First Night.

This is a new thing I’m doing right now; writing without planning ahead. I thought I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to do a Ramadan blog this year, but seeing as though I’m sitting on a prayer mat in the dark I feel almost compelled to explain myself to myself.

Upon arrival of Ramadan I tend to prepare myself by making goals I want to achieve by the end of Ramadan. I get a scrap piece of paper and blurt out exactly what I’m feeling and how I want to go about fixing the bits I don’t like about myself. I flip over to the other side and write a prayer list too. This includes things like praying for my mum’s harvesting season to go well, for my niece to grow up to be a well mannered beautiful cultured girl and for me to be strong in whatever situation. I start highlighting my Quran in a different colour from the year before so I can venture into the verses during the fasting period. I did all these things because I wanted to. I was genuinely excited for the arrival of it.

I didn’t feel that this year. I still don’t. I carry a heavy satchel of numbness with me, fashioning the idea that maybe one day during this month that same feeling will arrive. I stand in prayer reciting passages of the Quran that I can now understand because of my Arabic teacher, Savi. You’d think that by understanding what I’m reading I would connect to the verses more. But as I whisper the sounds, my eyes are shut tight; the creases screaming that I do believe in a God. I must do.

Something has changed and this month I want to find out what that something is.


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