Mas Elizawati Mohd Ali
Ramadan is upon us again this year. Every year when Ramadan comes and graces us with its presence, my heart swells with both gladness and sadness. Glad that I am fortunate enough to see another beautiful holy month full with its spiritual goodness, and sad because it will soon be gone when another crescent moon is sighted in the sky. Yet, for the most part, I look forward to reap the bounties which Ramadan has to offer all of us.
My most memorable Ramadan as a child was when I followed my next door neighbour’s family for terawih prayers in a masjid further away from home. Now, I can barely remember where it was located, but I can never forget the distinctive smell of the spacious van and the wind blowing through our telekungs as we whizzed our way there and back again. Luckily, my sisters and I grew up with friends-slash-neighbours close to our age, which in a way, tremendously helped to strengthen a religious facet in our lives. Moreover, learning to recite and ‘khatam’ the Quran from these Ustaz and Ustazah neighbours was a boon for us.
When I went to a boarding school at the age of 16, Ramadan was well spent eating routinely en masse and praying in congregation led by an astute female senior, well-versed in Islamic teachings. Of course, I was more than happy to spend the final days of Ramadan at home, replete with favourite home-cooked dishes and surrounded by loved ones, either in the form of humans or felines. Making Raya biscuits and cakes with my late mom during the daytime until close to the azan call of Maghrib, still remains fresh in my mind. The inviting smell of homemade serunding, kuah kacang, rendang daging and ayam percik wafting through the house is also synonymous with the selfless toils of a person whom I am proud to call my mother.
When I was abroad for my tertiary studies, Ramadan became a lesson in solitude as I trudged to lecture halls despite the hunger pangs and late night revisions. Alhamdulillah for Ramadan coincided with short, daytime wintry days during my collegiate stay, thus making the transition easier to handle. I vividly remember plodding through knee-deep snow in the eerily silence of the mornings. Occasionally, there were trips to the Malaysian consulate’s house in a different county, for iftar gatherings and subsequent Eid celebrations. At these events, I felt happy being able to reunite and catch up with friends who had attended other universities.
After coming back to Malaysia, I was more than elated to resume the nightly tradition and rejoin the Masjid congregation for Isya’, terawih and witr. 20 odd years later, I cannot believe the amount of energy that I have back then. To be able to stand in prayers for an almost two-hour duration is a remarkable feat, which my current old, achy joints can never comprehend. For me, that indescribable feeling of serenity and emotional connection when you face your Lord in such hallowed spaces, is something that is worth replicating time and again. I am blessed to live near a musalla or a masjid that is within walking distance.
After marriage, Ramadan as a new and inexperienced mother came with its own set of challenges. While I longed for a semblance of routine which I was accustomed to during this holy month, I knew my priorities lay on attending to my new responsibility and amanah. I gradually learned not to beat myself too hard and took my uncharted, maternal journey in strides. I also began to accept that I could be tired but still embrace the Ramadan goodness in whichever manner befitting my energy level. Reading the Quran as much as I could, for instance, was one of the ways to engage in good, lasting deeds.
Later on, as my children grew older and could fend for themselves, I found doing the supererogatory prayers alone at home to be more practical and fuss-free. I still missed going to the masjid for the salahs yet understood that bringing the kids there wouldn’t be great for my concentration and anxiety. Very infrequently however, I was able to step inside the masjid or musalla when someone else willingly took over the helm and cared for the children at home.
Nowadays, with age slowly approaching 50 and having to work again to support my children, it is safe to say that my energy level is not at its optimum. In spite of that, I plan to strive the best I can muster to gain the overflowing benefits of this special month. As usual, terawih alone at home is more conducive for my packed schedule. Like before, I do miss the jamaah version of terawih and might head over to the nearest masjid to experience that closeness again.
Even though life in general has its ups and downs, I believe that Ramadan is the right time to take stock of our daily struggles and to pause and reflect on our countless blessings. Through a spate of recollections over the years, I gather strength from the spiritual high during Ramadan and its ripple effects on the various areas of my life, post-Ramadan. Let’s indulge ourselves in daily Adhkār, charitable works and seeking Allah’s forgiveness in these remaining three weeks of Ramadan. Ramadan Mubarak, my fellow Muslim readers!
