a love letter to ramadan
when you know why you’re doing something, it becomes easier.
I don’t quite remember my first proper fast - you know, from sunset to sunrise (or, if we’re being technical, just before sunrise to sunset that doesn’t quite roll off the tongue as nicely). But I’ve been thinking about this quite a bit this year, spurred on by my good friend’s first year of fasting for the month of Ramadan as an adult.
I was excited for them, but more so for myself to be able to share the experience with a friend; nothing compares, even if it’s abstaining from food for the majority of the day, it was something that brought us closer.
Ramadan is the holiest month of the Islamic calendar; it’s a time of spiritual rejuvenation and reconnecting to our faith. It’s one of the only things in my life that is constant; in a way, I find that it helps to ground me. I feel safe knowing that whatever may be going on around me, Ramadan will always come.
My first memories of Ramadan are at the age of 9, or maybe 8, but anything before that, my mind is literally blank. I remember I so badly wanted to fast, watching my mum fast during the day and then have a lavish meal, the Iftar, to break her fast, but she didn’t think I was ready. We came to a compromise; I was allowed to fast for half the day, from lunchtime onwards. You see, that particular year, sunset was around 4.30pm, so we would be breaking our fast a little after the school day was over.
Easy, I thought to myself, and I woke up eager to begin my fast; I even skipped breakfast in solidarity with my mum. I told myself I would prove to her that I could do the whole thing; I was not a little child. I grossly overestimated my capabilities - I clearly thought very highly of myself and underestimated the effort required. By lunchtime, I was HUNGRY; my stomach was, I swear, communicating to me in English; it wanted, it NEEDED food. So I gave in to hunger; after all, I was only 9.
After lunch, I was determined to get back on it. I set the intention to fast from lunch till sunset. But then, during the after-school walk home, we popped into the corner shop and treated ourselves; what else is a 9-year-old spending their money on other than sweets? I told myself they were going to be treats, to reward myself for my attempt at fasting. That didn’t last long; I was stuffing them into my face before we had even reached my front door. It may have only been an hour or so left till “we” - I use the term "we" very loosely, just my mother - broke our fast, but it felt so good, even at that age, to sit around with my mum and my siblings, to feel connected by something greater than us and, of course, the delicious food. From that moment, I knew I would love Ramadan.
On the surface, Ramadan appears to be all about deprivation - abstaining from food and drink, and yes, even water and everything else.
Viewing Ramadan as only this flattens the month.
Until I was able to see Ramadan for everything it offered, I saw it as just a fast, and it was a struggle, I’m not going to lie. During my worst Ramadan, I’m not sure how I got through it. It was in the height of summer, and we were breaking our fasts at around 9pm every day. The days were long and hot, and I didn’t have the luxury of working from home. I was surrounded by people eating and drinking, what at the time seemed to be the most refreshing and lush treats, and the worst part was I couldn’t indulge.
I salute everyone who has to work a full-time job and fast. I've been there, and I hope I never have to do it again. It was intense; the whole month seemed to drag out. Granted, I was young, and all I wanted to do was enjoy the summer, bask in the glorious sunshine, and be in the park with an ice cream. Everyone knows summertime in London is the best, and we only get a small window. Looking back now, it was a reflection of where I was mentally and where I was with my relationship with my faith. I heard this quote a little while ago: when you know why you’re doing something, it becomes easier. Clearly, I had no idea; it was just something I was doing because I was a Muslim.
All the fasting, the extra prayer and worship, rather than affording me a sense of freedom and stability, made my head spin, quite literally. I was completely disconnected and counting the days till the end of the month. The memory of that particular month is quite prominent, and I almost feel a sense of shame thinking back to it: failing to live up to what I could be but also completely disregarding the benefits of the month.
Luckily, that was my one and only bad Ramadan. With each Ramadan, I’ve developed new strength, to do more and try harder. Today, I approach the month with an eagerness to embrace it for all it is. We believe that Ramadan is the opportunity to be your best self; for me, it’s the opportunity to reset and strive to be a good person. To take stock of what is important in my life and what I can do without, a spring clean of sorts. To connect with my community at my local mosque. To learn, to deepen my faith, to cement and feel content with my spiritual practice.
My energy may be low, but I feel weirdly elated by the rituals and the practices, from having to wake up for Suhoor (meal before sunrise) with my siblings, to being conscious of how I move throughout my day. To the congregational prayers at the mosque and making the effort to spend time with the people in my life.
By this year, I am a little more sure of myself and understand why it is I’m engaging in the practice, and by the end of the month, I find that my cup is filled.
Ramadan is an active embodiment of the practice of my faith. It feels refreshing after becoming accustomed to dulling down my Muslimness because the world we live in has deemed it “regressive” and “barbaric”. To be myself wholly and to be vulnerable, in the face of the unseen.
This year, Ramadan comes at a time when the world literally feels like it’s in flames. A blessing for many Muslims, a time to step, to practice gratitude and express empathy. From Sudan to Congo to Gaza and the Uyghur people, it feels too much, but Ramadan is a catalyst for action. Emotional empathy and feeling bad only go so far; it’s time for action. And isn’t Ramadan the perfect time? In its essence, Ramadan is about doing everything in our control in our response to the uncontrollable.
who wrote this?
is a London-based freelance writer whose writing explores the intersection of beauty, identity, and culture. Her writing has appeared in ELLE, Dazed and Women’s Health but find her unfiltered musings on her substack, .
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I am not Muslim, but my religion also has fast days. In our modern world, we live so much of our lives on autopilot. I found that being forced to think about every little thing you put into your mouth, brings about mindfulness in everything else as well. Not only mindfulness for what I choose to do in my own life, but in doing the same things, eating the same foods, saying the same prayers, I became very mindful of my connection to others also experiencing this around the world and my connection to all those who had come before me. There were times I could swear I could feel that unbroken line from my ancestors, through me, and on through my descendants. That always felt so beautiful to me.
Have a blessed Ramadan.
wow!!! amazing!!! such a special month for us all