The day of Eid has come. Thirty days later and it is finally here. But why don't I feel the jittery excitement of butterflies like I always do? And why does my heart wrench when I come across Facebook statuses that are a bit overjoyed for Eid? Is Eid not our holiday? My holiday that I earned after 30 days of consistent sacrifice and worship? So why aren't I counting down the minutes, and tossing and turning in bed like children do on Christmas eve from the sheer anticipation of finally celebrating? What happened to me this Ramadan that altered my definition of holiday, into literally, Holy Day?
It started three days before Ramadan. I could feel it in the air. Ramadan was coming and I mentally pushed it away. Out of sight. Out of mind. I wasn't sure if I really was looking forward to not eating all day and refraining from my typical routine of gum chewing and diet soda intake. I wasn't sure I could manage changing the remainder of my free summer schedule to revolve around the soon to be added worship rituals of the month. I could tell. I could tell something was coming. If not to my Ummah, at least to me. And it did. In the final three days of Ramadan it rained on me, the same exact way it actually rained in the skies of Southern California on day 27.
The withdrawal was starting early. All of a sudden the month I was once too weak to anticipate was now making me fear my weakness with its absence. I was changed. I was hooked. I am addicted. And what will I do now?
I cried in the final Ramadan prayer, holding the Quran so tightly, imagining how this same beloved book that is reviving my heart right now, is enraging a racist pastor on the other side of this country; enough to burn it.
I cried realizing that a few hours before I was a victim of a personal incident that hurt from a dear friend. And I wondered why didn't Ramadan shake her heart as hard as it did mine? It's not arrogance. But it is realization. I spent my entire life working extra hard to please the world around me. Walking on eggshells to never hurt a single soul. And when I dare sit back for a moment to rest, I find that wounds start to appear and everyone doesn't mind hurting me.
I am not the only one. I have seen many others suffer. And I watch painfully as they continue to go unappreciated and I wonder why. Why are we, the Muslim Ummah, so unfair to each other? Why are we rarely there for each other in our own backyards? How come we can rush to supposedly solve every international crisis with protests and rants, but when a local asks for help, or even the simplicity of a kind word or open ears, we do our best to turn the other cheek.
I continued to cry feeling so alone. And that is when I reached a verse that wrenched my heart even more. God said that He will always be with you, always be watching over you. The tears spilled and I couldn't let go of Ramadan at all at this point. Ramadan's specialty is how much closer, not God becomes to us, but how much we get nearer to Him. How much we remember him.
I felt overwhelmed and exhausted. Thirty days of effort and struggle to remove all the "me" from myself and give it to God. But I did. And now I don't want it back. I don't want any of what I gave God back. I want to stay this way. And I'm scared. I am scared of Eid. And now I understand why my mother was always scared of the morning of Eid too. Because when you walk towards the masjid, everything starts playing out in slow motion. And for the first time you see the REAL Eid.
Everyone is laughing and talking loudly in a gathered crowd. Children are running around and giggling. You see the bright colors. You see that everyone is dressed up so much so that you think you're at a wedding. And it all has this eerie undertone to it as the takbeerat get louder and louder. And it hits you. THIS IS THE DAY I RECEIVE MY REPORT CARD. This is the day that draws the line of who Ramadan made you and whether or not the coming year will be your success or your failure. Your heart starts beating. You can't help but start to cry. And you wish, that for just one more second you had just the touch of Ramadan again. But it's gone. It's gone. And no one is ever sure that it will be back for them.
I prayed this year that it would be the year of change for my Ummah. It was number one on my list of duaas that I posted up onto my wall. It stood there on the bright yellow paper: #1 - Guidance to My Ummah. I wanted this year to be THE year. The year where men would finally be men. Where women would let go a little more of this dunya and take in a bit more of this deen. The year where sexism finally ended and men realized that following the sunnah doesn't just consist of growing a beard with an attitude, but much much much more. The year that women realized what the true meaning of hijab is and actually applied it physically and not just mentally. The year we finally took upon ourselves the obligation of respecting one another. The year we finally took a dive into the pool of modesty we have so long abandoned. The year where we actually knew what standing up for and with each other meant. The year where we all started walking on eggshells to please one another and not hurt each other.
This Ummah has sat in a silent slack given routine for so many years. And it is watching itself fall apart day by day. Lack of respect. Degradation. Increase of divorce. Lost youth. Terrible treatment. And let us not forget the disasters that happen around this world. The things that happen around us are not meant for the sake of us overreacting and making a terribly embarrassing scenes. Rather it's a notice, a warning, from Allah that it is time to step it up and improve. And I will tell you that I will gladly sign my name up on that list because I know that we all have much to improve on. And this Ramadan drew the line for me.
I'm not saying that we shouldn't celebrate. We should. Actually we must. Eid is a day of Reward. A day we earned after great sacrifice and we deserve to enjoy the blessing Allah has given us. The blessing of being able to go to any masjid in Southern California without worry and fear. The blessing of being able to have hours of a good time without problems. The blessing of being able to eat and spread a sense of spirituality with our youth and children and families and friends. But what I am saying is this year, let us work harder than ever before on NOT losing what we gained just 24 hours before in the month of Ramadan. Instead of turning to dramatic actions when responding to calamities around us, how about we try turning to something we've forgotten, like an increase in our worship and prayers. Dedicating a day to fasting for some incident. Or dedicating a Quran reading. Let us make THIS the year that we finally become "Khayra Ummah". The world makes New Year Resolutions every December 31st/January 1st, why shouldn't we at the end of every Ramadan and actually stick with them?
Allahumma Taqabbal Minna Salatana wa Siyamana w Rukuaana wa Sujoodana w Qiyamana w Duaana w Saleh Aamalaneh. Allahumma ihdeena feeman hadayt w Afina fi man Afayt. Allahumma Wahhid Ummat Nabeeyika Muhammadun Salah Allahu Alayhi w Sallam. Walhamdulilah Rabbil Alameen.
