When I Learned Why We Want More

As I observe the world today, I see people constantly rushing—chasing achievements, status, recognition, and possessions. Many want to be better than another, even if it means stepping on someone else to get there. I have seen people go behind others, backstabbing family members, closest friends, and at times even parents and children.

This is not the world I imagined as a child.

As a child, the world felt safer. Simpler. I remember playing in the garden, sitting quietly, talking to ants as they moved in long, orderly lines. When one ant fell, others gathered around, helping it back into motion. I watched leaves doing their duty without complaint—each leaf providing shade, oxygen, and life for the rest of the tree. No competition. No comparison. Just purpose.

Yet humans are different.

As I grew older, I began to understand that many conflicts among adults are not personal at their core. They are rooted in worldly things—money, status, property, power, pride. I often wondered why human beings, gifted with intellect and conscience, struggle to be compassionate toward their own kind, while animals protect their species instinctively.

Over time, I realised that what I was witnessing is not new. It is human nature—clearly described in the Qur’an.

“Greed for more and more distracts you, until you reach the grave.”

(Surah Al-Takāthur 102:1–2)

This verse struck me deeply. It does not condemn effort or ambition; it exposes distraction. In psychology, greed is often linked to insecurity, fear of insufficiency, and constant comparison. When a person measures worth through external achievements, the mind is never at rest. There is always someone ahead, something more to acquire, another milestone to reach. The reward system of the brain keeps demanding more, while contentment is postponed.

Surah Al-Takāthur does not merely warn about wealth—it warns about obsession. The kind that blinds us to relationships, ethics, and purpose. The kind that makes people hurt others without realising they are slowly losing themselves.

Allah reminds us:

“Then you will surely be questioned that Day about your worldly favours.”

(Surah Al-Takāthur 102:8)

This question is not only about what we had, but how we lived. How we treated people. How we used what was given to us. Whether our pursuit of “more” cost someone else their dignity, peace, or trust.

Today, I see the world growing louder, faster, and more restless. The hunger for more has intensified—more money, more validation, more control. Yet peace seems to be disappearing. This Surah feels like a mirror held up to humanity, reminding us of our tendencies and gently calling us back.

Not everyone reflects, pauses, and takes action.

But for those who do, Surah Al-Takāthur is not a threat—it is mercy. A reminder to return to balance, gratitude, and awareness before we reach a point where reminders are no longer useful.

Perhaps the answer lies in remembering the ants, the leaves, and the child who once believed the world could be kinder. And perhaps change begins when we choose enough over endless.