Last third of Ramadan

As we have entered the last third of Ramadan, the heaviness this Ramadan brought has vanished and has been replaced by a new force of doing all possible. This Ramadan has been the most difficult so far of all the 19 years with late hours, my son also fasting and morning schoolruns.

Or maybe because since I have realised that life is not a creamy cake I had one Ramadan I was pregnant with severe iron deficiency so obviously I didn't fast, and last year Ramadan was in lockdown, and it was all about discovering how easy life could be...

But now here we are, with my adolescent complaining about Ramadan being a race with time with no time to relax and why Allah wants us to suffer and I know it's not the point but I also find it difficult to feel the sweetness of Ramadan like all the previous years. When I lived my life in a comfortable lukewarm lie - that was increasingly becoming uncomfortable and cold.

Then after "loss of lives, wealth and fruits" I found myself sitting with my childhood friends as the reality shocked us all: this world is not a walk in the park for anyone. You will surely suffer, and life is not like how we dreamed it while we were adolescents.

You will be neglected for years, used and abused and then left in the middle of nowhere, or conditioned to give up what's the most valuable thing and not to aim higher than your own fears, or continuously living in emotional and physical pain, or trapped in a set of self contradictory explanations, or told that any difficulty this world brings is a consequence of following your heart.

And you accept and serve your sentence. You get up every day and go out in the rain and wind, you fight with your utmost energy for those who depend on you, you go and never stop, never give up, no matter how scary and grey your surroundings are. You know this life is a constant fight and not a fairytale. You fight because this is the nature of things.

And then the last third of Ramadan comes. The nights when you can ask anything. Anything. 

And suddenly things make sense.

When we were young, we dreamed dreams and thought that's what life will be.

Then we hit hard ground and understood that we will not sit in a country villa in the south of France with my sisters in this life. It is just not the place for that.

This is not a resting place but a testing place.

But not the place of sentences either. Not even of useless suffering.

We are here to do something. And we can't wait to anyone to do it for us. If there's some help, it's fine, but not necessary. It's our life. We got to do the best of it. We got Allah. That's what's needed. Our love and trust in Him alone. He is the Only One who will surely treat our issues with due improvement and nothing is lost that's trusted to His care.

This is a new level of لا إله إلا الله. Not to expect people to treat you like family. Even if they are. Even if they make everyone believe they will. They will let you down. Just like Yasmin Mogahed and the vases. They will break. And by doing so, they break your heart too.

The heart is only for Allah. It should not break, so it has to be attached to the One Who won't break it for sure.

I understood that so far... But I felt lonely and cold. I still needed people but those I chose by mind hurt me unexplainable ways.

I felt like a zombie and no wonder why.

My soul was still in chains.

And without soul, with broken heart one is a zombie.

My heart, my trust, my dependence is totally for Allah. I don't expect anyone to solve my problems but Him.

And my soul is free, I'm freeing it, caring for it step by step, healing its wounds. It's sitting still at the shore, having survived the shipwreck. Is just alive. Breathing.

One day it will be the leader. And now it's ready to explore the world.