To me, 15 years ago,

I know you’re getting ready for your first Ramadhan when you will fast for the entire month. You’ve spent years learning, and fasting for part of the month, enjoying the time with your family, those pre-dawn meals, and post-dusk iftars. It was supposed to be last year that you fasted the entire month of Ramadhan, but then you were sick for the entirety of the month and left heartbroken. I know you’re a bit nervous, but you’re excited. You’re thinking of all the samosas you’re going to eat that night, how you’ll go to the masjid and see all your friends, how you’re going to collect so much eidi at the end of the month. You’re scared, you’re excited, you’re already dehydrated and it’s only been 10 minutes. This will be your routine for so many years and you’ll love it. 

It’s always been your favorite month and it always will be. But you won’t truly understand what Ramadhan is until much later.

I want to tell you now, that we did the thing. We finally moved out of the suburbs of Atlanta to a big city. Chicago! Skyscrapers, trains, and so many people everywhere. At least that was the expectation. But you moved during a global pandemic and everything is closed. It is you, alone, in your apartment for days at a time doing homework and struggling to keep up with your classes. On the rare occasion you have a free weekend, it is you wandering the city alone, amidst the cold, grey, steel pillars that create the mausoleum where you live. You don’t know anyone in this city. Not one soul. You go days without uttering a word because there is no one to talk to. And then it’s Ramadhan. You go through the same cycle, preparing your suhoor, and eating iftar. 

Hungry and thirsty all day, you finally realize something. There’s no one checking up on you. There’s no family, no friends. So why are you starving yourself?

That’s the first time you really feel it. The seed of iman in you. The first time you decide you are Muslim and actually want to practice for that is what is commanded of you by your creator, not simply because you were blessed enough to be born into a Muslim family. 

That is when you begin to understand Taqwa. That Ramadhan, which started so lonely for you, became the most transformative, most blessed Ramadhan of your life. That Ramadhan, you finally became a Muslim. 

You begin to practice more and it is so difficult at first, but you keep going until it becomes a habit. You manage to find a masjid that’s still open and you decide to go there. It takes three buses and over an hour each way to get there and the whole time you are nervous, not sure what you’ll expect. It’s your first time in a masjid in over a year since the pandemic started. Luckily for you, that masjid is Ta’leef.

You enter the masjid and instantly, you are home. The people are so welcoming and so kind. Within 10 minutes, you’re in three group chats and have five iftar invitations. You experience love and compassion at a level you have never experienced from strangers and you are told this is Islam. This is the example set by our Prophet (SAW). For the first time you have a community you’re actually a part of. People who check on you when you miss an iftar or jummah, who call you up just to say ‘hi.‘ Fast forward five years, and you’re back in Atlanta. This barren, cold place you couldn’t wait to get away from. But you’ve spent years here and through some effort, it has flourished into a community you couldn’t have imagined being a part of before. It’s not at your old masjid, where your family goes, and that’s a bit sad. You go to different mosques and different spaces, but you feel so much more content. You are so happy here. But now, you’re getting ready to maybe leave again. Back to Chicago, or maybe somewhere new. This time, however, you carry with you the seed that you know that you’re never really alone. Most of all though, you know that one simple phrase can help you find community and belonging wherever you go. 

ٱلسَّلَامُ عَلَيْكُمْ