To The Muslim Creative: Digital Flesh & Blood

I sit in a Japanese coffee shop, surrounded by wood and white, as I refresh my YouTube channel.

My laptop blinks blankly, spinning as I anxiously watch how my previous video performed.

While it loads, I open my video editing software on my second screen. A waiter brings me a traditional confectionery, and I nod to say thanks as I immediately sink my fork into it.

The laptop screen spins some more. Any second now. Any second. The laptop blinks once more before the numbers arrive.

Four hundred and thirty thousand views. Not quite five hundred thousand, but I’ll take it.

Endorphins make a break for the flood plains, with dopamine dominating every crevice of my brain.

Then I see the cross section of my strawberry daifuku… the vibrant red fruit with the fleshy white interior covered in what I think is red bean paste, all surrounded by a layer of sugar-dusted clear mochi.

The sweet serenity of serotonin takes over, and I feel good.

I take a bite and then another, switching between my social media pages and my video editing software.

It’s nice to see the magic behind the wins. The behind-the-scenes goodness that prints success.

The colour grading that I spent so much time tuning. The audio waves undulating on the timeline that were recorded at least six times over with my state-of-the-art mic, before being carefully post-processed.

I can’t help but feel a bit guilty looking at the number of cuts and transitions Frankensteined into such a small fragment of the timeline. But attention is the name of the game, and what do they say? Hate the game, not the player.

I didn’t even notice the waiter bringing the roasted green tea to my table, but the earthy smell and nutty notes of the steam alerted me to its presence.

The glazed ceramic cup it came in is grey. Or is it blue? I’m not so sure.

My tongue hisses as it’s scorched by the heat of the tea. Hojicha tea shouldn’t be served this hot. I probably wouldn’t have burnt my tongue if I weren’t scrolling on my phone now, but oh well. I plug my ears with my headphones and begin perusing the apps.

I’m not long into my research scrolling, as I like to call it, and yet I’ve already come across so many low-effort videos. Zero effort is more accurate. How do they expect views? Followers. Subscribers. Numbers. Data. Evidence of what is working and what’s not.

At least pay attention to the two things that matter when it comes to making content: audio and video.

They’re the bread and butter, the inner and outer, the sum and substance, the crux of the substance, the meat and potatoes. The meat and potatoes is a funny phrase.

It really bugs me to see such poor execution. The least you can do is have a good camera. Get a good mic. You don’t even need to know how to edit well. And a little goes a long way. But oh well.

I quickly forget it when, beneath it, lie videos that reveal the keys to virality. The importance of hooks at the start of the video. The types of pattern shifts to retain attention. Using the technique of starting short-form videos by saying “Most people don’t know ‘this one thing’” and psychologically trapping them.

A video of starving children breaks the trance that I’m in after seeing a slurry of “how to be viral” videos, and I promptly swipe up to move on. I justify it. I am here for research. Also, why is a charity sponsoring an ad? Where are they getting money from? Maybe it’s not even a legitimate charity?

It’s definitely not the case that, in this moment of comfort, sipping my tea despite its heat and eating the last bite of my soft, chewy confectionery, I don’t want to watch the video. No. That’s not why I feel uncomfortable. I just care too much about the poor to want to put myself through that hurt just right now. That’s it. Nothing more to it. Yeah.

The travel and food videos that follow provide ample cannon fodder for the pestering voice in my mind, hell-bent on making me feel guilty. I’m just on this app to research after all.

I’m captured by the sonorous voice of the reciter in the next clip, arresting my attention as my eyes snap into focus as they land on the translation of the verses being recited. A clip from the Chapter of the Pilgrimage, the 22nd chapter of the Qur’an, is being played.

Apt timing, given that we’re in the month of pilgrimage. Good attention to detail too on the part of the editor, syncing the translation to directly align with the Arabic recitation.

The verse plays again, as all short-form videos do, in this infinite x-axis horizontal loop, along the y-axis infinite vertical. I read it one more time, with a bit more attention.

“Neither their flesh nor blood reaches Allah. Rather, it is your piety that reaches Him. This is how He has subjected them to you so that you may proclaim the greatness of Allah for what He has guided you to, and give good news to the good-doers.”

Well, this must be about the sacrificial slaughter that happens at this time of year. Interesting. “Neither their flesh nor blood reaches Allah. Rather, it is your piety that reaches Him.”

A concept I’ve not really considered before, to be honest. I don’t see how that relates to me, but it’s interesting all the same. I can see how someone who is sacrificing an animal would benefit from knowing this.

It would be ironic to focus so much on the sacrifice that they get lost in the details. They spend all their time obsessing over how the meat is cut or the procedure of draining the animal, to the exclusion of the spirit of the sacrificial act of worship, the gratitude they would show for the blessing of food, and the distribution to those in need… I can see how all of that can be lost if you do this act with the wrong intention.

I sip what I think is the last of the toasty tea, but my eyes zero in on the murky bottom of the grey-blue cup to see but a drop of amber-brown liquid, dripping slowly toward my ever-so-slightly cracked lips.

The colour reminds me of dried blood. It’s funny how that happens. It’s probably just because I read the word “blood” in the verse. The brain works in strange ways.

What else could be blood then, oh so smart brain? Hojicha tea is on the list. What else can I think of?

Or what else could be flesh? Maybe my strawberry daifuku, no, the mochi-outer, is more like slime than flesh. Though I suppose the fleshy strawberry surrounded by red bean paste really isn’t so far off.

What else, this is fun.

Meat and potatoes. That’s silly. Meat as flesh, fine, but potatoes as blood is quite laughable. Where did that come from? Why is that in my mind? Oh yes, the meat and potatoes of content, the substance that really matters for digital creation, is the video and audio.

Hmm. I guess… that actually fits. Video is like flesh. The outer, the perceived. Audio is like blood. What flows underneath the timeline of every good video. Huh. Interesting.

Well… okay then. I didn’t expect that.

I read the verse again as it keeps looping in my ears. “Neither their flesh nor blood reaches Allah. Rather, it is your piety that reaches Him.”

I guess if I follow this analogy, the content I make is no different from a sacrificial animal. The flesh and blood of my animal is my video and audio.

That’s uncomfortable. Both don’t reach Allah? I need another drink.

I look at the rain outside and the long, wet queue of people crowded around the small tables in the Japanese coffee shop off the main road.

“Piety” is what reaches Him. What does that mean? A quick search on my laptop reveals that it means “God-consciousness.” To be mindful of Allah.

To be intentional. Knowing He watches all things. Hears all things. Is aware of all things. Seen and unseen. In the physical world. Or the digital world. Or the world of my mind. Or the world of my heart. All of it at once.

That’s intense. I don’t think I build content with half of that in mind.

The incessant voice so sure to make me feel guilt returns. But this feels serious enough not to swat it away instantly. I don’t have much to numb the voice with right now either.

I’ve built so much to capture attention. Maximise views. But that can’t be that bad. I’m building with excellence, right, striving for perfection in my craft. Isn’t that “Ihsan?” Am I not doing something good.

Another search on my laptop reminds me that the word “Ihsan” really means “To worship Allah as though you see Him, and if you cannot see Him, know that He surely sees you.”

I’m designing content to distract and capture attention without thinking about what the attention is being captured for.

This verse feels like it’s speaking directly to me. It’s asking me to create with more intentionality. To bring the spirit of the animal to the forefront, and recognise that the blood and flesh serve a greater purpose.

I zip up my raincoat, tuck in my chair, close my laptop, fold my screen, and thank the waiter.

I get up and walk into the rain.