seven days of Ramadan.

seven days have flown by. how mysteriously cunning time is when it is tied to a significant value? it does not overlook its need and paces forwards, oblivious to our miserable failings to make it right.

Ramadan usually brings me a lot of anxiety, especially before it comes. even though I train myself to stay hungry most of the times and eat one meal a day, I still feel the fear of that gnawing pain and lack of energy. perhaps it is what scares me most— feeling out of control. there is no longer energy to embody certain intentions and mindsets. the mind is wandering and dozy. I envision myself praying the right way and find myself unable to remember what it is I prayed for. it is that particular lack of perfection that I am mostly afraid of.

especially with my new demanding job, Ramadan is not that easy this year. I would say it is sweetly easy without the gruelling pains of a distorted gut syndrome, which has healed beautifully over the years. I need to be awake by 4, making suhoor for my family, drinking my coffee and preparing myself for the day. then, I walk in the freezing cold to get to my kindergarden and eventually get there and pay attention to all those little souls that crave the highest quality of love I would never have dared to conjure up. it is well beyond me.

I walk home, my mind fumbling over the words of Ihyaa Oloum ElDin, tirelessly capturing meaning but unable to pin them to my heart. I remind myself to be patient through the cold blasts of air. it’s 3.30 pm and I’m not home yet. I tell myself to be patient.

I’m home and now I need to shower, prepare iftar and rest my soul before the night comes. and when I’m done with all that, the exhaustion rails in and my mind cannot rest itself enough to a meditative state into which I could see God. I’m left watching a movie in the background, just so that my mind could stop dramatising its exhaustion. or else, I would have a mindset of victimhood to fix.

the hunger and faintness of the day sets in now. I feel completely useless and my ego is hurt, of course. that Soraya you see portrays a masterpiece of nothingness at this moment. there’s no energy left to do or feel or intend. at that moment, I pray I’d remember to surrender. to surrender that weakness to God and to be coated by His endless power. 

still, I forget.

by taraweeh, that’s when I’m tired. that’s when I ideally would love being present, making duaa from the deepest cell of my heart. however, I find myself reading the verses casually, not able to feel them deeply enough to cry or make sense of their meaning in my life. taraweeh flies by and I have made only three duaa. I undress, make my chamomile tea and climb to bed at 8 pm, without a shard of energy to do my evening Thikr.

despite all those miserable failures, I believe Ramadan is here for this. I am quite sure I’m not the only one struggling with this— that Ramadan often times floats by through our faint will, weakness and unapologetic dozy minds. 

yet, this is it..

Ramadan is here to show us how truly weak we are. it prescribes hunger and asks you to do all those works of kindness and spiritual purification. it is in those moments you know you’re just not enough in your own. you need food. you need your water. you need your coffee or cigarette or whatever it is we are attached to get on through our lives. we remember how dependent we are on God’s gifts. 

I forgive myself for not doing well enough those seven days. however, I am grateful for this realisation that strips perfectionism off of me. one cannot dare and be perfect in this month, for there will always be a moment in which we need heavenly grace and forget to ask for it. I am grateful I have reminded myself to be patient anytime that weakness arrives. I tell myself I’ll be home soon, and so I walk those steps from the tram stop a little bit more softly and say God’s name silently in my heart. I’ll be patient through Him..

perhaps the next seven days will be more robust, for one will get accustomed to the hunger. the next seven juz’ of the Quran are more spiritually dense, perhaps making my taraweeh more heartful. but there will always be a weakness.. always.

and Ramadan changes me by making me accept that. this weakness is just a part of me. and through all that, God sees me with love and if only I had courage, I would look up to the heavens and smile with a heart full of knowingness..