I run past my grandmother like the wind, heading straight to the mosque without looking back. There’s a scent of genuine peace in the air. To my grandfather, who calls out “Slow down, my girl!” from behind, I hastily advise, “The imam won’t wait, grandpa, hurry up!” My grandfather, who has a slight discomfort in one foot, quickens his steps with his comfortable sandals.
When I arrive at the mosque, the pile of shoes at the entrance overwhelms me. I quickly enter and secure a spot for myself, reserving space for my grandmother and cousins as well. The excitement of the first Tarawih Prayer makes me restless. A few aunties come over and ask, “Whose daughter are you, my dear?” When I mention my mother’s name, their eyes light up, adding, “Send her our regards.”
My cousins and I run around in the mosque. No one gets upset; instead, they watch us with smiles, offering us Turkish delight and congratulating us on Ramadan.
My heart feels like it’s about to burst from excitement. The flutter inside me grows even more. We begin to perform the first Tarawih Prayer. In between, I get excited remembering my grandfather’s promise of ice cream. Including the Isha Prayer, we perform a total of 33 rakats. I feel like I could do another 33 rakats! We make prayers, and when my grandmother gets caught up in conversation, we start running around again. Playing tag, off the ground, catch…
After leaving the mosque, we rush to the neighborhood grocer. While we choose our ice creams, my grandparents catch up to us. We play games all the way home with our ice creams in hand. The aunts and uncles we meet on the way tell us, “Send your parents our regards.” We forget most of them by the time we get home. We all intend to stay up until Suhoor, but we’re quite sleepy. My mother insists on us sleeping, so we do. My grandfather wakes us up for Suhoor. The smell of scrambled eggs with vegetables fills the air. The excitement of the first Suhoor and fast is inside me. We perform our prayers and go back to bed.
In the morning, the flutter inside me won’t let me sleep. Since no one else is awake, I try to go back to sleep, but I can’t. When I see my cousin’s shadow at the door, I quietly dash outside. He couldn’t sleep either. We play games until everyone wakes up. We had been waiting all year for this time, and now everything is even more beautiful than we imagined. Once everyone is awake, my grandmother calls us for the Qur’an recitation. She has already intended to complete two recitations of the Qur’an for all of us, and it’s up to us to fulfill it. We read the Qur’an until the Dhuhr Prayer, never tiring of the tranquility. We go to the mosque for prayers. We play until the Asr Prayer. When my parents start cooking, I feel my hunger more acutely and ask, “Mom, why does God want us to stay hungry?” My mother answers my question with a gentle smile. Listening to her, I fall even more in love with her, feeling more connected. I feel the meaning of “Subhanallah” more deeply. My mother explains it so beautifully, I wonder what it would be like to feel the same way.
Iftar time arrives. I can’t overcome the excitement of having kept my first fast. I start with a date. Every bite I eat and every breath I take becomes an opportunity for gratitude. Once my stomach settles, the excitement for Tarawih begins. We perform the Maghrib Prayer and rush to the mosque without letting my grandfather finish his tea. I can’t find the words to describe my excitement. Thinking about the ice cream afterwards, we laugh with my cousins, saying, “The dream of tomorrow is enough for today.” I experience the peace of being in tranquility to the core. This time, I stay in the prayer phase, giving thanks to our Lord. I plead to Him with the heart language of a 10-year-old child.
Ramadan passes, and the sorrow of its departure fills our hearts. Prayers are made for the chance to meet it again next year. The flutter inside me now urges me to enter the next year with more piety. My inner flutter, my benevolent friend.
