Sunsets, Stomach Aches and Spiritual Glow Ups: A Ramadan Diary

Ronia Ibrahim (she/her)

Day 1 

It’s 4:45 a.m., and you’re awoken by the traumatic hollering of the iPhone radar alarm tone. It’s Suhur time—the pre-sunrise, premature ‘breakfast’, your first meal before you fast for the rest of the day. 

Suhur isn’t compulsory, but it’s considered a highly blessed time to spend in reflection, prayer, and remembrance of God (and it at least gives you a bit of fuel for the rest of the day).

You remind yourself that there is blessing in the grogginess, the familiar disassociation, as you sit at the table, or watch your dad over the stove, staring blankly at an egg in a pan. 

In about 45 minutes it’ll be Fajr (the dawn prayer), which signals the end of Suhur and the beginning of the fast. Today will feel ordinary for everyone else, but for you, it will be a day of the beginning of a journey of reflection, spiritual awareness, and stomach rumbles. As you take your last swig of water, you prepare yourself for all the challenges, blessings, questions, migraines, and moments of peace. This is your life now, for the next month.

Day 2 

It should be made clear that: 1. we don’t fast the entire month—rather dawn to dusk every day for the month, and  2. Yes, even water. 

For those who are unfamiliar with what fasting is, it is “willfully abstaining from food and drink”. In Islam, fasting is one of the five pillars of faith—the expected duty of every Muslim. Every year on the Islamic month of Ramadan, Muslims abstain from food, water, and sex, and increase their focus towards spiritual reflection and acts of worship, including prayer, reading the Qur’an, giving charity and abstaining from generally not-so-good things like gossip, swearing, and smoking. Fasting and its spiritual contexts aren’t limited to Islam of course, with many faiths practicing some form of it such as Christianinity, Judaism and Buddhism, among many others. 

It’s a strange experience, as a Muslim living in the West, to go about daily life in a society that continues its business as normal. The world moves on, despite your migraines and parched tongue. While there’s the feeling of isolation, there’s also the feeling of secret comfort. It’s a private act of faith, and reminds me of my connection to something greater. In my creative writing course, I watch the entire class sip wine and eat crackers and fancy cheese. I sit and smile and say “oh no its ok”, and to be honest it is, not just because I’m dairy intolerant, but because that’s what Ramadan is anyway.

Day 3

Admittedly, I have tended to dread Ramadan every year. Because it’s a month of intense worship and reflection, there’s often an expectation that one should go through a ‘spiritual glow-up’, and by the end of the month, one should feel equipped with a peak level of faith to keep you going for the rest of the year. 

For someone who already is a chronic overachiever, Ramadan presents itself with heightened anxiety, with the pressure to feel at the top of your religious game for a whole month.

Many of us set routines or goals of what we’d like to achieve by the end of the month, like completing the whole Qur’an, praying on time, or giving a certain amount of charity everyday. This year I feel lost on what my regiment will be.

“O you who have believed, decreed upon you is fasting as it was decreed upon those before you that you may become righteous” - Qur’an (2:183).

Fasting isn’t just about restraining ourselves from our desires, but also redirecting us to our sense of purpose. For the believer, it tests our connection with God. It reminds us of the existence of our wairua, and what we believe in. It’s a physical expression of faith and submission. Wholeheartedly believing in something. 

This year, I tell myself to not fixate on righteousness per say, but the way towards it: the becoming. 

Day 4

Iftar is the breaking of the fast which happens at dusk, at the time of Maghrib prayer. FIANZ (The Federation of Islamic Associations of New Zealand) releases an official Ramadan timetable every year, which features all the start and end times of our fasts everyday. So, if for some reason you need to know when the sun sets on any day during this month, ask a Muslim—we know when it is, up to the last minute. 

Today, I’ve invited the VicMuslims Exec to my flat to share iftar. My Dad and I have been cooking and prepping for a few days prior, because we’ve got a tiny kitchen but a big appetite for hospitality (and biryani). We meticulously plan a bengali banquet—ironically, or perhaps unironically, our day is filled with the thought of food, in all its potato, onion, and cardamom glory.

As dusk draws near, I lay out a blanket onto the carpet of our tiny living room. I hop about, laying out spoons, plates, and cups. This has only been our home for four months, so we are utilising our entire drawer of cutlery and mishmash of mugs. Nine people arrive, and we all squeeze into the living room of this two-bedroom apartment. When it’s time, we pass dates around (dates are recommended to break your fast) and taste that first sharp sweetness of nourishment, and for a while we are silent, grateful, hungry, satisfied.

The rest of the night is slightly chaotic, but wholesome. We keep washing dishes because the ratio of people to plates is askew. Someone accidentally knocks over a cup of kombucha. My knees hurt, and the room is stuffy with voices. But it is warm and it is full. I am so grateful to be able to feel the spirit of Ramadan, and to share my faith and food with wonderful people. 

Day 5

Note to self, after iftar, drink water constantly, (pee constantly). Load up with all the hydration for the next day, because arguably, thirst is worse than hunger. Also, put some effort into your suhur—you know you’re going to regret only nibbling a piece of toast when it’s 9 a.m. and you’re already feeling ravenous. 

Google says think protein; slow energy releasing foods like oats and yoghurt, which are supposed to fill you up for longer. I try to make myself some porridge and an egg on the side. Despite this, it is 9.28 a.m. and my stomach is roaring. For those going through coffee withdrawals, I am sorry, I have no advice as I don’t drink it. I can only wish you luck for the chronic migraines and fatigue.

It’s getting a bit hard. If you are someone that menstruates, you don’t have to fast during your period, so I’m keeping a very close eye on my tracker app (Clue for the win!!) and counting down the days til my week of hunger is replaced by an alternative form of internal unrest. 

Others exempt from fasting include pregnant/breastfeeding women, as well as anyone where fasting could have adverse effects on you. This could be people who are sick, those who need to take regular medication, those with mental illnesses. You’re also exempted from fasting if you are travelling due to the exhausting nature of the act.

For those who can’t fast, it can feel like a lot of FOMO, as it seems like you’re missing out on the blessings the month provides. Even if you don’t achieve your Ramadan goals, or come out on Eid with your spiritual glow up, I hope you get to at least taste the sweetness of faith that is abundant in this month. May you remember what it feels like to submit to a faith that was never about taking away, but always giving, growth, and goodness.

Day 6

This Ramadan, my friend Khadro and I are doing a “Ramadan poetry challenge” where we both write a poem every night of Ramadan, shaped by our experience during the month. I’ve never really written much about my faith before, because I’ve always hesitated about appearing preachy or “delusional”. I’m afraid of making people uncomfortable, but also am aware of the challenge of talking about a religion that is still really unfamiliar to people, but so integral to who I am. 

I’ve attached one of my poems from this project. There’s references in it, and this article, that a lot of people might not get. This diary only represents a vignette into a very particular person’s experience of Ramadan. It doesn’t begin to capture the endless beauty and richness of the month. And that’s ok. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to put it into words.

Day 7

I wake up and am immediately hungry

So I loiter in the kitchen which is nothing but

feijoa shells funkying up the compost bin

with a sulk, I go for a cheeky new world run   (where are the tote bags?)

podcast on instead of Taylor Swift, while I search for the perfect eggplant

then hauling home

shuffling my dry lips

and tired eyes reading leftover whatsapp messages

last night’s mubarak still lingering except

(it’s not raining today)                       instead it’s

Sloshing in my mouth and dripping off my eyelashes it’s

Prayer

Thinking about that roti in the fridge

was that ?

                                        the third or fourth or

Arabic or apologies tumbling off my tongue

Trying to churn out prose

Then reading an essay on the English language like

questioning my intention

Wondering if I’m done for

George Orwell can shut up                             So I shut up               

into the covers so only

                    Mishary al Afasy

Can play in my ear while I nap

while I have half-dreams                       with stories of Moses in the background

waking up to golden hour tickling my forehead

which hurts with a dull, foodless ache

one lonely

bismillah

sitting at the table

3 wrinkled dates in the cup of my hand

The hum of a fridge.

5:58 p.m.