Swinging into Ramadan | 2020

It greets us in the strangest of times. I write this as we look out of our windows into the strange world we now find ourselves in. Strange, how in the blink of an eye, we have been ground to a halt. Not just my family. Not just yours. Not just a community, or a city, not even just a country. But the entire world. Flipped upside down. Tumbled into uncertainty. Shaken up and woken up. And all it took was a minuscule, invisible microbe for the world to descend into chaos. A global pandemic; worldwide panic. And the earth-shattering revelation - that shouldn't have been so earth-shattering - that we are not in control. All that we are, all that we know, all that we live and breathe and touch, could cease to exist in the space of half a heartbeat.

كُنْ فَيَكُونُ

"BE, AND IT IS" - QURAN, 36:82

And I ask, did we forget? Did we forget the nations that preceded us who, in their ignorance and heedless behaviour, were perished? Did we think we were invincible? Did we truly think that we were a nation above all of that? The stories of the people of Nuh, the nation of Lut and the tribe of Thamud, in childhood, were just that. Stories. Did we never comprehend the gravity of their reality?  A reality we were so detached from, that never did we fathom that we too, would one day be a nation that needed to be warned. 

Because we have become lost. So caught up have we become in this materialistic world that we forgot that our health, wealth, family, are gifts from our Creator that we do not deserve. They are a favour, not a right. And if He wants it back, He will take it back. How ungrateful have we become that only when it's been taken away, have we come to appreciate all of the things we have taken for granted.

Freedom. Family. Time.

When we crashed into adulthood, time accelerated and, suddenly, there was no space to nurture our hobbies, no quality time to give to our parents and siblings, no breathing space for our mental health, no love to give to our bodies. We were always on the go, always rushing to the next thing, without appreciating the present thing. And, now, all we have is time: to live healthy, think healthy; to cherish these extra moments with family we may never get back; the liberty to focus on doing the things we love and the things we want to learn. Yes, we have lost - so much. But we have also gained. We now have space in our life for all the things we told ourselves we never had space for.

we are collectively learning to live in the moment because the moment is all we have

And so, though it is a different Ramadan that we all anxiously await this year, one that is unprecedented and unpredictable and heartbreaking because we are losing out on so many traditions, it also comes with more promise. We will love more fiercely, pray more passionately, endure more patiently. We will reflect, right our wrongs, slowly fall in love with the Quran and feel it soften our hardened hearts. We will connect with God more deeply, pray for the things that maybe we didn't pray hard enough for before; the things we have come to value more so than the materialistic world that usually consumes our prayers. We will appreciate the light of His guidance, the art of repentance, the beauty of prayer. We will fear for our hereafter and sow its spiritual seeds in a way we should have mastered long ago. We will appreciate that there is no wealth without health, no life without family, no light without faith.

When we wake at 3am in the early morning of our first fast, we'll let loose a sigh of relief. We never truly know which Ramadan is our last and in 2020 that realisation has hit home the hardest. Not all of us made it. But those of us who did, I hope we appreciate how lucky and blessed we are to have been chosen to. I pray that we find, more than ever, the compassion, gratitude and humanity that this world needs. Because the world has changed. And we have to change with it. If our hearts do not become softer, if we do not become kinder humans and strive to make this world a better place, we have failed. If we do not heed this lesson in humility and understand that everything, every single thing that takes up space in our life - every social construct, every driving force, every tangible and intangible thing we hold dear - means nothing, that it can all be derailed with the snap of a finger, then we have learnt nothing.

I pray for everyone who has their lost their life to this pandemic, and everyone who is giving their life for it. I pray we finally find ourselves guided; that we wake up to a world that is infinitely more compassionate, empathetic and good. Maybe that's optimistic. But if this has taught us anything, it's that anything is possible. We find ourselves in the midst of a dystopian novel, an apocalyptic sci-fi film, not knowing when we'll reach the epilogue or when the end-credits will start to roll. We just have to keep going and keep the faith, and maybe one day, we'll look back on this and wonder at how it changed the course of the human race as we know it.

I'll write to you again in 30 days. I don't know what those 30 days hold, but I hope they are free from ill-health, despair and loss and instead filled will all the good you pray for and deserve. I won't be writing the Ramadan Journals this year; I've been hosting it for five years and, naturally, feel as though it has run its course. Though, of course, any other pieces that I am inspired to write will find their way on here. Meanwhile, sending you all lots of love and prayers and wishing you all a blessed, safe month to come.

Kauser x