A Childhood of Questions
Firdaus Wong grew up in Kepong, Kuala Lumpur—a place where every street seemed claimed by a different gang. He was a Chinese Buddhist who played football for Malaysia's national youth teams, but his real struggles were internal.
At 11 years old, his grandfather passed away. The family performed traditional Chinese rituals. A priest chanted in a language no one understood. They folded "hell bank notes"—money for the afterlife.
Firdaus asked his uncle: "Why are we doing this?"
"So your grandfather can go to paradise."
"Then why are we burning money for him to use in hell?"
"Just in case he doesn't make it to paradise."
"So if he goes to hell, he can still enjoy because he has money? Then why do we need to be good in this world?"
Silence. Then the voices rose: "Enough! Done! Don't ask!"
He stopped asking. Not because he was satisfied—but because he didn't want to be the next one in the coffin.
The Statues That Looked Like Us
Firdaus grew up worshipping Chinese gods. They looked Chinese—the shape of the eyes, the color of the beard, everything. One day he asked:
"Who is this? Is he God?"
"He wasn't God when he was alive. After he died, he became God."
"Then who promoted him?"
"Historians looked at his contributions and promoted him."
"Then why don't you worship the people who promoted him? They have more power—they can make anyone a god."
No answer came.
By 18, Firdaus became a free thinker. He believed in God, but not in gods made of wood and stone. He lived freely—clubs, pubs, three nights a week. He tried to fill an emptiness inside. The more he went, the more it filled—but the glass kept growing. The emptiness grew larger than the joy.
The Wind and the Unseen
At 22, an injury sent Firdaus to Sarawak, alone. For the first time, he sat with his own thoughts.
What is my life for? Work, eat, sleep, marry, grow old, die? What makes me different from a monkey in the jungle?
He asked his Muslim friend: "You worship God. Where is He? I can't see Him."
"You can never see Him. But He exists."
"Seeing is believing. If I can't see something, why believe?"
"Do you feel the wind?"
"Yes."
"Can you see the wind?"
"Look at the trees moving. That's the wind!"
"No. That's the effect of the wind. Not the wind itself. If you cannot see the wind that God created, how can you see the God who created the wind?"
Firdaus paused.
"This God," he thought, "sounds logical."
No other religion passed his test. He would not worship humans. He would not worship animals. This God—unseen, uncreated, not born, not made—this God made sense.
He decided to become Muslim.
The Phone Call
He called his mother from Sarawak.
"Mom, when I come back to KL, I'm going to become Muslim."
Long silence.
"Up to you. But don't play with religion. Be serious."
"I am serious, Mom."
He returned. He recited the Shahada. No lightning. No weight lifted. Just: "Oh. Done? That's it?"
He quit everything forbidden that day. He prayed, fasted, paid charity. But he knew almost nothing else. When people sent blessings upon the Prophet, he thought they were mumbling.
Six years passed.
The Food Trap
In 2011, a sister invited him: "Brother, there's a revert gathering. Potluck. Lots of food."
Firdaus loved food. He went.
"Food later. Lecture first."
Scammed, he thought.
A sheikh spoke about parents, family, responsibility. Afterward, Firdaus approached him:
"Sheikh, I've been Muslim six years. I don't know the pillars. I don't know the faith. How can I do Dawah?"
"Whatever you know, convey. The Prophet said: Convey from me, even one verse."
"But I don't know any verses!"
"What do you recite?"
"The Shahada."
"That's two verses. Convey one."
Firdaus played his final card: "Sheikh, look at all these born Muslims. They don't do Dawah. Why should I?"
The sheikh looked at him.
"On the Day of Judgment, Allah will not ask you why they didn't do what they should. Allah will ask you why you didn't do what you should. They must answer for themselves. You must answer for yourself. Make sure you have the best answer."
That hit him. Hard.
Finding the Man
Firdaus began to learn. He attended a four-day course on the life of Prophet Muhammad ﷺ. For the first time, he met the man behind the message.
A sheikh from America, AbdulBary Yahya, concluded:
"If we summarize the Prophet's life in one word, that word is Dawah. He lived for this. You who claim to love him—do it too."
Firdaus fell in love.
He learned about resilience. A man born fatherless. Orphaned. His mother died. His grandfather died. His uncle protected him. The Quraysh used 20 different tactics against him—mockery, bribery, boycott, assassination attempts. One after another. They never broke him. They gave up first.
"If he could keep going," Firdaus thought, "so can I."
The Question to His Mother
Years passed. Firdaus traveled the world for Dawah. His mother watched. She saw changes in her son. More patient. More responsible. She saw her daughter-in-laws, her grandchildren—respectful, kind.
One day in 2019, Firdaus called her:
"Mom, I'm going to Makkah in December. Do you want to come?"
"Yes! Of course I want to go!"
"Mom... you cannot enter Makkah if you're not Muslim."
Silence.
Then: "Oh."
"Mom, I'm so happy you're my mother in this world. But it would be even better if you're my mother in paradise too. And Mom... you cannot be my mother in paradise if you're not Muslim."
She cried.
No answer. No reply. Just tears.
"Then Okay Lah"
October 2019. Firdaus returned from Melbourne.
"Mom, I'm going to Makkah in December. Do you want to come?"
"Yes, of course!"
"Mom... you know what I'm going to say. You cannot go if you're not Muslim."
A pause. Then:
"Then okay lah."
"What do you mean, okay?"
"Let's become Muslim."
"When?! Today?!"
"No lah... I have to prepare."
Friday, October 24th, 2019. Firdaus took his mother's Shahada.
He had taken hundreds of Shahadas before. He always knew what to say. But this time—his own mother—his mind went blank. He stood frozen. His staff signaled him. Only then did he hug her.
And he broke down.
This woman. The one who gave birth to him. Who raised him. Who waited. Who watched. Who cried. Now standing beside him in fai
The Hajj of a New Muslim
A relative called: "Auntie, why did you become Muslim?"
"Two reasons. First, I saw the changes in my son. More patient. More responsible. I look at his wife, his children—all so respectful. Second... I believe this is the truth."
She had knee pain for years. Two months after becoming Muslim, she performed Umrah. The Tawaf, the Sai—difficult even for the young. She had no problem.
She dragged her daughter-in-law and grandchildren: "Wake up! Fajr! Let's go to Masjidil Haram!"
"She's the one waking us up," Firdaus laughs. "Allahu Akbar."
What He Would Tell the World
To every non-Muslim, especially every Chinese non-Muslim:
You may believe in rebirth. You may believe in reincarnation. You may think: "I have many chances."
But what if your assumption is wrong? What if mine is correct? What if this life is the only test, and after this is only Heaven and Hell?
You say hell is bearable. But the fire of this world—a single spark—burns. What makes you think you can endure the fire of the next?
So give yourself a chance. Research Islam. Objectively. Not emotionally. Compare. Question your own questions. Examine how you reached your conclusions.
There are only two pains: the pain of discipline now, or the pain of regret later.
The ball is in your court.
Think.
Think again.
And may Allah guide every sincere truth-seeker.
This story was narrated by Firdaus Wong on Towards Eternity, 2025.
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