Blah blah blah. Yeah, this is the part where I'm supposed to sound all deep and poetic, like, "This book is the culmination of my lifelong journey through pain and purpose." But let's be real; this book is more like a weird therapy session mixed with a personal rant, sprinkled with wisdom I had to dig out of trauma, loss, and pure existential dread.
Now I know what you're thinking: "Oh look, another teen angst story trying to sound profound." But wait, hear me out before you roll your eyes and chuck this into your "meh" pile. Because unlike those so-called New York Times bestsellers (how are there like 9,000 of those btw; shouldn't it be, like, one at a time?), this book isn't trying to sell you inspiration. I'm not here to act like I figured life out or cracked some code to happiness. Nah. I'm just here to show you what it really looks like when you grow up on the edge of everything; culture, mental health, identity, expectations; and try not to fall off.
So yeah, my life is a mess. I wake up, go to school, get shouted at by teachers for existing incorrectly, try to act normal so no one thinks I'm weird, come home, hear my siblings yell about whatever kids yell about, remember that everything sucks, do homework, cry internally, maybe code something or draw to survive emotionally; and that's a good day. But it wasn't always this bad. I used to play Minecraft Education like it was my personal therapy. I used to think love was real. I used to care less. But then responsibility slapped me across the face. And now, I've got to act like some sort of older-brother role model when I'm still figuring out how not to spiral during roll call.
You're probably already regretting buying this book. Good. That means you're paying attention. This thing is gonna hit you like a rollercoaster: overpriced, makes your stomach drop, only enjoyable in short bursts, and once it's over you're like "Why did I do that?"—but you lowkey want to do it again. That's me. I'm the rollercoaster. Enter: Ibrahim Tayyab. Self-proclaimed narcissist, reluctant philosopher, reluctant Muslim with a capital M, and expert in overthinking everything.
Nihilism is kinda my thing. If you don't know what that is, it's basically believing that nothing matters, everything is fake, and we're all just living in some absurd simulation of suffering. You might be like, "Wait… Ibrahim is a Muslim name. Aren't you supposed to believe in, like, purpose and all that?" And the short answer is yes. The long answer is yeeeeeeeeeeeesssssss but also nahhh fam. Islam taught me everything is temporary. Life, pain, love—it's all a test. But I took that a step further and ended up on the extreme end of the spectrum where even tests feel like background noise in a universe that already decided how this ends.
But yo—don't think I'm writing this to be your blueprint or some fake deep influencer. Please, don't try to be like me. You really don't want this. You don't want to be the guy who lays in bed staring at the ceiling wondering why he even exists. You don't want to be the guy who lost a best friend in a car crash, who was in a car crash, who got held at gunpoint, who lost someone he loved because he got too full of himself. I'm not some tragic hero. I'm just a guy who's felt a lot of pain and finally decided to say something before it crushed him.
So why should you read this book? Because I've lived through stuff that would've broken most people. And I survived. Barely. But I did. And through all that wreckage, I figured out a few things you might need to hear. Stuff about not repeating my mistakes. About how to stay sane in a world that keeps screaming at you to be someone you're not. About how to stop pretending everything's fine when it's clearly not.
There's this scene in Matrix Reloaded where Merovingian tells Neo:
"Choice is an illusion created between those with power and those without."
That line stuck with me. Because yeah—life feels like that. Like all the big choices were already made, and you're just pretending you're in control. I've spent years trying to fight destiny, trying to change what felt written in stone. But the older I get, the more I understand... maybe we're not here to win the game. Maybe we're just here to understand it.
All the people in my life; my parents, my teachers, my friends; they taught me stuff. Sure. But nothing taught me more than time. Time showed me how little all this material crap matters. How everything fades. The people you loved. The pain you swore would kill you. It all goes. And if you're lucky, it leaves behind memories. If you're unlucky, it leaves scars.
So yeah. This is the preface. This is the part where I set the tone. You're either in or out. But if you are in; buckle up. Because this isn't a self-help book. It's a war report from someone who's still learning how to survive the battlefield of his own mind.
Let's begin.