Oh no you're fasting! I'm so sorry," is a common remark that greets me upon initial encounters with my well-wishing non-Muslim friends as the month of Ramadan begins. I am the object of pity and sympathy. A miserable soul who actually gives up food and drink for no fathomable reason. I can understand why giving up food and drink for 12 hours each day for 30 days may appear to be a sort of sadistic, self-induced torture, especially amidst our society's megalomania with constantly gratifying our taste buds. Yet it's a torture I embrace with eagerness. Ramadan is the month that I wouldn't hesitate to say I and most Muslims I know look forward to in honest eagerness. Once again Ramadan has proven to be the one time of year I get together each morning and each evening with a whole bunch of Muslims. Together we indulge in and even enhance a shared sense of spirituality.
After waking up -- though I admit laziness overcomes us all occasionally -- an hour or so before sunrise, fasting Muslims typically have suhoor (breakfast before sunrise) together. Next, praying in congregation following the adhaan, or call to prayer, weaves a uniquely close bond with other University Muslims that I haven't typically found through other outlets around Grounds.
The best part, or at least perhaps a personal romanticized favorite, is the idea of being invited each morning to witness the sunrise on the horizon to initiate the day. It's actually pretty surprising to find that a lot of Muslims feel even more energized throughout the day while fasting as opposed to any other day. With eyelids growing heavier unexpectedly early on in the evening, there's a willingness to end the day soon after the breaking of the fast.
So what exactly is fasting? It isn't just about depriving one's sense of taste, for denying oneself the material gratification of food isn't as hard as is imagined. The idea goes far beyond that. To me, it offers a means of striving to go by each day realizing and embracing one's own heightened sense of existence and being. And in turn, to be grateful to be living and breathing in the world as we do. By "heightened," I mean that when one deprives oneself of any of the five senses (taste in this case), other senses are automatically heightened and one treads the earth a little more cautiously aware of being human -- a little more humbly.
It's almost like a daily epiphany revealing that, while I might love to unwittingly go by each day believing that I "rule" my own life, my incapacity to properly function without food and drink seems to suggest otherwise. All sense of such alleged sovereignty over my body becomes questionable.
This "outer purification," if you will, goes hand in hand though with an inner one, as one tries not only to fight the desire to eat but also attempts to exert as much of a positive and dignified character as human beings really are capable of exercising. Patience becomes one's best friend as restlessness and anger are consciously tamed.
All of this adds a refreshing addition to the typical college routine, with its whole new dimension of deeper appreciation and sensitivity to one's self and others. It all comes together after a full day of classes, work and meetings, when I make my way toward the Charlottesville Mosque, which is located right off the Corner, to break my fast, together with a sizable number of other college students.
Each year, the Charlottesville Muslim community graciously offers to provide students with either home-cooked or catered Middle Eastern or South Asian cuisine at the Mosque, healing up that unhappy scar that dining hall meals have seemed to forever engrave on one's stomach. As sunset kicks in and I bite into that date, I realize just how utterly juicy and delectable dates are. Actually, they taste better than any meal I've had in a long time. Sure enough, everyone seems to be sharing in this indulgence.
It's true I think, as a member of the community remarked just this past Friday, Ramadan really is like having Thanksgiving every day for 30 days. You come together with food, share it and give thanks to God for providing for you. The 12 hours of misery become welcome windows for gratitude and reflection.
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