About the Founder
On emptiness, refusal, and what remains.
My name is Muhammad Ubay Al Ziqraa.
People think VOID began as a clothing brand.
It didn't.
It began with questions.
The first came from the night sky.
I remember standing outside with a cigarette in my hand, looking at the stars. They were impossibly distant, impossibly quiet. The universe felt too large for everything we spend our lives worrying about.
Then I looked to my right.
A cemetery.
Rows of graves.
No titles.
No wealth.
No followers.
No politics.
No religion carved into the earth in a way that mattered anymore.
Only names.
Only silence.
For the first time, I understood that death removes every label we spend our lives defending.
Around that time, someone disappeared from my life.
Not through death.
Not through goodbye.
They simply became absent.
That absence left a space inside me that nothing seemed able to fill.
I picked up a pen and began writing.
One sentence refused to leave my mind.
Perhaps every human being must experience emptiness before becoming free.
Not to drown inside it.
Not to escape it.
But to sit with it.
To understand it.
Only after emptiness can someone choose who they want to become.
Or choose to become nothing at all.
That became the foundation of VOID.
Older than this brand. Older than my first design, my first logo, my first sale.
It began when I was in the third grade.
My family had reached a point where there was nothing left to eat.
No plan.
No help.
No one knocking on our door.
No one asking whether we were alive.
We went into the forest looking for anything that could keep us alive.
What we found was a poisonous plant.
My mother cooked it.
Before we ate, she prayed.
"God, if death is better for us, then let us die. But if life is better for us, then let us live."
We ate.
Then everything went dark.
For nearly twelve hours, none of us were conscious.
When we woke up, my parents cried.
My younger siblings cried.
They hugged one another because we were still alive.
I didn't cry.
I kept thinking about something else.
Twelve hours had passed.
Not a single person had come looking for us.
Not one.
When I walked outside, life continued as if nothing had happened.
Campaigns filled the streets.
Politicians asked for trust.
Money changed hands.
People called it amanah.
I wondered whether that word had become a shield people used to hide from their own conscience.
That day changed me.
Not because it made me hate people.
Not because it made me hate politics.
But because it taught me that no system deserves blind obedience.
Question everything.
Even me.
Especially me.
That is what NON SERVIAM means inside VOID.
Not chaos.
Not violence.
Not refusing every authority.
But refusing to surrender your ability to think.
Today is 2026.
I work as an employee at Indomaret.
VOID is built after work.
Late at night.
Between exhaustion and hope.
Every product we sell carries a promise.
from every purchase goes to people living through hardships similar to — or even greater than — those my family once faced.
Not because I am a good person.
Not because I want to save the world.
But because I know what it feels like to wait for someone who never comes.
VOID is not here to tell you who you should become.
VOID exists to remove every answer that was forced upon you.
Whatever remains after that… is yours.