Muhammad Bilal Shafi - Author & Founder, The Bilal Testament

The past feels best until the present turns into the past. We like to reminisce, and that’s why yesterday often feels beautiful. The past feels easy mostly because the hard parts don’t stand out anymore.

I like to reminisce, but I don’t let it outweigh what I have today.

It’s easy to look back and remember only the good parts. The laughs. The familiar routines. The people as they were, not as they changed. Memory edits things for us. It softens edges, removes stress, and leaves behind something easier to hold.

I don’t want much. I am very easy to please when it comes to movies. And yet, somehow, I scroll for thirty minutes before choosing one.

Let me start with what I don’t like.

I don’t enjoy movies where the world is ending. Especially the kind where a machine has decided to eliminate humanity but also has a power button. And the only thing standing in its way is one super hero who, against all odds, finally presses the turn off button in the last thirty seconds. I’ve seen it. Many times. I’m done.

“I’m starting a YouTube channel / blog. What should I name it?” I get that question a lot.

My honest answer? Try shooting your first video instead.

There are people who like to work, and there are people who like to name. Don’t be fooled by the Namers. They’ll reach heaven one day and still be looking around for something to label.

I remember when I was trying to name my own blog, The Bilal Testament. I wasn’t sure about it. I imagined people mispronouncing it, misunderstanding it, judging it. I asked myself whether it sounded too serious, too dramatic or too much. Maybe it was more promising than I was ready for.

What I was really doing, of course, was trying to predict the future.

Peace isn’t distant. It’s just rarely seen. It begins with knowing where to look for it. I observe the world closely, yet what I have always wished for is to attend to my sleeping self with all my senses. Weird and haunting as it may sound, it’s been with me since I was a child. … Read more

We are convinced that love always finds its way. We write about it, we make movies about it, and it might be one of our favorite things to talk about. But maybe we have closed the door on it.

I mean, what happens when everyone’s looking for a business deal?

I watched Celine Song’s Materialists last night.  It didn’t feel like fiction, at least not in the first half. It felt like a quiet reflection of the world we’re already living in. A world where love sounds more like negotiation and affection comes with a price tag.

I’m not even against the idea of being materialistic. or, how do you put it? The right to choose your partner? For sure, choose. It’s the terrible way we confuse judgment for standards.

As we advance, everything only seems to get faster. We’ve mistaken motion for meaning. Time really flies, but we’re the ones making sure it never lands. I hope somebody finds the life remote, because the accelerate button seems to be stuck. 

We pressed play and took out pause and why not, productivity called for it. Stillness, though, has become our greatest inconvenience ever since. We move so fast, nature refuses to keep up.

Have you ever been to places without a ticket? Well, my cricket bat has. It’s been to Lord’s, driving through covers off Jimmy, and making one disappear at the MCG while Mitchell Starc scratches his head in disbelief. 

I think there is nothing wrong with living your dreams while you’re dreaming. I am almost 30, having never played a cricket match with anyone but my friends, I can confidently say I will never be a professional cricketer. But I won Pakistan a world cup final last evening, 6 required off the last delivery, and they are still looking for the poor ball I sent out of the stadium.

Doubt is not an insult. You may already know this, yet it’s easy to forget that we don’t always have to be the ones who know. To admit doubt is a form of self-love. It’s also simple, courageous and peaceful. Even the very wise are allowed to wonder.

We have been deceived. We hide our doubts because we are told they carry disgrace. The fear of not having an answer, the supposed shame in saying so, the imagined boos echoing back when we get it wrong. All of it, an illusion.

If I ever run into you, the conversation should also be running for its life, screaming for help. My thoughts are slow, but my goodbyes are Olympic. Saves time for thinking, you know.  Nothing dies slower than a meaningless conversation, so I do it a favor and kill it quick.

But I’m not pretending I’m above it. I do know people who treat goodbyes like background noise and dive into a story about their uncle’s dog. Five minutes after I’ve already said goodbye, somehow I’m starring in 101 Goodbyes and Counting.