Eidee

When I was a kid growing up, the best thing about Ramadan was the prospect of Eid. Aside from all the food, which I’ll touch on another day, we had in our family the brilliant tradition of Eidee, which is basically when your aunties and uncles all bribe you with CASH-MONEY to visit their homes. Seriously, the deal was:

1. Wear nice clothes
2. Eat loads of dessert
3. Get loads of CASH-MONEY
4. Listen to boring small-talk.

Now one of these is clearly not like the others, but in the scheme of things, I think as kids we all understood that the deal on the table getting was a pretty good one.

Being a little older now, and aside from the odd enthusiastic aunt or uncle who makes it awkward by trying to hand you a fiver, I’ve pretty much outgrown Eidee. At the same time, being single, for reasons unbeknownst to me, somehow exempts me from giving Eidee in the Unwritten Rules, which is a brilliant vindication of my lifestyle.

In my immediate family, we’ve exchanged gifts on Eid, which is a problem given we’re multiplying like bunnies. We’re running a Secret Santa scheme for the last couple years to address this, and it’s been brilliant. I can’t say whom I’ve got, but they’re going to be dead chuffed.

Peace. x

I'm not dead!

It’s easy to forget how draining it is to fast. The first couple days often breeze by in a rush of excitement and adrenaline. By mid-month though, when you come to the realisation that you’re only half-way through, the waking up, the staying up, the going hungry, all starts to bear a little heavier.

I offer this mainly as an apology for the absenteeism from blogging. The plan was to blog regularly. Hopefully over the next two weeks or so, the last fortnight of Ramadan, I can pick it up and make a better go of it.

To bring you up to speed then, let me assure everyone that no, I’ve not been away rioting. I suspect that given Ramadan, not many Muslims have been involved in any of that, at least not in committing the rioting, in any case. If there were, a lot more Chicken Cottages would’ve been looted, I bet. I’m sure there’s lessons to be learnt from all of this, but for me, the image of Tariq Jahan, whose son Haroon was killed defending his community, patient and stoic in the face of tragedy and media attention, has been inspiring.

Oh, and I'm flogging a load of trainers, at bargain prices.  Left shoe only, mind.

FAIL

I’ve begun to notice that towards the end of a fast, especially these longer ones, I tend to get a little irritable. If you’re one to speak too loud, spout nonsense, if you have personal hygiene issues, if you stand too close when you talk, if you think Michael Bay films are good, JJ Abram films are bad, or are just generally wrong, it’s quite possible that during the later hours of the days of August, I’m quietly looking for your devil horns. This isn’t to say that you’re not a douche, but that my general douchery tolerance threshold is much lower than your current douchiness output.

I say this not to have a go, unless of course you deserve it, in which case I do. But if you did deserve it, you’re probably a big enough douche to not realise it. So, to be safe, I would assume that you are, and that this is for you.

But I digress, I’m irritable after all (see above for details). Which might go someways to explaining my epic fast FAIL the other night.

I was with a friend at the station, going to grab a bite, the time being close to iftar and all. The tube pulls up, and despite my mate moving to let him off the carriage, this dude quite deliberately shoulder barges her out of his way.

Now I'm usually kind of mellow; the closest I’ve gotten to a fight in recent memory is to stand gormlessly by as two groups of kids beat the tar out of one another in front of me: I practically pulled out a bag of popcorn. Be it because of hunger, or a feeling a light-headedness (I had, moments earlier, been singing The Logical Song in helium voice to the passengers of the southbound Jubilee line), but before I know it, I’m shoving this guy back and getting in his face, now red-with-shame. Had my fellow passengers not pulled me back into the carriage, it would’ve ended in blows, though not particularly dangerous ones, given my given my state of exhaustion.

I say all this because fasting shouldn’t just about going hungry for a few hours. Something I want to be able to take away from this month is how to be patient and disciplined. Beating up on a dude really isn’t part of the plan, and it isn’t much of an excuse to say he deserved it. I came pretty close, and it may well be that what I did do is technically within the rules of fasting, but in my mind, I screwed up, and right at the finish line, to make things worse. That Ramadan has a lot to teach me is evident, and perhaps a little comforting that I’ve still a lot to learn.

Peace. x

Day 1: Go!

2200: It begins! With sunset being the commencement of the month of Ramadan, it starts for me with a rushed drive from my folks, bringing back some some majorly vital foodage (thanks Mum). Couple hours late, but I'm home and all set - time to get my game-face on.

2300: I kick off with the Taraweeh, night-prayers offered exclusively during this month. Sometimes I go to a mosque, but running late tonight, I perform them at home. I don’t offer prayers regularly, and doesn’t normally cross my mind. So, if nothing else, I’m hoping to get a little prayer routine going, and try to get a better understanding of what it is that comprises my worship.

In this spirit, I offer my prayers in a somewhat unorthodox manner, following and reciting with the help of my iQuran app (with a number of reciters and an English translation function). It’s a little tricky to get the nuances of Arabic pronunciation, and not knowing much Arabic, it's good to get a sense of what it was that I was praying. I’ve seen a few people in mosque do something similar with these tiny pocket Qurans; the iPhone seems like a natural progression. God bless Steve Jobs!

2330: I’ve a big decision ahead, so tonight, I put a little extra in by way of prayer, a couple rakah of Salaat-ul-Istikhaarah, which is a prayer for guidance, and placing your trust in Allah. It’s not a regular one, so I need a little assistance from the good folks at YouTube to get it right.

That done, it’s time for bed - I’m to get an hour or so of sleep before suhoor, and some awesome pre-dawn treats - Gu chocolate pudding anyone? :-)

0200: Not a wink; possibly the large quantities of iced coffee consumed yesterday, possibly just anxious about the fasting. Urgh.

0230: Didn’t sleep, so isn’t much of a chore to get up. On the menu today is... toast, cereal, pudding. Would’ve improvised something with the egg in my fridge, but really can’t be bothered with the washing up. Must remember to brush teeth, it’s worryingly easy to forget in all the excitement. Better get the anti-histamines in too, or I might end up a snotty puddle by the end of the day.

0330: Time for Fajr. Damn it, I forgot my pudding. Too late.

1200: Glorious weather. Getting into work a little late today, which isn’t a great way to kick things off. The sleep after Fajr is usually a good ‘un, though it’s altogether a little too easy to miss your alarm. It didn’t help that I’ve not had any sleep beforehand. Nonetheless, feeling fresh and totally psyched. Reading a little Quran on my phone, the Husary recitation is pretty sweet on my Beats. Not sure what the sister on the train was making of it all though :-S

1500: Birthday treats at the office. I can hear someone behind me chewing on a MASSIVE bit of cookie. If he was any louder, I might just have to squish it and pour it down his throat for him.

1720: Momentary lapse into clockwatching. Back on it now though. Missed Zuhr too, so a bit of catching-up to do when I get back home. Might need to change my routine to include a bigger lunch-break.

1740: My brain is starting to feel a bit cotton-woolly. Properly gassy too, looking forward to getting home and unburdening myself of this load.

1847: Missed my train, due to some slow-bro at the Tesco check out. Must. Show. Restraint. And. Surpress. Hulk. Rage. ARGH!

2000: Your sense of smell seems to heighten towards the end of the fast, and for me on the train back home, this means I can smell the increasingly ill state of the carriage's chemical loo. Some randomer seems to check me out, I pretend not to notice and look into the middle-distance. Pretty pleased with myself, I shut my eyes; I'm within napping distance of the finish line.

Squeaky bum time on getting back: catching up on Zuhr/Asr, getting some washing going, sorting groceries and putting those pies in the oven. All done, all that's left is the smell of my dinner cooking. Definitely the toughest part of the day.

2130: Dinner time over, three mains and fresh fruit later, and my stomach is taut. Probably because it's the point of this whole exercise, I feel a little more grateful for the food I gorge on than even a day ago. Whilst I buzz on the endorphins coursing through me, it's probably right that I remember that not everyone gets to break their fast as I do.

Well, that's all for today, folks. Gonna roll around on my stomach in a food induced stupor and see if I can't help Mother Nature along. I'll continue to post throughout the month, though perhaps not everyday, and certainly not just to give you a play-by-play of everything I did, so do stay tuned.

Peace. x