"...I've come to honor yet another blessing I've been endowed -- solitude to sit with myself and my maker. No distractions. Just me. Just Allah."
Written by Anjabeen ‘Anjum’ Ashraf
As a child, Ramadan meant cold days. Warm, spicy food. New clothes. Parties with friends. Chaand raat! And finally, Eid with its promise of money, food and merriment.
As an adult, living away from my community and not having built a new community of Muslim friends, Ramadan now means space and solitude.
This year especially, I’ve felt the yearning for a community, one that begins with my family and I preparing and breaking our fasts with traditional Pakistani foods. I miss the after Maghrib meet ups with friends because hey, in a big city with a large Muslim population, there remain many things to do late at night.
Oh and did I mention I miss the short winter days?
The visibility and togetherness of the Ummah is breathtaking during Ramadan. The packed mosques, the busy restaurants and the iftar parties bring people together every day for a month. I value this. I cherish it. I miss it. I also know sometimes it can get in the way of space that I need to reflect about well, everything.
During Ramadan, we are tasked with removing distractions from dawn to sunset and focusing on our blessings and relationship with Allah. Certainly, our communities are an important blessing but a relationship equals two and if I am to strengthen my own with my maker, how does community affect the equation?
I didn’t plan on having this solitude or space. It happened as my life took me places that, of course, only Allah knows. What I do know is the space and solitude I now have as an adult does a few things for me.
First, it gives me time to be present as the hunger pangs make their first appearance. I acknowledge them but do not let myself move to frustration or self-pity because I know that making the choice not to eat is a privilege and one that millions do not enjoy.
Second, once I am past the body’s acclimation to the departure of food, I have space/time/solitude to sit down and think about my blessings, thank Allah for them and take action on these thoughts. These actions may look different for every person but for me they include prayer, words of kindness and acts of service.
Lastly, I’m not as focused on food since I’m only preparing for myself most days and eating in rather than negotiating at which restaurant we’ll meet and the dessert bar we’ll hop on over to after.
As Americans, we seem to be wary of solitude. As Muslims observing Ramadan, it seems abnormal to have any because there is just so much to do and so many to see.
I certainly want to participate but I’ve come to honor yet another blessing I’ve been endowed — solitude to sit with myself and my maker. No distractions. Just me. Just Allah.
So one day when I don’t have this space anymore, I hope this brief interlude in my life will have taught me the importance of solitude during Ramadan. I am a proponent of balance so come every Ramadan, in addition to adding the iftars and late night socializing, hopefully, there will be solitude penciled into my calendar.
Anjabeen Ashraf is a Pakistani Muslim American living in Raleigh, NC with roots in Houston, TX. Anjabeen is currently a doctoral student in Counselor Education with research interests in vicarious trauma, identity development and career development of Muslim Americans. You can find her on Twitter, @fahsana.
(Interested in sharing your thoughts, memories, stories, or experiences of Ramadan with Muslim Voices? Email Managing Editor Rosemary Pennington, rompenni@indiana.edu.)
