25/01/2026

The Day That Is Not Coming

By lilly_en_route 

On time, certainty, and why the gates are still open๐Ÿ’ซ

For most of my life, I thought of the Day of Judgement as something far away.

A future event.
A looming horizon.
A moment we were all moving toward, yes, but slowly, abstractly, almost theoretically.

We speak about it that way instinctively: one day, eventually, when the time comes.

But recently, a realisation settled into me with such calm clarity that it changed the way I understand everything... not with fear, not with panic, but with a deep, activating peace.

What if the Day of Judgement isn’t “coming” at all?

What if it already exists?

And what if we are not waiting for it... but walking toward something that, in divine reality, is already complete?

This is not a dramatic thought. It is not a mystical escape. It is a recognition... one that the Qur’an itself invites us into, if we read it carefully and allow its grammar to speak.


The Qur’an Does Not Speak From Inside Time

One of the most striking features of the Qur’an is how often it describes future events in the past tense.

Not metaphorically.
Not loosely.
But deliberately.

“The command of Allah has come.”
(Atฤ amru llฤh — Qur’an 16:1)

Not will come.
Not is coming.

Has come.

Again and again, the Qur’an speaks of the Trumpet having been blown, the earth having been crushed, judgement having been decreed, even though, from our perspective, none of this has happened yet.

At first glance, this seems poetic. But it is far more precise than that.

The Qur’an is not narrating events from inside our linear experience of time.

It is speaking from a reality in which time itself is a created dimension.

Allah is not moving through seconds.
He is not waiting.
He is not anticipating.

Time exists within creation.
Allah exists beyond it.

This is why He is called al-Awwal and al-Akhir, not “first” and “last” in a sequence, but outside sequence altogether.

From that vantage point, the entire story of creation is not unfolding.
It is already known.
Already complete.
Already seen in its entirety.


We Experience Time, but Allah Encompasses It

We live one second at a time.

We remember the past.
We anticipate the future.
We feel suspended in a fragile “now” that keeps slipping away.

Allah does not experience reality this way.

In divine knowledge, there is no “before” and “after” the way we understand it. There is no suspense, no uncertainty, no unfolding surprise.

This does not mean life is scripted in a coercive way.
It means life is fully known.

The difference matters.

Allah knowing your ending does not mean He forces your choices.
It means that knowledge, for Him, is not sequential.

To Him, your entire life is present.
To you, it is still being written.

This is where the heart of Islamic theology becomes incredibly subtle and incredibly merciful.


The Script Exists, But the Pen Is Still in Your Hand

One of the most common misunderstandings about divine decree is the idea that if Allah already knows everything, then choice must be an illusion.

But the Qur’an never presents it that way.

Knowledge does not equal compulsion.

Allah’s knowledge encompasses your choices because you will freely make them, not because they are imposed upon you.

Think of it this way:

Allah knows the entire book.
You are still turning the pages.

The page already exists in divine knowledge.
But you still choose every word you write while you are alive.

This is why accountability exists.
This is why reward and consequence exist.
This is why repentance exists.

If the story were forced, repentance would be meaningless.
Duสฟฤสพ would be meaningless.
Struggle would be meaningless.

Islam does not teach fatalism.
It teaches responsible freedom within divine knowledge.


Why the Prophets Saw the Hereafter as Already Alive

During the Night Journey and Ascension, the Prophet ๏ทบ was shown Paradise and Hell.

Not as blueprints.
Not as future construction sites.
Not as abstract concepts.

He saw them as living realities.

This matters.

The Miสฟrฤj was not merely vertical travel.
It was not just movement through space.

It was a movement outside time.

The unseen is not “later.”
It is elsewhere.

We call it “the future” only because we have not reached it yet.

From a divine perspective, Paradise and Hell are not waiting to be built.
They are already prepared.

And when the Qur’an speaks of them, it speaks of them with the certainty of something that exists, not something hypothetical.


Qiyฤmah Is Not Coming, but We Are Moving

This is the thought that reshapes everything.

Qiyฤmah is not approaching us.
We are approaching it.

Every second that passes is not time drifting away, it is time drawing closer.

The river flows.
The ocean already exists.

This is not meant to induce panic.
It is meant to restore direction.

When you realise that the destination is real and already known to Allah, the present moment becomes weighty, not heavy, but meaningful.

Every breath matters.
Every choice matters.
Every turn back matters.

Not because you are late, but because you are still on the road.


Why Repentance Exists Only Now

One of the most merciful realities in Islam is that repentance belongs exclusively to the human experience of time.

The Prophet ๏ทบ said that Allah accepts repentance as long as the sun has not risen from the west.

This is not arbitrary.

It means:
Repentance exists only while time still flows forward for you.

Once the veil lifts, once certainty becomes unavoidable, once the unseen becomes seen, there is no more choosing.

From Allah’s perspective, the case is already complete.
From yours, the file is still open.

This is why Allah speaks to us from within our timeline.
Not to terrify us.
But to invite us.

“Fix your story while there are still pages left.”


Why This Realisation Doesn’t Have to Be Scary

For some, thoughts like this provoke anxiety.

But for others, and I include myself here, it produces the opposite.

Calm.
Activation.
Clarity.

That’s because truth, when recognised, doesn’t usually arrive with noise.

Falsehood shocks.
Truth settles.

This realisation doesn’t make life feel futile.
It makes it feel intentional.

You stop rushing.
You stop numbing.
You stop wasting energy on illusions.

You become careful, not fearful.


Certainty Is Not Intensity

In Islamic tradition, certainty (yaqฤซn) is not defined by emotional highs.

It is defined by stability.

The deepest forms of certainty are often quiet.
Grounded.
Unimpressed by spectacle.

The prophets were not frantic people.
They were not rushed.
They were not chaotic.

They were anchored.

When you understand that time is a corridor, not a void, you walk differently.

You still work.
You still love.
You still hope.
But you no longer pretend that this world is the final room.


Living With This Awareness

This kind of certainty does not demand dramatic change.

It asks for:

  • unhurried prayer

  • sincere, frequent repentance

  • clean actions

  • humility

Not intensity.
Not obsession.
Not withdrawal.

Just alignment.

When certainty arrives, Allah usually asks for steadiness, not performance.


The Gates Are Still Open

Here is the balance Islam insists on holding:

In Allah’s knowledge, your story is complete.
In Allah’s mercy, your pen is still in your hand.

You are not late.
You are not trapped.
You are not done.

You are still breathing.
You are still choosing.
You are still writing.

The Day is not waiting.

But the gates are still open.

And that is not a threat.

It is an invitation. An invitation to experience life - and also make memories and impact at the same time.

12/01/2026

London Isn’t Over, Just Paused

by lilly_en_route

I didn’t leave that city,
I folded it into my soul.
Packed it with my books,
my laughter,
my favorite corners of the sky.

London was a soul chapter:
unfinished in spirit,
complete in lesson.
I walked its streets
like a woman marked by purpose,
and I left with blessings tucked
into every heartbeat.

Some say you only leave when you're done.
But I think some cities are like prayers:
you return to them
when they call you softly
in the language only destiny speaks.

Dรผsseldorf holds me now:
heals, steadies, restores.
Yet I know if the wind ever tells me,
“Go back,”
I won’t be afraid.
I’ll return not as the girl I was,
but as the woman London helped me become.

Because some goodbyes
are simply pauses
waiting for a new beginning.

03/12/2025

LUMINOUS: On Becoming the Woman Who Glows From Within

There are certain seasons in a woman’s life where she stops waiting for a miracle

and realises she is the miracle.

I think I stepped into that season recently.

Not loudly.
Not with fireworks.
Not with the kind of dramatic chaos my younger self thought “transformation” looked like.

But quietly.
Tenderly.
Almost shyly, like light learning to be light again.

It started with the prayers I finally returned to.
The ayahs that softened my chest.
The ruqyah that rewired my breath.
The stillness.
The clarity.
The sudden understanding that I don’t need to chase anything that is already written for me.

Barakah began arriving in tiny gestures,
a neighbour inviting me for dinner, random strangers gifting me something,
a child looking at me with those eyes that say,
“I see something in you,”
unexpected clients reaching out,
my heart softening at the right moments
and strengthening at the right ones.

This is what luminescence feels like:
light that doesn’t depend on circumstances, 
light that is you.

And maybe that’s what I’m learning in this chapter:

✨ To build my empire with peace, not pressure.
✨ To choose softness without losing my edge.
✨ To keep my femininity elevated, sacred, and aligned.
✨ To be ambitious without being frantic.
✨ To be deeply spiritual without disappearing from the world.
✨ To honour my body, my intuition, my cycle, my purpose.
✨ To trust that what is mine will arrive unforced.

There’s a version of me emerging that I genuinely… admire.

She studies law with discipline.
She builds a business with grace.

She works at a major consulting firm specialising in law. But without burning out.

She holds herself with a kind of elegance that no one taught her, she earned it.

She chooses rest without guilt.
She prays with a heart that finally feels safe.
She knows when to stay soft and when to become unshakeable.
She is becoming a woman her younger self would look at in awe.

And the most beautiful part?

She’s not done.
She hasn’t even reached her peak.
She is only stepping into the first rays of who she’s meant to become.

I think this is what it means to rise in your own light:
to realise that the miracle you were waiting for
was always living inside your chest,
whispering,
guiding,
glowing.

And now she’s here:
not asking for permission,
not seeking validation,
just becoming.

There are seasons in life when you don’t rise with noise or force.

You rise with light.
Quiet, deliberate, unmistakable.

Today I looked at myself - really looked - and realised something I’ve known for a long time but never said out loud:

I am luminescent.

Not because life has always been easy.
Not because I’ve floated through softness without scars.
But because every time darkness touched me, I learned how to make light.

My glow is earned, not given.
My peace is built, not borrowed.
My spirit doesn’t flicker, it remembers.

I’ve lived a hundred different lives already:
the multilingual girl with a suitcase full of dreams,
the disciplined student,
the calm project manager navigating chaos,
the spiritual seeker whispering Ayat al-Kursi at 3AM,
the woman who chooses vegan compassion and Barre mornings,
the aunty who becomes a home for all the little souls around her,
the empire builder drafting businesses from prayers,
the future lawyer with divine ambition stitched into her spine.

And somewhere between the prayers, the paperwork, the coffee-shop study sessions, the glitter of a golden phone case, and the late-night ruqyah that resets my heart, I found myself glowing again.

Not the fragile glow I had before burnout.
Not the survival glow I carried through my 2022/2023 storms.
But a reborn glow, the kind that fills the room before you even walk in.

The truth is:
My life is shifting. My energy is refining. My purpose is anchoring.
And I can feel Allah placing ease in the spaces where I used to place pressure.

Barakah is moving.
People are arriving.
Opportunities are opening.
My spirit is louder than my fear.
My softness is stronger than my stress.

And maybe this is the lesson I needed:

I don’t need to chase light.
I am the light.

I am the woman who creates her own frequency.
The woman who builds her life with elegance and sincerity.
The woman whose prayers change her reality.
The woman whose presence softens rooms and strengthens hearts.

Luminescent, because I shine even in the moments no one sees.

Luminescent, because my faith glows through the cracks.

Luminescent, because being me has always been a form of light.

And I’m only just beginning.

— Lilly ♡

12/08/2025

When the Clock Runs Out: On How Short Life Really Is

 By lilly_en_route

I once heard someone describe what happens at a funeral prayer.

It stayed with me, not because I was there, but because the image was so vivid that it felt like I could see it.

They said it’s one of the shortest prayers you’ll ever experience.
No bowing. No kneeling. No long recitations.
Just four simple statements declaring the greatness of God, with moments of silence in between.
Barely ten minutes from start to finish.

And that’s it.
A farewell for an entire lifetime, condensed into a prayer that’s over before most people have even processed that it began.


A Life Measured in Minutes

Think about that for a moment.

We live for decades, sixty, seventy, maybe ninety years if we’re given a long life.
We work, we plan, we hustle.
We chase education, titles, salaries, cars, houses.
We chase love. We chase image.
We worry about what people think, what they’ll say, whether they’ll praise us or criticise us.

And then, one day, it ends.

A short prayer.
A body placed into the ground.
Soil covering the coffin.
The people leaving, each to their own lives again.


The Illusion of Time

We live as if we have time.
We tell ourselves there will be a “later”, later to change, later to heal, later to pray, later to start the thing we know we’re meant to start.

But there is no guaranteed later. There is only now.

Death doesn’t send an appointment reminder.
It doesn’t wait for you to be ready.
It arrives exactly when it’s meant to, and never on your schedule.

When it does, none of the little irritations or petty arguments will matter.
The only thing that will matter is the trail you’ve left behind, the good you did, the kindness you showed, the truth you lived by.


What We Spend Our Lives On

It’s shocking how much of life is spent on things that vanish.

The clothes in your wardrobe.
The car you polished every weekend.
The house you renovated for years.
The status updates, the photos, the likes and comments.

None of them will follow you when you go.
They’ll stay here, claimed by others, forgotten, or replaced.

The only thing that will go with you is the sum of what you did with sincerity.
Every act of kindness.
Every moment of integrity.
Every time you chose what was right over what was easy.


How the World Moves On

If you’ve ever lost someone, you know this truth: life for the living continues far more quickly than we imagine.

For a few days or weeks, there might be photos shared online, phone calls made, condolences offered.
But eventually, people go back to their routines.

You’re not forgotten. But you’re no longer part of their daily thoughts.

And yet we spend so much of our lives shaping ourselves for the approval of people whose attention span for us in death will be brief.


If You Knew Your Number

If you knew exactly how many days you had left, what would change?

Would you make peace with someone you’ve been avoiding?
Would you be kinder to your family?
Would you start praying or praying more regularly?
Would you finally act on the dream you’ve been “waiting” to begin?

The reality is: you do have a number.
You just don’t know it.
And it decreases every single day.


Preparing Without Fear

Living with the awareness of death isn’t meant to create fear.
It’s meant to create clarity.

It means knowing that every breath you take can be invested into something meaningful — or wasted on something that disappears like smoke.

It means stepping back when life tries to pull you into endless distractions and remembering: This isn’t why I’m here.


The Lessons in a Funeral Prayer

Hearing how short that farewell prayer is taught me three things:

  1. Life is short. Even ninety years can be honoured in ten minutes.

  2. Simplicity matters. At the end, all the extras we think are important fall away.

  3. Deeds remain. Once life ends, you can’t add to your story. What you’ve already sent forward is all you have.

These lessons could feel heavy, but they’re strangely freeing.
If life is short, you can stop wasting time on the meaningless.
If simplicity matters, you don’t have to overcomplicate your choices.
If deeds remain, you can focus on what really counts.


Living With the End in Mind

Imagine your life as a book.
Right now, you’re writing a page.
You don’t know how many pages are left, but the final one is already set.

If you knew this page might be your last, what would you write on it?

Living with the end in mind doesn’t mean living without joy.
It means living with intention.
It means treating your time, your words, and your energy as precious.
It means letting go of grudges before they become the last thing you carry.


Going Home

One of the most beautiful thoughts I’ve heard about death is this:
For the believer, it’s going home.

It’s returning to the One who gave you life, the One who saw you at your weakest, the One who forgave you when you couldn’t forgive yourself.

That’s why no matter how much we achieve here, there’s always a restlessness.
Because we weren’t made to feel at home here.
Our soul knows we belong somewhere else.


The Choice We Have Every Day

Each morning, you wake up with a fresh chance to write your story.

You can spend it chasing distractions, or you can invest it in something eternal.

You can choose to help someone in need.
You can choose to pray, to give, to forgive.
You can choose to plant a seed that will keep growing long after you’re gone.

Life is short.
But short doesn’t mean insignificant.
It means you have to choose carefully.


A Promise to Myself

When I think about that simple ten-minute prayer, I know I don’t want to be remembered for being endlessly busy.

I want to be remembered for showing up for the people who mattered.
For giving when I could have kept.
For trying, every day, to live a life that would matter beyond my own years.

And when my time comes, I want it to be said:
She lived with the end in mind.
She lived ready to go home.

17/07/2025

๐Ÿ•Š️✨ The Qur’an in Me: 10 Verses That Found My Soul Before I Found Them

 Written by lilly_en_route 


There are verses you memorise.

And then — there are verses that memorise you.
That rise like dawn over your wounds.
That know your name before you knew you were lost.
That enter your ribcage, rearrange your sorrow, and stitch barakah into your silence.

This is not just a list of verses.
This is a map of my soul — decoded in a language that is foreign to all my ancestors (yet so familiar!!), healed in sujลซd, and reclaimed as faith in full flame.

I call it:

“The Qur’an in Me.”

Because these verses don’t sit on a shelf.
They walk in me — in every "yes" I whisper to the Divine,
in every contract I sign with integrity,
in every time I forgive myself before bed.

Here are 10 verses that didn’t just comfort me — they called me.


1. Surah Az-Zumar 39:53

"O My servants who have wronged themselves, do not despair of Allah’s mercy."
This verse is the first time I let God hug me back.
Because for too long, I thought I had to earn my way home to Him.
Now I know: I am home because I fell and still crawled toward light.


2. Surah An-Nur 24:35

"Allah is the Light of the heavens and the earth..."
This is the verse that reminds me my softness is sacred.
I’m not here to compete. I’m here to carry — glow — reflect.
My barakah doesn’t shout. It flickers and still fills the room.


3. Surah Adh-Dhuha 93:4

"And surely what is coming is better for you than what has passed."
I held this verse like a matchstick during my burnout.
The days I couldn’t pray, I played this in my ears like a lullaby.
This is my divine forecast: You haven’t even seen your light yet.


4. Surah Al-Hujurat 49:13

"The most honoured of you in the sight of Allah is the one most conscious of Him."
For the girl who spoke German, English, French — but forgot to speak her own worth.
This verse re-wrote my value. Not in accents. Not in resumes.
But in taqwa — and that changes everything.


5. Surah Al-Baqarah 2:286

"Allah does not burden a soul more than it can bear."
Every time I’ve whispered “I can’t do this,” this verse held me.
Turns out I could. Turns out He knew.
Turns out my capacity wasn’t broken — just buried.


6. Surah Ash-Sharh 94:5–6

"With hardship comes ease… with hardship comes ease."
This is the echo I dance with.
Every time life says, “Here’s a storm,”
Allah says, “Here’s two sunrises tucked inside it.”


7. Surah Al-‘Ankabut 29:69

"And those who strive for Us – We will surely guide them."
My striving has never been aesthetic.
It’s been messy. Tear-stained. Wordless.
But this verse says: Allah sees even that as sacred pursuit.


8. Surah Al-Imran 3:139

"So do not weaken nor grieve – you will rise if you believe."
This is my warrior verse.
Not the kind that breaks walls — the kind that whispers faith in quiet defiance.
I wear this one under my blazer like invisible armour.


9. Surah Maryam 19:26

"So eat, drink, and be at peace... I have vowed silence."
This verse taught me holy silence.
That I don’t need to post every part of my healing.
That some rebirths bloom best in private.


10. Surah At-Tawbah 9:51

"Nothing will happen to us except what Allah has written."
I breathe this into every unknown.
Before interviews. Before love. Before loss.
This is my contract with Qadr — signed with surrender, sealed in serenity.


๐Ÿช” Final Whisper

These verses didn’t just soothe me — they shaped me.

And maybe that’s the point.
The Qur’an isn’t just a text. It’s a mirror. A compass. A pulse.

If you’ve ever felt too far gone, too tired, too different — remember this:

You are not behind. You are becoming.
And the Qur’an isn’t waiting for you to be perfect.
It’s just waiting for you to say: “I’m ready to be held.”

And oh, how it will hold you.


With light, law, and love,
 ๐ŸŒ™

13/07/2025

๐ŸŒŸ My Personal Emoji Aura and Why It Matters

By lilly_en_route

๐Ÿงจ๐ŸŽ†๐ŸŽ‡๐Ÿฆ‹✨๐Ÿ’๐Ÿช˜๐ŸŽถ๐Ÿ’Ÿ♥️๐Ÿคฉ๐Ÿ˜⛓️‍๐Ÿ’ฅ๐Ÿฅฐ๐Ÿ˜ถ‍๐ŸŒซ️๐Ÿงš‍♀️๐Ÿชข๐Ÿ’♥️๐Ÿช‡๐Ÿชˆ๐Ÿ“ฟ๐Ÿ“ฟ๐Ÿ“ฟ๐Ÿ“ฟ๐Ÿ“ฟ๐Ÿงฒ๐Ÿ’ก๐Ÿช”๐Ÿ•ฏ️๐Ÿฎ๐Ÿ”☀️❤️‍๐Ÿ”ฅ๐Ÿ’ฅ⚜️

Most people use emojis to react.

I use them to reflect.

In a digital world where silence can be misread and language is often overpolished, my emoji aura is a shorthand for the frequency I walk in. It’s not just aesthetic — it’s energetic. Every emoji here carries a vibration, a symbolism, a memory.

A mirror.

A manifesto.

What Is an Emoji Aura?

An emoji aura is a symbolic constellation of your essence — the way you move through life, how you see the world, and how your presence feels to others. It’s not static. Like real auras, it can deepen, sharpen, evolve. But your core symbols? They’re often surprisingly consistent.

Mine formed gradually — during late-night journaling, WhatsApp check-ins with best friends, spiritual rebirths, and milestone days when I had no words, only colour.

This emoji string became a visual fingerprint of my internal world: fiery yet soft, mystical yet grounded, sacred yet cheeky.

Let’s break it down.


๐Ÿ”ฅ The Fireworks & the Flame

๐Ÿงจ๐ŸŽ†๐ŸŽ‡๐Ÿ’ฅ❤️‍๐Ÿ”ฅ

These aren’t just party symbols — they are the energy of rebirth.
Of lighting a match in the dark and saying, “Watch me glow anyway.”
After years of burnout and silent endurance, these flames are not for chaos — they are for clarity.
They remind me I am allowed to be explosive, radiant, and full of direction.

Barakah is not always soft. Sometimes it’s disruptive fire disguised as mercy.


๐Ÿฆ‹๐Ÿงš‍♀️๐Ÿชข๐Ÿ˜ถ‍๐ŸŒซ️ The Soft Rebellion

My softness is deliberate. The butterfly, the mist, the knotted thread — all symbols of transformation, mystery, and sacred restraint. I do not rush to unfold. I’m the kind of woman you discover slowly, like a fog lifting, like silk unraveling a secret.

๐Ÿงš‍♀️ The fairy doesn’t beg to be seen.
She just exists in her own spell.

๐Ÿชข I’m the knot and the untying. The promise and the paradox.


๐Ÿ“ฟ๐Ÿ•ฏ️๐Ÿ’ก๐Ÿช”๐Ÿ” The Sacred Gaze

These are my prayer beads and my lanterns.
I walk with light. Not always loudly, but always intentionally.

๐Ÿ“ฟ The repetition of prayer — sometimes out loud, sometimes under my breath in queues and courtrooms.
๐Ÿช” The divine intimacy of lighting a candle alone.
๐Ÿ” The relentless pursuit of meaning — legal, personal, spiritual.

Barakah begins where hustle ends and heart begins.
This section of my aura holds the reason I rise before dawn, why I walk slowly past jasmine trees, why I care more about peace than applause.


๐Ÿ’๐Ÿ’๐Ÿช˜๐ŸŽถ๐Ÿช‡๐Ÿชˆ The Feminine Code

Love is not a subplot in my life.
It is the language I speak, the sound I move to, the pulse I carry. These symbols are not about romance alone — they are about being sensual without shame, gentle without apology, and sacred without suppression.

๐Ÿ’ I am loyal. Even when I’m wild.
๐ŸŽถ My life is scored by hidden music.
๐Ÿช˜ I dance to my own rhythm — sometimes alone, always aligned.


๐Ÿ’Ÿ♥️๐Ÿฅฐ๐Ÿคฉ๐Ÿ˜ The Overflow

These are the ones I overuse on purpose. They represent how I speak to the world: with unapologetic joy, sacred wonder, and soft rebellion.

I don’t do neutral when it comes to love.
I go all in — whether you’re my client, my niece, my nephew, my friend, or a stranger on the street needing directions.


๐Ÿงฒ⚜️ So Why Does It Matter?

Because in a world of algorithms and assumptions, symbols hold power.

Your emoji aura isn’t just cute — it’s a spiritual UX design. It allows people to feel you before they fully understand you.

It’s not about aesthetics. It’s about energetic literacy.

When you know your frequency, you walk into interviews, client calls, courtrooms, and cafรฉs already aligned.

I don’t wait to be validated.

I know who I am.
๐Ÿงจ๐ŸŽ†๐ŸŽ‡๐Ÿฆ‹✨๐Ÿ’๐Ÿช˜๐ŸŽถ๐Ÿ’Ÿ♥️๐Ÿคฉ๐Ÿ˜⛓️‍๐Ÿ’ฅ๐Ÿฅฐ๐Ÿ˜ถ‍๐ŸŒซ️๐Ÿงš‍♀️๐Ÿชข๐Ÿ’♥️๐Ÿช‡๐Ÿชˆ๐Ÿ“ฟ๐Ÿ“ฟ๐Ÿ“ฟ๐Ÿ“ฟ๐Ÿ“ฟ๐Ÿงฒ๐Ÿ’ก๐Ÿช”๐Ÿ•ฏ️๐Ÿฎ๐Ÿ”☀️❤️‍๐Ÿ”ฅ๐Ÿ’ฅ⚜️

This is my aura.
This is my energy.
This is my essence.

And now you’ve felt it too.

16/06/2025

Ancestral Awakening

 By lilly_en_route

๐Ÿ•Š️ Between Kรถnigsberg and Punjab

A Granddaughter of Vanished Homes

I was born far from war and borderlines —
one might even say into comfort,
into the quiet hum of post-war wealth,
coming from a white German tax advisor family.
But I carry war and borderlines in my bloodstream
like secret ink.
They rise in dreams, in grief I cannot name,
in the strange way history catches in my throat.
 
On my maternal side, my grandmother’s people fled Kรถnigsberg
with pure German on their tongues,
and suitcases that whispered of porcelain, Prussia, and pain.
On my paternal side, my grandfather died when the Partition
cut his past in half:
his wealth lost, his legacy shattered
somewhere between Uttar Pradesh and Punjab.
 
I was not there.
One could even say I was oblivious to it my whole life.
But something in me remembers.
Though I live in Germany and only know one side of my roots well,
my soul seems to have been born in the in-between.
Between post-war Germany and India/Pakistan,
between silence and song,
between memory and the longing to belong.

The Day That Is Not Coming

By lilly_en_route  On time, certainty, and why the gates are still open๐Ÿ’ซ For most of my life, I thought of the Day of Judgement as someth...