Even after all these years in Manila, I still get quietly surprised when I meet a fellow Muslim in the middle of my day.

It might be in a hospital hallway, at a restaurant, or across a desk in a government office. Sometimes it’s subtle — a name tag or a familiar phrase. But when it’s a sister wearing her hijab, you know right away.

When there’s a clear chance, I don’t hesitate. I offer the greeting: As-salāmu ʿalaykum.

Not as a formality. But as recognition. As a bridge. It’s a small act that reminds me: even here, in this wide and noisy city, I’m not alone.

My first memory of the greeting goes back to when I was maybe six or seven. My father taught me to say it every time his siblings visited. I didn’t fully understand it then. But I followed what he said — say it with respect, and say it first.

Later, I learned what it meant: Peace be upon you.

And much later still, I understood why it mattered. Because in Islam, peace isn’t just the absence of conflict. It’s the presence of understanding. Of fairness. Of love and restraint. It’s how we live — not just how we speak.

That’s why the full greeting stays with me: “As-salāmu ʿalaykum wa raḥmatullāhi wa barakātuh.”

Peace be upon you, and the mercy of Allah, and His blessings.

It’s not just a hello. It’s a prayer. May you be safe. May you be seen. May you be held in mercy.

I remember how, during our time in the Middle East, this greeting was always followed by sincere questions: How is your family? Your father? Your youngest child? How is your work?

At the time, I laughed. It felt excessive. But now I see — it was peace, carried further. Not just in words, but in concern.

And even here at home, I’ve had people — non-Muslims — offer the greeting when they realize who I am. It’s not always pronounced correctly. Sometimes it’s fumbled, hesitant, or barely audible. But I welcome it all the same.

To me, those attempts are warm. They remind me of how the publisher of Oman’s oldest English newspaper, His Excellency Essa bin Mohammed Al Zedjali, used to greet my father with both dignity and care. It was never rushed. Never mechanical. It was a gesture of respect — human to human.

Peace doesn’t need to be perfect. But it needs to be sincere.

Still, I’ll admit that there are days when I fall into the habit, too. I’ve replied with the greeting in chats or emails without thinking. Just words. Just routine. Another box ticked.

And then later, I ask myself: Did I really offer peace? Or did I just type something familiar and move on?

That’s the quiet tension I carry. Because even sacred words can lose their weight if we’re not paying attention.

But that’s the mercy of it too. The greeting is always there, waiting. And every time I return to it with intention, I return to something steady. Something better.

I still hear my father’s voice: “Ikaw ang maunang bumati.” Be the first to offer peace. Because if you can’t carry peace in your greeting, how will you carry it anywhere else?