THE BECOMING: WHY I WRITE

THE BECOMING: WHY I WRITE

by Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

I didn’t grow into the man I am in one smooth stretch of years it took fire, silence, losses I couldn’t put into words, and moments so still they felt like the Creator holding His breath beside me.

See, for 46 years, I’ve been figuring out how to live. Not just exist. I’ve had to learn how to breathe when life hits too hard, how to keep standing when everything inside says, “Just sit down for a while.” I've spent decades learning how to stay seen in a world that often acts like men like me quiet, spiritual, reflective Black men don’t fit the mold. I don’t wear anyone else’s labels. I’m not here to entertain or perform. I’m here to reflect. To heal out loud. To talk to the sky and write what I hear back.

That’s what this book is. Provisions for Your Thoughts isn’t some step-by-step self-help manual. It’s not made of polished speeches or curated enlightenment. It’s my truth, laid bare. It’s what poured out in prayer, in pain, in peace. It’s me, talking to myself so I don’t get lost. And if something in these pages helps someone else keep walking, then that’s grace right there.

I first started writing this book back in 2009. Life, though it had other plans. I stopped. Got sidetracked. Got worn out. Everything started to stack up: bills, disappointments, grief I didn’t know what to do with. And then, just when I thought the passion had packed up and left for good, something divine shook me awake literally.

I had this dream. Nah, it was more than a dream it was a visitation.

In it, I was behind the wheel of a car, cruising down this winding coastal road, the kind you’d see in an old-school video game like OutRun. Ocean on one side. Mountains rising on the other. It felt peaceful too peaceful. And then, out of nowhere, the car flipped. No time to react. No warning. One minute I’m driving, the next, I’m underwater, trapped. I could feel the pressure crushing the frame, the cold flooding in. I thought, This is it. This is how it ends.

And just when I gave up fully surrendered something wild happened. The sea didn’t swallow me. It spit me out. Threw me back onto the sand, car and all. Like, “Nah, you’re not done yet.”

Then it got even deeper. Next thing I know, I’m not even on Earth. I’m floating in space, surrounded by stars and silence. Then, the stars move like they’re alive and they form this luminous, powerful presence. It didn’t speak like we do, but I heard it just the same.

“You are.”

“It’s time. You can’t keep running.”

And then this part still shakes me they handed me a pen.

I woke up in a cold sweat. Heart pounding. Eyes wide. Ran to the bathroom, stood under the shower just trying to wash off the weight of it all. I didn’t tell a soul. Not at first. Some things are too sacred to risk explaining away.

But later that day, in my college writing class, I got a paper back from my professor. She’d written in the corner: “This is really well-written, Nuri. You should consider writing professionally. Beautiful job.”

That note? It broke me in the best way. It was like the Creator said, “Still think that was just a dream?” I knew then writing wasn’t optional. It was a calling. Something inside me that wouldn’t be quiet anymore.

Even with that moment, though, I’ll keep it real with you I still doubted. Still wrestled with the idea of being seen. Not because I’m afraid of the spotlight, but because when you open yourself up this wide, when you lay your heart on pages and send it out into the world, you don’t know what folks are gonna do with it. Will they handle it gently? Or will they scroll past it like background noise?

Still, the words kept coming.

I started hearing from folks I never met from places I’ve never stepped foot in. People were reaching out from South America, from the villages in Africa, all the way to Korea and back. Thailand. Spain. Canada. Even the corners of the world I used to think were too far to ever know my name. And here’s the kicker I wasn’t even on social media. No Insta. No Facebook. No Twitter. Just the universe doing what it does whispering. Carrying.

And even with all that, I’d still sit in my quiet moments and think, “Lord, why does life still feel so heavy? I’m doing what You told me. So… where’s the breakthrough?” I’d pray hard. Real hard. I’ve cried in the dark. I’ve shouted at the ceiling like a man begging for just a little air to breathe. And sometimes, all I’d hear back was, “Not yet.”

That’s the hardest part when you know the promise is real, but it hasn’t shown up yet.

But still I keep writing.

I’ve been told, “You’re blessed. You’re gifted. You’re touched by something higher.” And while I believe that deep down, sometimes the noise in my own head drowns it out. See, folks can pour love into you all day, but if there’s a leak inside you, it won’t hold. I’ve had to learn how to patch that up. How to believe in me the way others do. How to see myself the way the Creator does still worthy, still chosen, even when I’m broke, tired, and feel like I’ve got nothing left to give.

Some of these reflections broke me while I was writing them. I wept. I had to stop and just breathe before I could keep going. Because I wasn’t just typing words I was pouring out what it means to survive. What it means to stand back up after life takes your legs out from under you.

There were moments, out in nature, where I’d sit under a tree or feel the wind move through me, and I’d swear it was the Creator speaking not in thunder, but in hushes. Not in commands, but in comfort. I’ve had moments where the birds felt like messengers, where the sky cracked open just enough for me to feel seen. And those moments? They kept me going.

So now, here we are.

This book it’s not for everybody. But if you’ve ever felt invisible, if you’ve ever wanted to quit, if you’ve ever sat on the edge of your bed wondering if you’re still on the right path this is for you.

These aren’t polished sermons. These are soul notes. These are pages written with trembling hands and burning faith. These are conversations between me and the Creator that I’m letting y’all read.

Welcome to Provisions for Your Thoughts. I hope something here speaks to the part of you that’s been too quiet for too long. I hope it helps you hold on just a little longer. Because if you’re still here, if you’re still breathing, then you’re still becoming too.

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Kateb