to Islam at the age of twelve, right here in Terengganu, after moving from Penang, where I had been raised in a Buddhist-Muslim household (a long story I’ve shared elsewhere in this blog). My conversion wasn’t a pleasant experience—I remember vividly the pain of being circumcised. I endured it, but the true transformation came much later when I met my martial arts instructor.

He took me under his wing and showed me what Islam could mean beyond the rituals. With him, I discovered faith, surrender, and what it truly meant to be a good Muslim. I didn’t qualify, not by a long shot—I was still too angry, too twisted in my ways to accept what was being offered. He once told me, “You’ve got a long way to go before you become a true Muslim.” At the time, I didn’t fully understand his words. But today, after so many years wof andering in spiritual blindness, I realize the wisdom he was sharing.

The Solat and My Inner Dialogue

Even today, I consider it a blessing if I can perform all five daily prayers, as prescribed in Islam. It’s not that I lack faith in my Lord—far from it. But I struggle to feel connected when I engage in the ritual prayers. It often feels mechanical, like I’m doing it because I have to.

Yet I pray in my heart all the time. I talk to my Lord constantly, asking for forgiveness and guidance. I do this every time I meditate or sit in silent contemplation. It’s during those quiet moments that I feel closest to the Almighty—not during the formal prayers.

Maybe I’ll never be able to fully meet the religious standards expected of a practicing Muslim. At my age, I find it more difficult to conform to all the rituals. All I can hope for is His infinite Mercy and Understanding. Because every time my mind is clear, and I find that inner silence, I know He is there.