Tahira Fatima
Limited Member
- Messages
- 35
- Reaction score
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- Female
- Religion
- Islam
At the end of Ramadan, certain questions naturally awaken in the heart…
Like a traveler nearing their destination, unpacking their belongings and reflecting:
What did I gain? What did I lose? And what still remains?
How was this Ramadan?
It isn’t measured by how many fasts I kept (for those were obligatory),
But rather:
Now Ramadan is ending. And I find myself thinking.
No, I’m not thinking about what I did. I’m thinking about what I didn’t do.
Because maybe what I didn’t do teaches me more.
I didn’t complete the Quran.
I started in Sha’ban. I thought I would finish by Ramadan. Ramadan came. Ramadan passed. And I remained anchored at Surah Al-A’raf. The Quran wouldn’t let me move forward. Stopping, reflecting, then stopping again. This was the pattern.
Perhaps Allah wanted to show me something in Surah Al-A’raf that I would have missed in my haste.
I didn’t complete my long list of voluntary prayers.
In the beginning, there was such a long list. So many nawafil, Qiyam-ul-Layl, Tahajjud, Chasht, Ishraaq. But even in the odd nights of the last ten days, I couldn’t pray more than two.
Just two remained. Only two.
I didn’t complete my prayer journal.
There was a diary where I wanted to write a new prayer every day, in my own words. So many pages remained blank. Those days when words failed me, only tears remained. Those days when there was only silence in place of prayer.
Those blank pages are still there. I deliberately haven’t tried to fill them.
I couldn’t maintain my morning and evening adhkar consistently.
Sometimes I would recite the morning adhkar, sometimes they would slip away. The same with the evening. The tasbih of Istighfar was so beloved, but I couldn’t make it daily. I intended to send abundant salawat upon the Prophet ﷺ, but that remained unfinished too.
I wanted to visit relatives, but couldn’t.
I thought this Ramadan I would meet all those my heart longed for. I would call my friends. But Ramadan passed, and these intentions remained unfulfilled.
There were some relationships marked by bitterness. I thought I would heal them in Ramadan. But I couldn’t. The bitterness remains, just as it was.
I intended to distance myself from my phone, but couldn’t.
I thought I would completely abandon social media. But I couldn’t let go. Not every day, but now and then, I would still check. Read unnecessary news. Watch videos.
That precious time meant for Allah, slipped away on a screen.
I didn’t do all that I had planned.
But…
But there was one thing I did do.
Before Suhoor, in the stillness before dawn, I would wake up. I would pray two rak’ahs. Just two. Two rak’ahs of Tahajjud.
Those two rak’ahs became the most beautiful habit of this Ramadan. No noise, no show, just Allah and me. And that peace that words cannot capture.
Perhaps this is the real gift of Ramadan.
That we don’t become who we wanted to become. But who we do become is our reality. And Allah loves reality.
This Ramadan taught me something else:
I didn’t attain perfection… but I attained the desire for consistency.
My heart’s prayer has changed now.
It’s no longer:
O Allah, grant me the ability to do so much.
But rather:
O Allah, give me little… but give it to me always.
So, in short, was my Ramadan blessed?
I don’t know. But Ramadan was mercy. And mercy never ends.
Eid Mubarak
Like a traveler nearing their destination, unpacking their belongings and reflecting:
What did I gain? What did I lose? And what still remains?
How was this Ramadan?
It isn’t measured by how many fasts I kept (for those were obligatory),
But rather:
- How many times did my heart soften?
- How many times did my eyes overflow without warning?
- How many times, while reading the Quran, did I feel that it was speaking to me?
Now Ramadan is ending. And I find myself thinking.
No, I’m not thinking about what I did. I’m thinking about what I didn’t do.
Because maybe what I didn’t do teaches me more.
I didn’t complete the Quran.
I started in Sha’ban. I thought I would finish by Ramadan. Ramadan came. Ramadan passed. And I remained anchored at Surah Al-A’raf. The Quran wouldn’t let me move forward. Stopping, reflecting, then stopping again. This was the pattern.
Perhaps Allah wanted to show me something in Surah Al-A’raf that I would have missed in my haste.
I didn’t complete my long list of voluntary prayers.
In the beginning, there was such a long list. So many nawafil, Qiyam-ul-Layl, Tahajjud, Chasht, Ishraaq. But even in the odd nights of the last ten days, I couldn’t pray more than two.
Just two remained. Only two.
I didn’t complete my prayer journal.
There was a diary where I wanted to write a new prayer every day, in my own words. So many pages remained blank. Those days when words failed me, only tears remained. Those days when there was only silence in place of prayer.
Those blank pages are still there. I deliberately haven’t tried to fill them.
I couldn’t maintain my morning and evening adhkar consistently.
Sometimes I would recite the morning adhkar, sometimes they would slip away. The same with the evening. The tasbih of Istighfar was so beloved, but I couldn’t make it daily. I intended to send abundant salawat upon the Prophet ﷺ, but that remained unfinished too.
I wanted to visit relatives, but couldn’t.
I thought this Ramadan I would meet all those my heart longed for. I would call my friends. But Ramadan passed, and these intentions remained unfulfilled.
There were some relationships marked by bitterness. I thought I would heal them in Ramadan. But I couldn’t. The bitterness remains, just as it was.
I intended to distance myself from my phone, but couldn’t.
I thought I would completely abandon social media. But I couldn’t let go. Not every day, but now and then, I would still check. Read unnecessary news. Watch videos.
That precious time meant for Allah, slipped away on a screen.
I didn’t do all that I had planned.
But…
But there was one thing I did do.
Before Suhoor, in the stillness before dawn, I would wake up. I would pray two rak’ahs. Just two. Two rak’ahs of Tahajjud.
Those two rak’ahs became the most beautiful habit of this Ramadan. No noise, no show, just Allah and me. And that peace that words cannot capture.
Perhaps this is the real gift of Ramadan.
That we don’t become who we wanted to become. But who we do become is our reality. And Allah loves reality.
This Ramadan taught me something else:
I didn’t attain perfection… but I attained the desire for consistency.
My heart’s prayer has changed now.
It’s no longer:
O Allah, grant me the ability to do so much.
But rather:
O Allah, give me little… but give it to me always.
So, in short, was my Ramadan blessed?
I don’t know. But Ramadan was mercy. And mercy never ends.
Eid Mubarak
