The Eid Paradox.

You like to cook? Thank God, I like to eat.

Can I be honest about something? This Ramadan was a whirlwind for me that just settled right before Eid. I prayed, read Quran when I could, and mostly made dua before breaking my fast because after I get up from my sujud it’s just the close of my salat and I’m on to the next chore.

And it’s even worse in the last 24 hours. It may seem like the work has reduced because we decided that we may not make the fruit salad or pap since it’s the official last day. Then the hell of prepping for chin-chin (should our mum decide she’s not outsourcing this year) from dusk till dawn and even after you break your fast.

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My dear, by the time you’re done you’d have been covered in groundnut oil or whatever fatty acid you use to fry. There’s also flour all over you and if you’re like me, who eats as she’s frying—scary fact—it could be the dough and its final product (after I’ve broken my fast at least)—then you would’ve been sick to your stomach and looking like you’d be next in the pan because you’re covered in flour and so exhausted you’d think you were climbing Mount Kilimanjaro as you finished off with pouring samosas, spring rolls and chicken if you decide you might want to save money. But if we’re being honest, paying them to fry is close to the cost of the frozen foods.

I heard my dad read out a joke to my mum and I remember coming across it a few years back. It’s one of those unforgettable, unfortunate memes. It said: make money so your wife is making salad at the family gathering, not washing intestine. I’ve seen so many like that but you know what? For the first time in so many years I couldn’t find the joke funny.

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I don’t know why but I started arguing in my mind. Talking like I was giving a speech to an imaginary audience. I kept saying: why do any work at all? Can’t we all, as the wives in the family, join money and collectively outsource? Abi I’m just mad?

I can understand some people may not have the means. My dear, drop what you can. We will not suffer because we should want to chop onions instead of holding raw meat by a chopping block at a family gathering.

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Anyways, I didn’t feel connected to my Lord this Ramadan. Maybe it was my fault. I didn’t try hard enough. I also tried harder on some days. Then in the last 10 days I decided to buckle up even if that meant doing my Tahajjud at 04:33am and getting to read my Quran at 5:00am.

What I’m trying to say is there’s no structured approach to these things. If what you can do is 100 istighfars every day, go ahead. I’m not giving you a pass to not worship—far from it. And if you can’t do certain things, be honest with yourself. Ask: what is easy for me to do in small amounts of time? And if it’s not much, think of it as your half-full cup. When you’re ready to refill, you will do it well and in peace.

Let’s talk about Ramadan for a bit. In the middle of the month I felt left out because every vlog I came across involved someone watching an episode of Dr Omar Suleiman’s new series. Till date, I only know the one about the barzakh. I’m most drawn to it. Still, I never finished episode one. I guess life happened and when I remembered I felt I wasn’t doing enough. I didn’t finish the Quran and when I fell sick I could only return to my prayers because I wasn’t fasting on some days due to the height of my ailments.

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This was truly an experience. I want to be grateful for its results spiritually so that I might be content but I didn’t listen to any tafsir. I spent time on social media (which technically isn’t haram. I used it to listen to Quran to while away time or watch some short sermons after being stressed out from chores) but still, what makes Ramadan a true success?

I’d like to believe in some ways mine came with some blessings, albeit the road to it was hell. On the day of Eid, be happy. I want that more than anything and I want it for you too.

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