Hammam Elmasri

Hammam Elmasri محب للجمال والبساطة وكل ماهو سهل، بطبعِه لا بالتصنُع. ف An entrepreneur, Professional Marketing Director and Social Media Expert by day.

An amateur Photographer; Graphic Designer and Blogger by night.

Ramadan Mubarak 🌙From me, my wife, Khaled and Bilal.This month isn’t about “being busy.”It’s about being intentional.Les...
17/02/2026

Ramadan Mubarak 🌙

From me, my wife, Khaled and Bilal.

This month isn’t about “being busy.”
It’s about being intentional.

Less scrolling.
More soul-searching.

Less reacting.
More reflecting.

Less proving.
More praying.

In a world obsessed with upgrades, Ramadan reminds us the real elevation is internal.

May Allah recalibrate our hearts, discipline our desires, expand our rizq, and anchor our homes in sakinah.

May our kids grow up seeing a Ramadan that feels alive in the house — not just on the calendar.

If this month changes nothing in us, we missed it.
If it changes everything in us, that’s barakah.

Ramadan Kareem 🤍

01/02/2026

Web Summit Doha isn’t exhausting because there’s too much happening.
It’s exhausting because it forces you to decide who you’re willing to become while you’re here.

If you feel the tension between impact and hustle,
you’re not behind.
You’re aware.

Choose clarity over noise.

يبدأ عامٌ جديد،ولا تبدأ فلسطين،هي مستمرّة.والشهداءلم يذهبوا…هم الجهةُ التينسير نحوها.A new year begins,but Palestine doe...
31/12/2025

يبدأ عامٌ جديد،
ولا تبدأ فلسطين،
هي مستمرّة.
والشهداء
لم يذهبوا…
هم الجهةُ التي
نسير نحوها.
A new year begins,
but Palestine does not begin—
she continues.
And the martyrs
did not leave…
they are the direction
we walk toward.

New year. New intention. Same lesson.Yesterday, we went to the airport. Bags packed. Kids excited. Istanbul loading.Then...
31/12/2025

New year. New intention. Same lesson.

Yesterday, we went to the airport. Bags packed. Kids excited. Istanbul loading.

Then reality checked in before we did.
My son Bilal’s passport had an issue. No travel.

We turned back home. Together.

Not the start I planned for the new year. But maybe the one I needed.

Life does not reset when the calendar changes.

It resets when your plans fail and your response shows who you are.

Do you rush. Do you rage. Or do you reframe.

One moment. One test. One reminder that control is mostly an illusion and intention is not.

Keep the family close.
Keep the heart calm.
Keep trusting that delays are not denials.

Insha’Allah, may this year be full of barakah, softer landings, and better timing than our plans

P.S. Also, let us all agree that my dad looks effortlessly cool in this photo. Clearly unfazed by all new year chaos.

Last award night I attended was in high school.London, Ontario.Montcalm Secondary School.Some “model student” or “honors...
24/12/2025

Last award night I attended was in high school.

London, Ontario.
Montcalm Secondary School.
Some “model student” or “honors award” that I won.

I had completely forgotten about it.
It was too awkward to be remembered.

That’s probably why I don’t attend award nights now.
Not because they’re bad.
Because most of them feel like theatre.

This one didn’t.

That’s why I’m attending the Spark Awards this January.

I want to be in a room where Muslim-led ideas are being tested, not just praised.
Where founders and nonprofit leaders put real work on the line.
Where values show up in decisions, not just speeches.

I’m going to listen.
To watch who’s building quietly.
Who’s solving real problems.
Who’s brave enough to stand on a stage and let their work speak.

If that’s the kind of room you want to be in too, you’re welcome.

📍 Multaqa, Doha
🗓 January 31, 2026

If this resonates, sign up and join us.
Hope to see you there.

Looking forward to catching up with dear friends

Register here: LumaContinuum Spark Awards · Luma

https://lnkd.in/gjHd3UAU

Happy 9th birthday to Bilal 🎉My mini-me. My right-hand man. My daily reminder that DNA is real.He’s the kid who tries to...
12/12/2025

Happy 9th birthday to Bilal 🎉
My mini-me. My right-hand man. My daily reminder that DNA is real.

He’s the kid who tries to fix things before anyone asks him to.
Sometimes it works.
Sometimes it… really doesn’t.
But every single time, I smile — because that’s exactly how I started.
Mess first. Mastery later.

My toolbox is always a mess.
And I always know who did it.
(Not because he denies it — but because he’s proud of it.)

Bilal is fiercely independent.
He can create joy on his own, entertain himself, build worlds in his head.
And in the same minute,
he can walk into a room and become the most active human in it —
energy, presence, laughter, chaos… all at once.

Watching him grow feels like watching an old version of myself
— but with better manners (most days)
and way more courage.

To my Rebort.
To the boy who reminds me who I was,
and pushes me to become better than I am.

Happy birthday, Bilal.
You are loved more than you know.
And yes… you can keep borrowing my tools. ❤️🛠️

ذكريات مع جدي جابر 2️⃣كان لجدي جيب طويل… طويل لدرجة تظنه مغارة علي بابا: مناديل، نقود قليلة، مسبحة، مسواك، وكثيييير من ا...
04/12/2025

ذكريات مع جدي جابر 2️⃣

كان لجدي جيب طويل… طويل لدرجة تظنه مغارة علي بابا: مناديل، نقود قليلة، مسبحة، مسواك، وكثيييير من الحلوى… ومن
الحب أيضاً.

لم يكن جدي وفير المال، ولا كبير العطاء المالي، لا بخلاً بل لضيق الحال وخوف الفلسطيني المغترب من الزمن. لكن الحلوى التي في جيبه كانت عربون محبة، صكّ عاطفة، إعلان ولاء لحفيده الذي يمر أمامه. لا تراه إلا يخرج لك حلوى… وكأنه يخرج قطعة من قلبه.

كبرنا وتعلمنا أن العطاء ليس كمية ولا نوعية… العطاء يُقاس بمدى ما في القلب، لا ما في الجيب.

أعظم العطايا ليست ثمينة… بل صادقة.

My grandfather had a pocket—long, bottomless—like Ali Baba’s cave. Inside lived tissues, a few coins, a miswak, a prayer bead string… and an unreasonable amount of candy and affection.

He wasn’t wealthy, and he didn’t give much financially—life was tight, the future uncertain—but the candy from his pocket was his way of saying: I love you more than I can afford to show.

You could never see him without him handing you a generous handful.
It wasn’t candy… it was a signed contract of love.

Giving isn’t measured in quantity, but in sincerity.

كان لجدي دكان صغير في حيّ شعبي كان في زمان ما من أرقى أحياء جدة “الصحيفة”، دكان قديم مكتظ بالبضائع، ورفوف مترهلة لكنها م...
03/12/2025

كان لجدي دكان صغير في حيّ شعبي كان في زمان ما من أرقى أحياء جدة “الصحيفة”، دكان قديم مكتظ بالبضائع، ورفوف مترهلة لكنها مليانة—أو هكذا تتذكّر روحي الصغيرة.

كنت أنا وأختي فاطمة وأخي عمر ندخل عليه فنُغمر بحضنٍ دافئ وسعادة مجانية، ثم ننطلق بجولة غزو على الحلويات… نأخذ ما نشاء ونخرج وكأن الكون كله متجر “خُذ وكل”، والحساب: ابتسامة طفل.

سامح الله جدي ورحمه؛ جعلني أظن أن كل الدكاكين بالمجان، وأن ثمن الحلوى هو الضحك. كبرنا وتعلمنا أن الناس تأخذ منّا ثمن كل شيء—حتى المعروف—إلا الأجداد… فهم وحدهم من يتركون باباً مفتوحاً: المحبة بلا فاتورة.

هناك مشاعر لا تُشترى ولا تُباع… تُعطى فقط من قلب جدّ.

My grandfather had a tiny shop tucked inside an old neighborhood that used to be one of Jeddah’s finest—Sahifa. The shop was crowded with goods, shelves overflowing… or at least that’s how my childhood remembers it.

My earliest memories of him begin there.
Fatimah, Omar, and I would walk in, be swallowed by his arms and laughter, and immediately launch into a raid on the candy shelves—pick whatever we want, walk out, and head home like royalty.

God forgive my grandfathe and have mercy on his soul; he tricked me into believing all shops were free, and that candy cost nothing but a child’s smile.

Growing up, life taught us that most people charge us for everything—even favors, even love—
except grandparents.
Their love comes free, unlimited, unmetered.

Some love is too pure to ever be priced

My beloved grandfather has returned to his Lord.I have never known a man with more dignity, strength, or independence. H...
01/12/2025

My beloved grandfather has returned to his Lord.

I have never known a man with more dignity, strength, or independence. He never asked anyone for anything—not even a glass of water. He was a mountain of resilience.

He lived with the Qur’an. Day and night, his voice carried its verses. He performed Hajj more than 37 times, and every Ramadan he raced my grandmother to finish the Qur’an—once every three days.

He was also extraordinary in his fasting. Had it been allowed to fast on Eid, he would have done it. And the moment Ramadan ended, he would begin the six days of Shawwal without pause.

He spent his life in exile, teaching generations, and that same exile kept us from him in his final days—one of the deepest pains I carry.

For ten years, bedridden, he never complained. Not once. He faced illness with the same serenity and faith with which he lived.

May God have mercy on him, forgive him, and fill his grave with light.
Indeed, we belong to God, and to Him we return.

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DECC
Doha

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