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My name is Abdullah Al-Kanadi. I was born and raised in Vancouver, Canada. Like many others in the West, I grew up in a Christian household—specifically, Roman Catholic. My parents, sincere in their faith, enrolled me in a Catholic religious school where religion was part of our daily curriculum. I even served as an altar boy at a young age, something my grandparents were especially proud of.
Despite being considered a good student of religion, I began questioning things early on. I remember once asking my mother after a Sunday mass, “Is our religion the right one?” Her answer, though well-intended, left me confused: “Craig, they’re all the same—they’re all good.” If that was true, I wondered, then why were we taught one specific path?
That confusion planted a seed of doubt that stayed with me. Life changed dramatically when I turned twelve. My grandmother, to whom I was very close, passed away after battling colon cancer. Her death deeply affected me in ways I couldn’t fully grasp at the time. In my pain and frustration, I turned away from God. I declared myself an atheist, thinking that by doing so, I could somehow express my anger at the Creator I claimed not to believe in.
My teenage years were marked by emotional struggle and growing distance from my family. I left behind the religious structure I was raised in and entered a public high school. There, I desperately tried to fit in. I picked up bad habits quickly—swearing, mocking others, and doing whatever it took to feel accepted. Yet, I never truly fit in. I was bullied, rejected, and emotionally isolated. I withdrew into myself and became distant even from my parents, who tried to help me. I was rebellious and disrespectful, convinced that independence would solve everything.
After finishing high school in 1996, I enrolled in a technical school and took a part-time job at a local fast-food restaurant. A few weeks before classes began, some coworkers invited me to move in with them. I thought this was the answer to all my problems—freedom from family, rules, and expectations. I moved out against my parents’ wishes, speaking to them harshly in a way I still regret today.
It was during this period of so-called "freedom" that my life began to spiral. I was introduced to marijuana and quickly developed a dependency. Initially, it was just a way to relax after work. But over time, it consumed me. I skipped school and eventually dropped out altogether. I thought I had found happiness—no rules, plenty of fast food, and constant intoxication. But in reality, I was deeply unhappy.
I began experimenting with stronger substances, stealing from work and even from friends to support my addiction. My behavior became erratic. Paranoia set in. I was lost, deeply miserable, and spiritually bankrupt. Desperate for answers, I turned to various alternative belief systems. I read about witchcraft and nature worship, hoping that they would offer some kind of inner peace. These practices seemed to validate my drug use and offered no real moral guidance.
Yet even in the midst of this darkness, Allah sent me someone who would play a role in my eventual return to faith—a Christian friend who never judged me despite my mockery of his beliefs. He remained kind, supportive, and patient. Eventually, he invited me to attend a Christian youth retreat. I went—not out of interest in faith, but because I wanted to mock it. But something unexpected happened.
During one of the evening services, I saw people crying and sincerely asking for forgiveness. I, too, felt something stir within me. I made a silent prayer: “God, I know I’ve lived wrongly. Please help me. Let me start over.” That moment brought me to tears. I felt a rush of emotion I hadn’t felt in years. I decided then to become a practicing Christian.
For a while, I turned my life around. I gave up drugs, distanced myself from bad influences, and returned to live with my parents. I even began preaching to others, trying to convince them to follow my newfound path. But something still felt incomplete. I was still battling internal contradictions. I began drinking again, resumed inappropriate relationships, and continued preaching while living a life that contradicted the teachings I was sharing.
I often felt like a fraud. I started to question things again. The concept of the Trinity confused me. How could God be one, yet three? Why were saints prayed to? Why did faith feel like emotional highs followed by guilt-laden lows?
I began researching other faiths—not to convert, but to compare. That’s when I came across Islam. At first, I was skeptical, having been raised with negative stereotypes about Muslims. But the more I read about it, the more I was drawn to its clarity. The concept of Tawheed—pure monotheism—was powerful and logical. There was no ambiguity. God is One, without partners, children, or equals.
The life of Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) fascinated me. Here was a man who lived with purpose, humility, and strength. Islam didn’t just offer a belief system—it offered a way of life built on discipline, compassion, justice, and balance. It demanded sincerity and action, not just emotion. It promoted the very morality I had been seeking all along.
I visited a local mosque, hesitant and unsure of how I would be received. To my surprise, I was welcomed with warmth and hospitality. The Muslims I met didn’t judge my past. They answered my questions patiently, and never once pressured me. I was given a copy of the Qur’an with English translation. As I read through its pages, I found answers to questions that had haunted me for years.
What moved me most was the Qur’an’s emphasis on repentance, mercy, and purpose. Verses like, “And do not despair of the mercy of Allah. Indeed, Allah forgives all sins” (Qur’an 39:53) gave me hope. Islam acknowledged my past but didn’t define me by it. It invited me to return to my Creator and live a meaningful life.
After months of learning and reflection, I took my Shahadah—the declaration of faith. I testified that there is no god but Allah and that Muhammad is His final messenger. I chose the name Abdullah Al-Kanadi to reflect my new identity—servant of Allah from Canada.
Since embracing Islam, my life has transformed. That doesn’t mean it's been easy. There have been challenges—internal struggles, societal misunderstandings, and moments of doubt. But Islam has given me the tools to face these struggles with faith, prayer, and patience. My relationship with my parents has improved over time. I now try to embody the good character that Islam teaches, hoping that through my actions, others will see the beauty of this faith.
To anyone reading this who feels lost, hopeless, or unsure of their path—know that guidance is always possible. No matter how far you've gone, Allah’s mercy is greater. Life doesn’t always offer immediate answers, but sincere effort and a desire for truth will never go unanswered by the One who created us.
My journey from confusion and despair to faith and clarity wasn’t a straight line. But with each step I took toward the truth, Allah made the path easier. And for that, I am eternally grateful.
