A wave of emptions

It was the kind of sign you could easily overlook. Faded brown, leaning slightly, surrounded by shrubs and quietness. At first glance, it meant nothing. But then I saw the words: ‘Tsunami Evacuation Route’ and a running figure. An arrow pointing uphill, away from the sea.

The road was still and the sky was clear. There was no threat that day but that sign refused to be ignored. It didn’t scream. It whispered. And that whisper stayed with me.

Lombok is no stranger to calamity. In 2018, the island was struck by a devastating earthquake. Homes collapsed. Families were torn apart and hundreds lost their lives. The tremors were felt not only in the ground, but in the people. Even now, you hear it in their voices. The way they speak of that time, not with drama, but with weight. It left more than physical damage. It left a memory of vulnerability.

And this sign wasn’t just for earthquakes. It was for the wave that follows. The one that doesn’t tremble, but surges. The kind that arrives without sound and without mercy.

I remembered then the stories from Aceh, Indonesia in 2004. The Indian Ocean rose that day, swallowing coastlines and lives with terrifying speed. Over 230,000 people returned to their Creator within hours. Streets became rivers and buildings were swept away like paper. Entire families disappeared in the time it takes to breathe.

Disasters like that make you ask questions, but for the believer, the answer is already given.

“No calamity strikes except by the permission of Allah. And whoever believes in Allah – He will guide his heart.”

(Surah At-Taghabun 64:11)

This was never about nature and not in the way most people see it. The sea doesn’t rise of its own accord and the earth doesn’t shake without reason. What we call a natural disaster is, in truth, part of a divine decree. Measured, intentional and known and yet, the signs remain. Quiet reminders left in plain sight.

That day, I stood in front of this weathered metal sign and thought about what it means to be warned. Not just of tsunamis but of death and of endings and of moments that come without notice. We spend so much time preparing for emergencies that may never arrive. We install alarms, we stock food and we draft exit plans but we prepare so little for the one event that is certain.

“Every soul shall taste death. And you will only be given your full reward on the Day of Resurrection.”

(Surah Aal Imran 3:185)

The tsunami might not come and the wave might never reach us. But the Angel of Death does not miss his appointment.

And so, what is your evacuation route?

Not for the body, but for the soul. When the waves of sin begin to rise, when heedlessness floods the heart, when the noise of dunya threatens to drown you, where do you run?

“So flee to Allah…”

(Surah Adh-Dhariyat 51:50)

It’s a strange concept, to flee to something rather than from it. But in this case, it makes perfect sense. We are not fleeing punishment but we are fleeing everything that distances us from mercy. We are fleeing our own forgetfulness our distractions, our false sense of safety.

The Prophet ﷺ once said:

“Be in this world as though you were a stranger or a traveller.”

(Sahih al-Bukhari)

You don’t build your palace in a place you’re meant to pass through. You don’t cling to the shore when the signs are telling you to climb. That little tsunami sign, as ordinary as it seemed, was urging me to do more than run from a wave. It was urging me to live with awareness. To not assume that tomorrow will look like today. To not mistake calm seas for certainty.

Tests come not only through hardship, but also through ease. It is in the quiet moments, the ordinary mornings and the peaceful evenings, that we are often lulled into forgetfulness. And perhaps that is why these signs are placed where life seems calm. To stir us before the storm ever comes.

The Prophet ﷺ also said:

“Remember often the destroyer of pleasures: death.”

(Sunan al-Tirmidhi, Hasan Sahih)

That reflection isn’t meant to darken the heart, but to awaken it. Because the goal isn’t fear, it’s preparation. It’s not to flee life, but to live it with purpose. To not be surprised when the end comes, but to be ready when it does.

The sign I saw that day was weathered and quiet. But it spoke volumes. It reminded me that warnings are a mercy. That time is a gift. That the sea, no matter how still, is always in the command of the One who created it. And that the true climb is not away from disaster, but toward obedience.

We may not all face a wave or we may never have to follow that route. But every one of us is heading somewhere. The only question is whether we’ll recognise the signs before the ground shifts beneath our feet.

O Allah, awaken our hearts before You take our souls. O Allah, let us be people of foresight, of humility, and of gratitude. O Allah, grant us the strength to climb when it is still easy, and the wisdom to act while there is still time. O Allah, guide us to higher ground, not just in body, but in faith and let our final return be to You, in peace and safety. Ameen.