#19. Ramadan 2025

A bridge between what has gone by and what is yet to come.

There’s something about Ramadan starting on Day 1 of the Gregorian calendar. 1st March meant 1st Roja, 10th March marked the 10th fasting day….and so on and so forth. Until of course the crescent moon appeared on the 29th of the month, breaking the dual pattern. As I type this on the eve of Eid, dried mehendi bits flying off my palms and settling into the crevices of my keyboard, I can sense a bittersweet feeling lingering in the cool London air. Just as quickly as it came, Ramadan 2025 has said its goodbye, slipping off into the darkness of the night.

This year, I have had the profound realisation that my Ramadan is changing shape. A lot of it is connected to my current coordinates on the motherhood map. Both my kids have reached an age where they sleep through the night Alhamdulillah. This means more uninterrupted hours for me to shapeshift into a nocturnal owl. They are not waking up with the alarm at Seheri or Fajr – well, not every night anyway. 6pm iftars meant that the kids were sprightly enough at Maghrib to join us. They were very curious about the iftar items that we laid out on the dinner table and excitedly tried out the chilli free piyajus I made specially for them. We went jilapi shopping at Whitechapel and downed copious amounts of ‘pink milk’ (our fancy name for diluted Roohafza). My 6 year old contemplated keeping partial fasts and even though it didn’t happen this year, I love the fact that he showed interest. He has started reciting the Quran, encouraging his little brother to pick up bits and bobs of Arabic. In the evenings, we huddled together to watch foodie reels as I sipped on my post Iftar cuppa. My saved folder is bursting at the seams with keema pasta videos because my kids want me to save every other cooking recipe. For the very first time, Ramadan has felt like a family affair in our household, and it’s been wonderful.

Just as the seasons of our life changes over time, so does the way we experience Ramadan. As a perpetually homesick immigrant, I spent the first decade of my UK life obsessing over my Dhaka rituals. The next 6 years revolved around the highs and lows of motherhood, with pregnancies, breastfeeding and mothering either keeping me from fasting or forcing me to live in survival mode. While I appreciated my role as a mother being one of the highest forms of ibadah, the isolation was still very hard to accept. Not being able to engage with the spiritual acts that had held so much meaning for me throughout my existence made me feel out of the Ramadan loop. I yearned for community and connection beyond the tiredness and limitations of parenting young kids.

So when I felt a definite shift in my mood this year, it took me by surprise. I realised that I was no longer obsessing over the Ramadans gone by nor lamenting over motherhood getting in the way of my spiritual aspirations. Maybe because I was lucky enough to spend Ramadan and Eid 2024 at home and have had my fill. Maybe because I have reached a sweet spot in the parenting journey where my kids aren’t so young that they need constant attention at night (its definitely still full on during the day) nor old enough to fast (I imagine fasting children adding new logistics and challenges).

But deep down, I think the real reason I interacted differently with Ramadan this year was because I was desperate. Desperate for spiritual connection. Desperate to heal from deep internal wounds. That intense need took precedence over everything else. I wasn’t fussed about the food and the decor as much as I tend to be. I yearned for the quiet stillness of Ramadan nights - that post evening window when my tummy is full, my kids are tucked in bed, and I have just woken up from a restorative nap. I light my candles, banishing the lingering smell of fried piyajus clinging doggedly to the night air. I pray Isha and Taraweeh. It’s only 8 rakaats but I am determined to not let go. There is so much peace and joy in this special pocket of time. Even when my limbs get progressively heavier as the month proceeds, they drag me purposefully to the prayer mat. Eager for redemption, for forgiveness, for ease.

I read somewhere that while Ramadan is a community affair, it is, at it’s heart, a personal one. I couldn’t agree more. A certain level of seclusion is required for us to sift through our thoughts to hone in on what’s truly important. To reflect, offload our burdens, cry, thank, beg for His mercy. It is when our minds are emptied of worldly thoughts and engagements that we can truly dip into our soul. I love being suspended in that spiritual high, while sipping on my chia-seed infused water. Staying hydrated remains a non-negotiable to survive the month.

I love myself in Ramadan mode. It’s arguably not my most efficient mode. But to watch yourself go about your daily life without your morning coffee, to exercise discipline and self-control that many cannot even think of attempting, and continue to do so for 29/30 days, to be mindful about what you consume not just in terms of food and drink, but online content and the company you surround yourself with – these are no ordinary acts. It is a powerful reminder of exactly how much you are capable of.

I may not bag an A star for my worship this Ramadan, but whatever I did manage to do still feels extraordinary to me. I did not offer all 20 rakaats of Taraweeh. Just making it to Jummah meant postponing important Teams calls and taking time off work. I found myself wistfully scrolling through IG watching people spending their evenings at the mosque. But the mental bandwidth and physical energy that I was afforded this Ramadan were woefully absent in the years prior. And acknowledging that shift has helped me immensely to cherish each and every act of ibadah.

Ramadan 2025 has felt like a bridge between the past 16 years of feeling lost in a new country as an immigrant and a new mom, and a brand new season of life ahead In Sha Allah. It makes me feel hopeful. At 35, I have entered Phase 2 of Ramadan’s 33 year cycle. A part of my heart will forever seek out the love and light of Ramadan Phase 1 in my Ammu’s home. I never want to lose that longing because it is the bedrock of my origin story. It encapsulates a bond that I will forever share with my sisters no matter where life takes us. But I have finally found a certain sweetness in the seclusion of my Ramadans as an immigrant mom in a country far from home. Where striving harder to hold on to my deen has lead me to appreciating it a great deal more. I have started viewing the loneliness as a gift that enables me to make the most of this blessed month.

This Ramadan, I was earnest in my quest for Laylatul Qadr. Diligent in my Tahajjud prayers, something that I am fairly new to. I know I did not do as much worship as I could have, but I also could not help but marvel at how much of an upgrade it has been since last year. I have completed a whole year of wearing the hijab. I have taken on Quran lessons to brush up on my Arabic with a goal to achieve a state of finesse that will allow me to do khatams for future Ramadans, In Sha Allah. I have been the neediest in my duas, appreciating, once again, the transformative power of trials to bring us closer to Allah. I can only hope that I can carry forward these habits into the remainder of the year. I hope I live to see Ramadan 2026.

Ya Allah, accept our fasting and prayers, free us from the Fire and make Ramadan a witness for us, not against us; do not make this our last Ramadan and grant us many more Ramadans in the future.

"O Allah, You are the Most Merciful and Compassionate. We beseech You to grant peace, safety, and justice to the people of Palestine and to all those who are oppressed. Grant them strength to endure hardship and victory over their oppressors. May You heal the wounded, comfort the grieving, and bring an end to suffering. Ameen."

Eid Mubarak to you and yours!
Love,
Samira