Today I'm delighted to share a beautiful essay by writer Fareeha Molvi on her search for renewal during Ramadan. If you're not familiar with this month of fasting, prayer and charity observed by Muslims around the world or would like to understand it better, this is a thoughtful and moving reflection.
You can find more of Molvi's writing at Brown in Media (also on Instagram at @browninmedia), where she shares insightful (and often hilarious) commentary on portrayals of South Asian and Muslim people and communities in television, film and beyond.
– Malala
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by Fareeha Molvi
RIIING RIIING RIIING!!!
It’s dark outside when my alarm slaps me out of a vivid dream about sesame seeds. I stumble to the kitchen and make an egg to eat with dates and water for sahoor, the pre-dawn breakfast of Ramadan. I have no interest in eating but am too worried I won’t get through the fast if I don’t eat now.
As I stand for the early morning prayer, it occurs to me that billions of Muslims around the world are also fasting and praying in a prophetic tradition that has spanned over 1400 years. The holiest month in the Islamic calendar is undoubtedly a test of physical endurance. From abstaining from food or drink during daylight to enduring broken sleep and caffeine withdrawals. On top of that, most Muslims around the world go on with their daily responsibilities –work, school, parenting – as if nothing’s different. If anything, there’s usually an uptick in social obligations: breaking fast with loved ones, community volunteering, nightly congregational prayers at the mosque. Especially this Ramadan, after so many years celebrating in a pandemic.
Amid the physicality of Ramadan, there’s also the spiritual piece: refraining from bad deeds and thoughts. Ramadan is meant not only to teach us compassion for the less fortunate but also to purify our minds. The hope is that you come out of the month a better person than before. To me, this internal work is much more difficult because while the physical requirements are by no means easy, they are at least clear. It’s simple to discern whether you physically completed your fast. It’s much harder to quantify whether you touched your God-given soul.
“MAMAAA, MAMAAA!!!”
I tried to go back to sleep after sahoor and fell asleep for what feels like five minutes before my little ones clamor awake, ready to start the day. Someone needs to go to the bathroom. Someone wants pancakes for breakfast, not the cereal I gave them yesterday. I look at my phone to see a dozen messages from last night nagging me for a reply.
You would think that 30 days of the holy month would be enough to get spiritual. Every Ramadan, I make an intention to sit in reflection more. I imagine it feeling like a cool sip of water – washing over my heart, removing calcified deposits of ego, envy and pride with it. I envision myself emerging from the month renewed with a peaceful, contented heart.
In reality, Ramadan is like a fire hose of opportunities to better myself: there are 30 chapters of the Quran to read, extra supplications to make, numerous worthy causes to support, food to share with neighbors and traditions to teach to the next generation. Through it all I’m left grasping to catch Ramadan’s goodness – any of it – only to see it dripping right through my fingers. At the end of the month, I wonder how much of Ramadan did I truly absorb into my being? How much simply stayed on the surface, only to evaporate into thin air by the next month?
GURRRGLEGURRRGLE
By noon, my stomach starts to grumble and a mental fog sets in like a marine layer. You know how people say that when one of your senses is dulled, the other ones become heightened? In a strange way, when I’m fasting, the world feels very loud. Maybe it’s because I’m moving slower but the world is still hurling forward at its normal pace. At times, I feel my senses are hyper-aware and other times I feel like I’m under a blanket of sensory overload. I look at my friends’ stories on Instagram showing the suffering in Palestine, Afghanistan and Ukraine. I make a note to donate to organizations on the ground there. Then my phone informs me that my daily limit for the app has been met.
My mind trudges in different directions, its edges frayed from the pandemic, like an old Persian carpet. I stand at my prayer rug and look down at my bare feet. I begin praying and my to-do list scrolls through my brain like a social feed. I take a deep breath. I try to put it out of my mind and be blank. Another breath. I just need to be calm.
TRILLL TRILLL!!
A meeting reminder goes off. I hastily finish up a prayer that I know I was not fully present for. My mind wanders above me, looking down on my silly little body, sitting at my silly little computer, listening to my silly little Zoom meeting. I am indignant with myself. How am I supposed to do this soul-searching work, while I’m more physically exhausted and busier than usual? This seems impossible. What if I just take the pressure off of myself today and try again tomorrow? There are still more fasts left. If I just put my spiritual pedal to the metal from now until the end, maybe I can expedite the timeline for my self-enlightenment.
As the fast wanes into the evening, I’m a car that has run out of gas, pulling onto the shoulder of the highway of my life. I sprawl on the couch. My body is shivering and my extremities are icy from the lack of food. Is this me waving the white flag to my spiritual goals for today? I refuse to be defeated. But my mind teeters on the brink of sleep.
CHIRRRP CHIRRRP CHIRRRP
I awake from the millisecond of sleep I just experienced. I’ve never heard the birds outside sing so much. A tree rustles outside. A gentle breeze blows through the open window. I go outside to find it’s a perfect spring day, not too cold or hot. I feel gratitude wash over me for this beautiful weather, an increasing rarity in a world undergoing climate change. The little ones are playing outside. Chubby little hands reach for a tree branch that they previously could not reach. I marvel at how much they’ve grown.
I don’t know if this mundane moment purified my soul entirely but I did feel at peace. Zapped of physical energy, fasting forced me to be still. The mental exhaustion spread over my brain, like a blanket to smother my anxieties. That’s when I felt the divine quiet that my soul was craving. In that moment, I could truly take in the signs of my Creator around me. I believe that contentment was a blessing of this beautiful month, as well as a lesson. The chaos of the world will never cease, not even during the holiest month of the year. The noise around us is not an obstacle so much as an inextricable part of us. It encases our spiritual hearts like a shell. Perhaps the goal is not to remove it completely. Maybe if we just take these moment to poke little holes here and there, that’s enough to let the light in.
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Top photo credit: Joff Lee / Getty Images
