I feel as if I am in a vacuum where time is racing past me and I have lost complete sight of it. Is it really already Ramadan?
The first fast is always a little hard for me. I'm afraid I have made my body too used to ingesting food all the time.
I am feeling a little fatigued so I shall let Dreamer take over:
Well, hello! Ramadan Kareem!
One thing I love about Ramadan is that it is so universal. Even though we may not realize it, it arouses a connection to the entire Ummah. Right now, Muslims all over the world are fasting, or are ready to start their fast (Suhoor) or are breaking their fast (Iftaar). Subhan'Allah.
What does disappoint me, however, is that not all of us have started Ramadan on the same day. Here in North America, it was reported that no moon was sighted the night of Tuesday. Yet, there are many people who still started fasting the very next day. How come?
The debate concerns the traditional method versus the technological method, or so I think. According to hadith,
Allah's Messenger (peace be upon him) said, "Observe fast on sighting it (the new moon) and break (fast) on sighting it (the new moon), but if the sky is cloudy for you, then complete the number (of thirty)."
Some argue that it is very necessary to have actually seen the moon rather than relying on scientific calculations. Tuesday night was not a cloudy night, but rather a clear sky. So, are we going to assume the moon was there because of satellite pictures and calculations? Or should we stick to more traditional methods and not declare Ramadan until the moon really has been sighted?
I believe both methods should be used in a combination to validate each other. However, in the situation that it conflicts with each other, as in the case this year, I think we should rely more heavily on whether the moon was really sighted or not.
What do you think?
I don't have the energy to ponder over this matter, Dreamer, because I'm dreaming of delicious spicy Tandoori chicken and cold lemonade with a burst of--
"MOM! Where did you put my basketball?!"
Oh, dear. Humza is at it again. I better go see what this is about.
I find him on the porch outside, beads of sweat on his forehead.
"I can't find it!" he yells in exasperation. "Mom always puts my things where I can't find it."
I touch his shoulder, and he stops talking to look at me. I'm not usually this nice to him. That is why he's giving a weird expression.
"Calm down. Mom is on the phone, but I'll help you find it."
It is amazing how suddenly things become better when the devil is chained. My usual self would have said, "You need to yell like you've been crushed by a car. Go and find it yourself."
We head downstairs to our storage room.
"Are you really going to play basketball right now?" I ask him, my stomach grumbling. We make our way towards the far left corner where Mom has kept all the sports equipment.
"Yea. It'll kill time," he says.
"And I've already checked there. It's not there."
I move my badminton racket and some bats to uncover what was below inside the large bin. "Knowing Mom and how organized she is, I'm pretty sure it's here."
"Why can't she just leave it outside?"
"She probably figured school is starting soon so you won't have time to play," I answer.
I remove Dad's cricket bat and smile. Humza takes it from me and starts examining it.
"Hey, I don't think Dad played cricket at all this summer."
"Yea, he's been too busy with work."
My hands move over the volleyball net, and I see that the basketball is stuck within its folds.
"Somebody didn't look hard enough," I muse.
"What? It's in that?" Humza asks.
We both lift the net and Humza reaches over to grab the basketball.
"I think you just didn't want to lift the entire net when you came looking for it."
Humza ignores me. Now that he's got his ball, he cannot focus on anything else.
"Hey," I tap him on the shoulder. "We'll be going to the masjid tonight for Taraweeh. Don't forget."
"Oh yea," he says. He only came with us several times last Ramadan.
"He's still young," Ammi would tell Abu when he insisted on taking Humza with us. "And he has to go to school as well the next day."
But now there was no excuse about school.
I turn to go back inside. About an hour left until Iftaar. As I was about to remove my shoes, Humza calls me.
"Come here," he motions to me.
Now what? I put my shoes back on and go near him. He's avoiding eye contact.
"What's the matter?" I ask him, curious now.
"I was...I was really thirsty a while ago," he says, looking down.
"And I biked over to Peter's house. We were going to go biking together. His mom handed both of us ice-cold water bottles."
I understand. My heart reaches for Humza and his innocence.
"And?" I ask, knowing what was to come.
"I...I didn't refuse," he says.
Sometimes, I really do forget how young Humza is, much younger than me.
"Hey, big guy. A little sip won't break your fast, unless if you did it on purpose. But, still. You're trying and that's what counts."
"But, I ruined it," he says in a frustrated tone. "For one water bottle, my whole fast doesn't count."
"Well, you don't know that. Only Allah does. And let it be a reminder for you the next time you're fasting," I explain to him. "Now, shoot some hoops and then come inside because we're a house of hungry people eager to grab a bite once the sun sets."
He nods. "Thanks Iman."
"No prob," I reply.
I go inside the house and decide to muster the energy I need to help Ammi in the kitchen.
"It's all about the good deeds," I pat my grumbling tummy and walk into the kitchen.
American Muslim Girl