Didn't Ramadan JUST Arrive??

I could have sworn I broke my first fast yesterday! Time really does fly when you're having fun.

Whenever Ramadan rolls around, all the Muslims I see are just in major glee-mode (the emotion not the show o.o). I don't know if I speak for anyone else with this one - but I started dearly missing Ramadan six months after it was over last year.

Actually, right at the beginning of this Ramadan, I met up with a friend from Baylor and we got to talking about everything this month entails for Muslims. Usually when people hear that we go the whole day without food or water, they get concerned and feel bad for us.
And I guess when we give that basic explanation, it's easy to see where they're coming from. I'm sure if I wasnt familiar with Ramadan, I would be concerned for the Muslims too!

But we got to talking, and I started explaining and realizing all over again how strange we can seem :)
The whole day without food and water, and the fact of the matter is we actually look forward to this month desperately every year, and most of us feel quite depressed once it's over. wut. lol, but why?
Why?
Because really and truly, the lack of food and drink is just the physical aspect. There is so much more, sooo much more! to Ramadan than that. I'm trying not write in my scatterbrained manner here, but to begin, there is the unity in the community again.

If you're a Masjid goer regularly, then that's you. And if you're a 'seasonal,' Muslim then that's you too. Some of us have different areas in our lives that we channel our faith in, more or less strongly than other areas in our lives. But regardless of all that, when Ramadan comes around everyone is making an above-and-beyond effort, with the hopes that Inshallah these actions will become positive, permanent, habits in our lives.
And who knows, maybe this is the Ramadan where that aspect of our lives that is lukewarm with faith, will warm up some more. Maybe this is the Ramadan that will inspire someone to become more than a seasonal Muslim, or add a daily good-deed to their lives. Inshallah.
We make goals with Allah in mind. We remember what it means to be a Muslim. We look out for each other, feed and feast with each other, and we pray together.

That's the other thing. Whether there is a sense of unity and community during the rest of the year, Ramadan never fails to bring the feeling of togetherness back. You meet people you haven't talked to in while, and make a conscious effort to socialize more with them even after Ramadan. You meet respected speakers and teachers, your peers, your neighbors.
There is fund-raising at the Masjid, and everyone is looking out for all the little kiddos at play, and everyone is aiding all the elderly that need help getting to their seats to pray. We remember what it means to be a part of this great Ummah, Allhamdullillah.
And speaking of the Masjid, can we talk about Tarawi? Praying every night at  the Masjid, listening to an entire part of the Quran recited every night, and brimming with tears every single time the Vitr dua is made. Everyone is standing shoulder to shoulder, making dua as if our lives depended on it (which they kinda do xD).
At that point, even a good majority of the little kids run inside to stand with their parents to make dua. Albeit, their duas may consist more of 'please Allah, I want blank and blank for Eid.' But it's dua nonetheless! And it feels just amazing to see the future of our Ummah (Inshallah) so familiar with being a Muslim already. My 6 year old cousin, after every Vitr prayer, turns to me and says "I said thank you for everything to Allah!" LOL Subhanallah.
It's a beautiful 2-3 hours every night that makes Ramadan so spectacular.

And there are the all-nighters that extend those beautiful hours until the wee morning hours of Fajr.
I don't know if many other Masjids have all-nighters, so I'll explain a little about this.
Every Friday of Ramadan, a different Masjid has a different speaker over a different topic to educate us.
The programs are called Ramadan Recharge, and that name is very adequate.
The speakers do a fantastic job of educating over various topics, from the Day of Judgment, to the characteristics of Prophet Mohammad (pbuh), to our goals not just in Ramadan but in life. You really do feel recharged afterwards. Usually after the lectures are over, everyone prays Qiyaam together, and then we eat together, and then we start our fast for the day together.

And even eating together is an adventure! The Masjid provides Suhoor, the morning meal, but a good majority of the time we opt for IHOP or Denny's. So you get these flocks of hijabis and thob-ed men at the 24-hour restaurants, occupying nearly every table at 3-4 in the night, trying to get their meal in before it's time to stop.
And man let me tell you, that is one awesome sight to see.
And an even better sight to be a part of.

And after fasting the whole day, waking up for prayers, avoiding the sun, etc etc, how can anyone under-emphasize Iftaar time. When it's time to break fast, the Muslims are a munchin. Again, I don't know how it is for everyone else, but all of my family likes to get together for the majority of our Iftaars, so it's like potluck galore 22/30 days. It's insane! And so delicious! And the reason we gain more weight in Ramadan than we ought to xD!

But Allhamdullillah for all of it. And after Iftaar and Maghrib prayer, it's off to the Masjid for Tarawi, and it all starts again. Does it become tedious?
Not at all.
Is it hectic?
It can be, what with work and school, and daily life continuing as is.

But the fact of the matter is, once Ramadan is gone, we miss it.

I was actually listening to the radio on my way from school, and in one of the segments they were talking about Muslims and fasting. A question that was asked was, what do you do when their is food in front of you? How do you resist?
That got me thinking again: firstly, over why anyone would put in front of you on purpose! I mean I grew up fasting and still chilling in the cafeteria with my friends. There was food on every corner of the table, but the Muslims, myself included obviously, never seemed tempted to break their fast and dig in. It just elicited forlorn looks at the clock xD So if someone were to purposely waft food in front of us, it's not a matter of lack of will, it's a matter of you're a douche and the this day needs to move a little faster.

On the more serious reflection: the older you get and the more you understand of Ramadan, the less it becomes about food.
Yes you're hungry.
But in that hunger there is amazement, that we are going for so many hours without physical sustenance, yet Allah keeps us walking, talking, and doing so much more. It's a reminder that He takes car of us. And so we spend our time remembering him.
The lack of food gives us so much more - the appreciation of what we do have, and what we might not have had. The gratefulness for Allah's love. The realization (again) of just how truly dependent we are, and how truly great He is.
And from everyone that I have talked to, at the end of the day and at the end of Ramadan, it's not the lack of food that anyone remembers. Why? Because whatever we did, we did in worship of Allah, we did in love of Allah. So it didn't hurt. It felt glorious. And when it's over, we miss it.
We don't remember the food, we remember the unity, the nights of Tarawi, the heart-wrenching Vitr duas, the all-nighters and amazing lectures, the 4a.m. IHOP runs, and the utter  sense of peace and completeness.

So after Ramadan is over, we try to retain as much of that as possible.
We make goals to memorize new Surahs from the Quran, pray all our prayers and add reading the Quran to our daily to-do list. We remind ourselves to go to the Masjid more, look out for the poor, and aid the elderly and young ones alike. We remember to greet our angels, and remember that more than anything, Allah is our sustenance. And through it all, we gain a little more strength to move progressively through life.

And so Allhamdullillah, here we are in the last 10 days of Ramadan with so much to reflect over, and so many duas to make, and with so little time (clearly!). As much as I love Eid, I'm already depressed at how fast Ramadan is going by. There is an immense inner peace I feel during this month.
Inshallah, my goal is to retain as much of that after Ramadan is over. Lose the anger, lose the gossip, add more smiles and pass more compliments Inshallah.

What has your Ramadan been like? What are your goals for after Ramadan? And if you don't celebrate Ramadan, what are your thoughts?

I'm ranting...about Eid! Ridiculous I tell you!

Yeah, I can’t believe I found something to rant about on Eid, but I did…and it sucks…

It has been an exact week since we celebrated Eid, and I do miss all of it, not just from this year but from my childhood as well.

Let me begin by telling you a little of what my Eid memories consist of, because to me those days were ideal ones.

Every year my dad would take me to this shop known as Poshak (back when it was a simple family-store, not a money-sucking business branch) and buy me my Eid suit. I would always let Abu choose the suit for me. We would buy bangles from the same store, as well as shoes and mehndi.

My aunts would put mehndi on my little hands as well as their own, and all night I would sleep in an awkward position so as not to ruin the design and have minimum chipping.

Back then I hated the scent of mehndi. Who would have thought I would grow to sniff my henna-ed up hands loving the smell of the green paste.

My mother would wake me up early the next morning to shower and dawn my new clothes, and then we would all head out for Eid prayer. We met all our neighbors and family, and I would show off my pretty outfit, "Abu got it for me!" In every house we went to, the savein tasted just slightly different. But I have yet to eat un-delicious savein. The thin noodle-like whey floating in boiled and sweetened milk with puffed up raisins and nuts was its own kind of heaven.

And then of course there was Eidi.

Eidi has a special meaning. Whether the adults are on good terms or not, whether you’re related or not, whether you've ever met before or not - none of it mattered when it came to Eidi. Regardless of everything else, adults gave children Eidi. It didn't matter who the adult was or who the child was. It didn't matter if it was a crisp new one dollar bill, or an enticing five dollar bill. All that mattered was that it was Eidi. It was a gift given to the child by an adult to celebrate the day of Eid.

And it's always special. I can still remember all the people that gave me Eidi from my first memory of Eid to now. When I was younger I would say "No, it's ok," because I was shy about taking anyone else's money but my parent's. But the adults would give a hearty laugh at my reply, un-curl my hand and place the money there while patting my head.

Eidi, hugs, mehndi, new clothes, savein, early morning Eid prayer - all make for just beautiful memories.

Unfortunately, I don’t think kids nowadays get to have as lovely memories of their Eid as I have.

You see, just like children remember all the kind, big-hearted adults that give us Eidi, children also remember the people who do not give them Eidi.

I saw adults with a stack of bills in their hands actually turn away from kids they did not want to give Eidi to. I heard these adults literally say “Where are the children? I don’t even see the children.” They said this in front of other children. There were plenty of children. They just didn’t see the ones they were specifically looking for. And boy, did those kiddos notice. Little faces drooped with confusion and hurt. I felt like I could read their minds "How come I don't get Eidi?" but of course, they would never ask in person.

I saw adults pick and choose the children they gave Eidi to, in front of other children. Not cool. That's just hurtful.

Just seeing that made my heart pang, I don't even want to think of how the little children that were noticeably ignored felt.

I didn't think I would have anything to criticize on Eid of all days, but what do you do when blatant acts of discrimination happen in front of you?

That's exactly what it was too, pure discrimination.

You know, I realize that the economy sucks, and we're all trying to save money, etc. etc.

But it's Eid.

Eid.

Eid is supposed to be the exception. After all, if we can spend money on our new clothes, and shoes, and bags, and everything else, than why not pass out a few bucks to make a child happy?

Seriously, even one dollar handed to a child with a smile makes the Eid special between that adult and that child.

In the same manner, turning away from a child without handing them anything, but clearly stating that you are looking for other children to give money to, makes the Eid a hurtful one.

It's a repulsive act quite frankly.

The damage done: the child was hurt on Eid, the child will remember the adult for that hurt (their discrimination and un-giving nature), the adult saved a few bucks.

Was it worth it?

Because that does not sound like it was worth it to me.

And you know what's even worse? These adults who specifically selected kids to receive Eidi, their children were not discriminated against.

There was a line that was formed, and all the kids passed through this line receiving Eidi. Family member's children, relative's children, friend's children, in-law's children, all walked through and received Eidi from, get this, 6 adults.

That's it.

Of all the families that were there, of all the 30plus adults, not even half were at the front of that line. 6 adults, which consisted of my father (who I am very proud for his open heart and hand), Sarwat, Ayesha, Shaulkut, Farqunda, and Farhana (excuse me for just using first names and not whole titles in this blog), while their own children were discriminated against by other adults in getting Eidi.

These six adults gave Eidi to every single child and young adult that passed through that line, whether it was one dollar, two dollars, or five. It didn't matter to them whose child it was, or how their relation was with the child's parents. All that mattered to them was that it was Eid, and Eid meant giving Eidi to children.

All those kids that passed through that line now have a positive perspective of these adults. When their parents ask who gave them Eidi, the children will think of these adults.

And then, they will think of the adults that turned away from them to avoid giving them Eidi.

In the afternoon, when the kids sat to count their Eidi, I saw how little their faces got when they counted their earnings and realized how little they got in spite of the number of adults that were there.

Children shouldn't have bitter-sweet memories like this of Eid.

Like I said, I know the economy sucks, but Eid is the one day that you’re supposed to make an exception for.

Well, we can’t go back in the past and change anything. I just really, really hope this doesn’t ever happen again. I want Eid memories for all the children to be good ones. Eid is a day of celebration. Celebration means happy (it's supposed to in my book anyways). Therefore, children should be happy on this day of celebration.

I loved Eid as a child, and I still do. I love getting my clothes ready, getting our house ready. I love staying up late and putting mehndi on all the girls’ hands. I love waking up early for Eid prayer, and then meeting everyone for food and hugs and pictures and Eidi. And I want all the growing children to love Eid and all it has to offer as well.

I hope that next year, all the adults that screwed up this time put in a greater effort to make Eid especially spectacular next time. I think they owe it to the kids.

Eid rant. I swear, I didn’t think it was possible. And yet, here is my completed entry to contradict that.