It has gone, this
Ramadan. The whole of me is grateful that the month had been so beautifully
blessed as it was, and I am not overreacting. It is from the very few times
that Ramadan passes with little judgement and little comparison.
Out of the thirty days,
I could say I only had two bad ones, which turned out to be beautiful lessons.
It was quite the opposite the past years; I’d have only two or three inspiring
days, the rest would be filled with lingering pain and extreme loneliness,
which I wasn’t vulnerable enough to heal or deal with it. Those feelings of
desperation just roamed on like an incessant, dark cloud of indifference.
What made this Ramadan different for me, I
wonder?
It was the month of so
many ‘first times’. It was the first time not to spend the nights of Ramadan
walking around the city. It was the first time not to compare my situation with
other people’s circumstances. Alas, it was the first time to actually feel so
much joy for other people’s gatherings. My learners would come and talk to me
about their Ramadan familial adventures and I’d smile, praying that God benevolently
blesses their ties. It was the first time to do something different with my
time, instead of working so hard in planning things I’m not sure of. It was the
first time to actually do something worthwhile out of my aloneness; walking
into water sprinklers, taking shots of my favourite trees, sitting down on the
grass and listening to my heart-song. Time was poetic and expressive, and even
the times I had nothing to do were invested in graceful thought about what I’d
like to create for my life.
I turned to God a lot
this Ramadan. He was close, manifesting His presence with timely signs and
nudges. I’d ask for something and I’d swiftly get my answer, even if it was
painful. Whenever I asked God to guide me towards peace to accept where I
belong, my insight would expand, taking in more things to forgive and find open
doors for growth where I stand. I came to understand that wherever I am, whatever
the situation may be, no matter how tormenting, lonely and empty, it is always
the right thing. Now, I do have the choice. Do I choose to live through it with
love, possibility and by giving? Or, do I alternatively choose to feel victimised,
fearful and doubtful? There is always a choice to make.
It was my first time to
get outside of my comfortable ‘victim mode’ and step into unknowns by
discovering the gifts that my soul has to offer to the world. They’re not much,
but they’re all I got. I cannot waste any more time thinking they’re not
enough.
What would I like
to take with me from Ramadan?
I would like to take the
longer prayers with me. Time spent with the highest version of myself, the
version I am compelled to bring forth while in God’s presence. I would like to
take more time not doing much, to tap into my creativity. I would like to take
with me less thought of food, drink and temporary satisfactions and relying instead
on the notion that the universe nourishes my soul with so much love, so much
meaning whenever I am present and attentive, and not stuck in my head’s
interpretations, its baggage and analysis.
One thing that I’d
really love to take is responding to whatever it is that I feel the need to do.
Action that sprouts from fear and the need to prove something always withers
and dies. Responding to lively signals from the heart allows blossoms to take
shape. This is what I’ve learned and what I hope to embody in the next couple
of months, God willing.
Thank you, dearest
Ramadan. I have grown and the splintered, scared parts of myself have found a home.
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