What is Happiness to You?

Happiness. Such a simple word, yet an idea so complicated that the more I think about it, the further I seem to drift from any definite conclusion. Everyone has their version, their story, their definition of what happiness is—or should be. But maybe, just maybe, no one will ever truly know what happiness is in its entirety. It’s not a destination; it’s not even a consistent feeling. It shifts, evolves, and changes with the seasons of our lives.

As children, happiness felt so simple, so tangible. For me, it was the moments when my parents let me play outside with friends, or when they bought me new shoes, new toys, or those colorful bags we’d take to school. That was it—happiness in its purest form. But then, you grow older, you look deeper, and you start to realize how vastly different happiness looks to others.

Think of the children born into war zones—Sudan, Palestine, or anywhere survival is an everyday battle. For them, happiness isn’t toys or shoes. Happiness is having a meal for lunch. Happiness is making it to their third birthday with both parents still alive. Happiness might simply be having a roof over their heads or a dress to wear.

And then comes puberty, a phase where happiness becomes… complicated. That’s when the mirror starts speaking louder than anything else. For girls, it might be about having flawless skin, longer hair, or curves in all the "right" places. For boys, it might be about having the attention of their crush or building an image of strength and coolness. It’s exhausting because happiness starts to feel tied to how the world sees you, not how you see yourself.

Then adulthood creeps in, and everything changes again. You realize happiness isn’t just about appearances anymore—it’s about purpose. It’s about meaning. And as a Muslim, this transition feels even more profound. That verse from the Qur’an, *“We have not created mankind except for them to worship Us,”* starts to resonate. You begin to see that happiness, like life itself, is fleeting. It’s ephemeral. It comes in bursts, moments, not permanence.

When you think about it, life itself mirrors this complexity. Take education, for example. We start from crèche, just so our parents can have time to work. Then comes nursery, primary school, secondary school—the eight-hour school days, the exams, the constant grind—all to become someone in life. The goal is to bag that degree, to get the job, to earn respect. But then, what?

For some, the journey stops abruptly. You graduate, you wear the gown, hold the certificate, and before you can even use it, Allah takes your life. And in the grave, none of that matters. No one will ask you to solve a calculus problem or identify a disease. No one will care about your academic achievements or career titles. Instead, you’ll face questions like, “Who is your Lord?”

So then, what is happiness? Some say it’s living life to the fullest, ticking off every box on your list. Others tie it to success: graduating, becoming a doctor, saving lives. But even then, life ends. And when it does, what’s left?

Some say happiness is wealth. But what happens when you get the money? Does it guarantee contentment? Or does it just shift the goalpost further, leaving you chasing yet another fleeting desire?

It’s complicated. Happiness is complicated. Maybe it’s not something we can define in words or achieve through accomplishments. Maybe it’s in the fleeting moments—the laughter of a child, the comfort of prayer, the quiet satisfaction of doing something meaningful. Maybe it’s not about what we have or achieve, but about who we are and the connection we nurture with Allah.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that happiness isn’t an endpoint. It’s not a prize to be won or a place to arrive at. It’s a journey, one intertwined with faith, gratitude, and acceptance. And maybe that’s okay.

I think the question we should ask ourselves isn’t just ‘what is happiness’? but rather, ‘is the happiness we’re chasing even worth the compromises and struggles we endure’?

We’re meant to strive in this life. To seek knowledge. To build relationships. To treat our families with kindness and to live as best as we can. But we must also remember that happiness, as we perceive it, is fleeting. Like the dunya itself, it’s temporary, a vapor that slips through our fingers no matter how tightly we hold on.

Think about it: you might find happiness in your spouse, but one day, either you will leave them, or they will leave you. You might find happiness in your career, but the day will come when it feels exhausting, or you’ll retire, or it will end altogether. Every worldly source of happiness has an expiration date.

So, what then? Perhaps the answer lies not in clinging to this ephemeral happiness but in shifting our focus to something greater—the hereafter. Because while the dunya might be a prison for the believer, as the hadith says, the promise of the akhira is freedom, peace, and everlasting joy. The Qur’an reminds us repeatedly that we will be tested, as in the verse:

"And We will surely test you until We make evident those who strive among you and the patient."

(Surah Muhammad 47:31)

Happiness in this world is not guaranteed. Some days, you’ll feel content, and on others, you’ll struggle. That’s just life. But amidst this, don’t lose sight of the true comfort that lies in the promise of Allah. One verse that always brings me peace is:

"Indeed, the promise of your Lord is true." (Surah At-Tur 52:7)

And that’s what we should hold on to. While striving for happiness, remember to focus on your hereafter. Find solace in the fact that Allah’s promise is unwavering and eternal, and let that be your anchor when the fleeting nature of this world overwhelms you. True happiness isn’t about chasing after the temporary—it’s about preparing for the everlasting because whatever form of happiness you might be able to conjure in this world definitely has an expiry date.