Ramadan 2023: (r)evolving
Much to reflect on, much growing done, more to do
In reflecting on this and past Ramadans’ endings, I thought of a strange (and maybe plausible?) theory: how one feels about the end of the holy month can be a forecast of what they may feel between then and next Ramadan. Below, I reflect on why that may be true, using my own story as the canvas.
‘Twixt Last Ramadan and This
Last year overall was a year of heartbreak. It was so profound, the pain so whole, that I swore off ever loving again [in a romantic sense]. It was a year mostly kept to myself and my family. I celebrated the love and matrimony of friends, secretly wishing I could see that day for myself, equally reconciling the perceived fact it will never happen. Like much of my life, I’d felt out of place everywhere I put myself.
Earlier this year, I began treating myself to my wants, needs, dreams-turned-goals. Solo dates. Books. Publishing my own book! Being at Anfield Stadium, realizing a day I never thought I’d live to see. Singing “You’ll Never Walk Alone” with the cool crisp air filling and leaving my lungs, on the verge of tears for a beautifully fulfilling experience.
That is all to say, I entered this Ramadan feeling…apprehensive. Unsure of what to make of life. Things were in place for me in some aspects, fallen apart in others. My personal world relatively unharmed, yet the world around me experiencing spectrums of tragedy and horror. As a believing and practicing Muslim all my life, it became harder and harder to reconcile all these things under the names ‘al-Rahman’ and ‘al-Rahim.’ Though it’s been years, I still think about some big losses in my personal life from time to time; my grandmother’s passing a week before this Ramadan reminded me of those losses and feelings.
Ramadan 2023
I’ll break my personal Ramadan experience into general themes or feelings as opposed to a chronological order, and I’ll start with:
Social Isolation
If you know, you know this topic is no stranger; it’s actually become something of an old friend of mine. The more I’ve sought for, longed for, and hoped for belonging to a greater sense of community, the less of myself I felt, I think. This Ramadan I made it a point to go out more for social iftar events and hangouts, staying out very late and taking it all in. I’ve made some friends through these social settings, both in person and through various online chats.
But you know what? At the end of the day, I’m still blessed to have both my parents and my sister, and a stable home. Alhamdulilah for that, and for being able to have that balance of being in and out of the house. In the twilight weeks of my 29th year of life, I find myself truly internalizing the fact that maybe I’ll never fit in or belong anywhere, and that’s fine. I’m me, I know what I love, and what can bring me joy. This is the Way. And so is:
Being Entrenched in the Deen
For obvious reasons, the month of Ramadan sees a heightened sense of spirituality and connectedness to the teachings, practices, and traditions of Islam, as well as to Allah in general. I thankfully still feel that increased level of reflection, and I’ve noticed each Ramadan for the past few years there’s a bit more and more of me pouring into God’s words, book, and Way. There are some fundamental questions I probably will continue to struggle with, but I feel like with this Ramadan I’m approaching an equilibrium point, closer than I’ve ever been in life; a kind of near-flow zone.
Something about putting effort into the practice of Taraweeh prayers at home and reading as much Quran as I could handle in those spaces for some reason felt so right, which for Muslims should be obvious but I think it’s better to reach these points yourself rather than just internalize the knowledge of that feeling. For example, my father would always tell me of a verse in the Quran in which Jesus tells the people around him that there is another prophet that will come after him, named Ahmed (hey, that’s my name!), but to read that actual verse with my own eyes…
Quran 61:6 (Surah As-Saf, verse 6)
وَإِذْ قَالَ عِيسَى ٱبْنُ مَرْيَمَ يَـٰبَنِىٓ إِسْرَٰٓءِيلَ إِنِّى رَسُولُ ٱللَّهِ إِلَيْكُم مُّصَدِّقًۭا لِّمَا بَيْنَ يَدَىَّ مِنَ ٱلتَّوْرَىٰةِ وَمُبَشِّرًۢا بِرَسُولٍۢ يَأْتِى مِنۢ بَعْدِى ٱسْمُهُۥٓ أَحْمَدُ ۖ فَلَمَّا جَآءَهُم بِٱلْبَيِّنَـٰتِ قَالُوا۟ هَـٰذَا سِحْرٌۭ مُّبِينٌۭ ٦“And ˹remember˺ when Jesus, son of Mary, said, “O children of Israel! I am truly Allah’s messenger to you, confirming the Torah which came before me, and giving good news of a messenger after me whose name will be Aḥmad.”[1] Yet when the Prophet came to them with clear proofs, they said, “This is pure magic.””
[1] Aḥmad is another name for Prophet Muḥammad (ﷺ). Both are derived from ḥa-ma-da which means ‘praise.’ Some Muslim scholars believe this verse refers to John 14:16, where Jesus says: “And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another periklytos, to be with you forever.” Periklytos is a Greek word that means ‘the praised one.’ The name of Prophet Muḥammad (ﷺ) appears several times in the Gospel of Barnabas, which is deemed apocryphal by Christian authorities.
That was a very cool near-transcendental experience.
Now, in speaking on the Deen and its principles, I need to address two things that blend very closely together…
Role Models
It’s likely been clear as day to many people for years; it has been for me, too. There are Muslim men who have to really reflect on who they follow, who they defend, who they — dare I say — idolize. Two specific examples this month, both for which I start with trigger warnings of SA and aggressive behavior/language.
Fatih Seferagic led Taraweeh prayers in Times Square at the beginning of Ramadan. This man has an extensive jacket, a lot of allegations that are worrying if not infuriating. From spiritual abuse to sexual harassment to straight-up acts of sexual violence. From a man who’s supposed to represent Islam better than most of us. And the general response? Something along the lines of ‘let’s forgive past mistakes’ or ‘why didn’t anyone file charges’ or ‘fake news.’
Do those people not understand these remarks are exactly why, among other reasons, women don’t come forth? Why do such men rush to defend someone who clearly attracts this bad reputation, yet say or do nothing for actual victims of sexual violence?
That question is rhetorical, of course.
Now, touching on one of my least favorite topics of discussion: Andrew Tate. I had the misfortune of seeing this Twitter thread come up on my feed and read through it. Men, read through it and consider how you might’ve thought about the interactions in this story. My view is that if Prophet Muhammad (PBUH)’s character is the gateway to Islam, the feelings, words, and actions in that thread are the fence from Islam. Please reflect on who you follow, because there are better men out there to follow. On a similar topic…
A Case Study on Rage
This Ramadan I wanted to do more than donate to causes. I actually had the honor and privilege of volunteering for a day at the Asiyah Women’s Center, the first Muslim women’s + families’ shelter established in NYC. After the day’s work, we all broke our fast together. It was an atmosphere of peace, a brief respite from the chaos of the world and in these womens’ lives that leads them to a place like Asiyah.
At a point, when looking around the room, I almost started to cry.
I felt so much rage swell up inside of me, and all my soul could ask my mind was, ‘why?’ Why do women suffer so much like this? Why must they and their children bear the weight of the sins, the failure, the misplaced emotions of those men who should be their guardians? There is a verse in the Quran that says:
Quran 4:34 (Surah An-Nisa, verse 4)
ٱلرِّجَالُ قَوَّٰمُونَ عَلَى ٱلنِّسَآءِ بِمَا فَضَّلَ ٱللَّهُ بَعْضَهُمْ عَلَىٰ بَعْضٍۢ وَبِمَآ أَنفَقُوا۟ مِنْ أَمْوَٰلِهِمْ ۚ فَٱلصَّـٰلِحَـٰتُ قَـٰنِتَـٰتٌ حَـٰفِظَـٰتٌۭ لِّلْغَيْبِ بِمَا حَفِظَ ٱللَّهُ ۚ وَٱلَّـٰتِى تَخَافُونَ نُشُوزَهُنَّ فَعِظُوهُنَّ وَٱهْجُرُوهُنَّ فِى ٱلْمَضَاجِعِ وَٱضْرِبُوهُنَّ ۖ فَإِنْ أَطَعْنَكُمْ فَلَا تَبْغُوا۟ عَلَيْهِنَّ سَبِيلًا ۗ إِنَّ ٱللَّهَ كَانَ عَلِيًّۭا كَبِيرًۭا ٣٤“Men are the caretakers of women, as men have been provisioned by Allah over women and tasked with supporting them financially. And righteous women are devoutly obedient and, when alone, protective of what Allah has entrusted them with.[1] And if you sense ill-conduct from your women, advise them ˹first˺, ˹if they persist,˺ do not share their beds, ˹but if they still persist,˺ then discipline them ˹gently˺.[2] But if they change their ways, do not be unjust to them. Surely Allah is Most High, All-Great.”
[1] i.e., their husbands’ honour and wealth.
[2] Disciplining one’s wife gently is the final resort. The earliest commentators understood that this was to be light enough not to leave a mark, should be done with nothing bigger than a tooth stick, and should not be on the face. Prophet Muḥammad (ﷺ) said to his companions “Do not beat the female servants of Allah.” He said that honourable husbands do not beat their wives, and he himself never hit a woman or a servant. If a woman feels her husband is ill-behaved, then she can get help from her guardian or seek divorce.
So, to the suppose followers of Islam, what kind of man are you to mistreat your women? To throw them out with no place to go? Women and children too? How can you? How is that ok? How is that rational?
DO BETTER.
Every time I think back to that day, I cannot shake the anger off. It holds me enough that I question why Allah would allow this violence to happen? That’s always been a tough question for me to reconcile in many contexts. I suppose the silver lining I can see is that situations like this can make someone angry enough to want to act and give their time, money, and heart towards a just cause, towards peace for those who cannot find it in their lives currently.
If you, dear reader are a praying person, please do keep survivors of domestic violence in your prayers, always.
Looking at Myself
This Ramadan of course involved a lot of self-reflection too, and looking at who I hope to be, stay as, and avoid returning to. I sense (or maybe foolishly believe) that, thankfully, I’m growing beyond what I originally thought.
Re; My Dream(s)
If you asked me 6 months ago if I believed in love, I’d tell you, “absolutely the hell NOT.”
Profound and repeated heartbreaks over the years can do irreversible damage. Seemingly irreversible damage.
Since I was kid, the greatest dream I ever had was to fall in love, get married, have a family and a home of my own. The more I chased, the more I invited pain, dejection, and hopelessness. I decided last year to abandon that dream entirely, and focus instead on things that depend only on my achieving them (hence me finally publishing my debut poetry collection, then spending that same weekend in Liverpool by myself).
I think Ramadan in a way re-validates our deepest and most profound wants and needs in life, based just on the nightly duas we make, and especially the duas we reserve for Laylat ul-Qadr. I noticed in the last 10 nights of the month especially I found myself making dua for that dream I’d given up on to come to me.
Strangely, I feel more at peace with it now, whether it comes to me or not. I hope that inner peace is maintained. I also have this strange sense my dream will come to life soon. Maybe that’s another foolish belief, but it’s a belief I feel holding onto me.
Inshallah.
Re; my Physical Self
I’d mentioned that I’ve been in many social spaces and circles; most of them are through WhatsApp, where lots of discussions happen and meetups or events are called out. Younger me would probably show up everywhere out of FOMO, just to feel included. Even if I feel too different from everyone. Even if I’m not into the same stuff as everyone else.
There’s a liberation in growing older and being more in control of where and when you go places. I had this conversation with a friend during the day I volunteered as the women’s center, and she’d told me that you learn to appreciate more of what you want to do, regardless of whether it’s by yourself or not.
There’s also freedom in discipline. We all have our vices; some are physical, some are substance-based, some mental or spiritual. Using Ramadan to purge, if not constrict, those vices, is liberating. Between the discipline of timely making the prayers, the discipline of standing and reading Quran during Taraweeh, and the discipline of subjecting myself to a month-long daily 100 push-up challenge, I feel a greater sense of self. I’m thankful for that.
I’ve thought about money during this time as well, and the gratitude I always feel for being in a position to not just donate to places and causes dear to me, but to donate some of my own clothes while buying some new threads for myself. One thing I’d dreamt about is being able to provide for my parents and sister, while working my money into things that mean something to current or future me. Alhamdulilah for that, and Inshallah only the beginning.
What’s Next?
I’ve been asking myself that for a few days now, even as I’ve been writing this piece. Maybe I’ll continue those push-up challenges. I know I want to continue maintaining my consistent praying, hoping that maybe God will grant what my soul needs in this life. I hope I continue to grow more centered in myself, but I also hope to find or create a place where I can fully belong, no matter where I go.
To quote Herman Hesse’s Siddhartha:
“We are not going in circles, we are going upwards. The path is a spiral; we have already climbed many steps.”
Until next Ramadan, Inshallah, let this old friend go for the year.
Salaam.
