Halfway There

15 Ramadhan, 1447

Older, but no wiser, here I am counting the days to ending the fast. More than a bit sad, really, especially when I know I am gaining so much, as always, from the experience, which is always the same and always different.

For example, as ever I feel at this stage of the month pretty much completely adjusted to the rhythms of the challenge; yet, unexpectedly, I zonked out majorly in the late afternoon in a sleep so deep I almost failed to rescue myself on the alarm I'd wisely set. I suspect I might not otherwise have surfaced until now.

Not exactly a role model, eh?

On The Way

14 Ramadhan, 1447

06.24

Just walked across to start the working day under a glorious almost full moon, accompanied by birdsong and the whirring of various furiously busy insects. The world getting underway. What's not to like, eh?

22.50

And now at the other end of the day. Dark out. Cloudy. The moon no longer visible. But, let's face it, you can't have everything, can you?

Stretched

13 Ramadhan, 1447

In some ways it's a good thing to be kept busy on a day of fasting. It helps the time pass at something close to normal speed and takes one's mind off one's basic appetites. But the utility of stretching oneself becomes doubtful when breaking point comes close. 

That didn't happen to me today, partly because I'm wary enough to know it could happen. Hope the same is true for other busy souls feeling stretched at this time.

What's Really Real

12 Ramadhan, 1447

Noi has driven up to Melaka with her chum Nosiah, to see family there. They'll have broken their fast in good company at Khalsom's Warong. So that's good.

Which leaves me home alone to break my fast. So not so good. But not so bad either. A flask of optimal teh tarik and a plateful of coin prata have eased the ache.

I used to think of fasting as an individual thing. And on a simple, literal level it is. But real things are never simple. And the point of the fast is to transcend the individual to arrive at a place that is far more real.

Still Challenged

11 Ramadhan, 1447

Have now got into the habit of going to the gym ahead of breaking the fast, just to do a stint on the elliptical trainer and forgoing the weights. It saves cutting into what feels like wonderfully 'free' time in the evening after buka and it seems to be working in that I've been steadily increasing the degree of resistance on the trainer with each visit and have suffered no ill effects so far.

For this afternoon's session I had the resistance set at its highest from the get-go since I instinctively felt I had enough energy to cope. Must say though, for the first ten minutes I thought I'd seriously miscalculated. It was difficult to get any real speed going and I was huffing and puffing more than I expected to. But after that things got easier; or, rather, I found myself accepting the level of difficulty without the anxiety that I would break down at any moment.

I'm hoping to get myself to the gym at least ten times this Ramadhan. It adds to the challenges of the fast, but in a way that seems aligned to the greater purpose.

Heartening

10 Ramadhan, 1447

Spent some time today looking over to the land of my birth - indeed, the actual town. Denton is a fair distance from this Far Place, but it occupies a small place in my heart. I'm so much out of touch these days that I didn't know it is now combined with Gorton - where Dad hailed from - as a parliamentary constituency. And I didn't realise there was a feeling it is now vulnerable to Reform until I read that the egregious Farage and his dumb chums thought they were in with a chance of winning the by-election held on Thursday.

So it was with some relief when I saw that Reform was well out-voted into second place. But I really didn't know what to make of the victory for the Green Party, being a Labour-for-life sort of chap, even when disapproving of what the party occasionally gets up to.

Then today I watched the victory speech of the new MP, one Hannah Spencer, and found myself thoroughly enjoying it. Indeed, even thinking I might have voted for the lass had I been there myself, based on just how well she came across. I suppose the warmth of her local accent played a part (though she comes from Bolton, I believe, rather than Tameside) but it was the common sense of her content that did it for me.

That and the pained expression on the face of the defeated Reform guy. I really shouldn't enjoy witnessing the misfortunes of others in Fasting Month, but I just can't help it.

Hard Work

9 Ramadhan, 1447

It's still crowded at Masjid Tentera for Friday Prayers, and will undoubtedly remain so throughout this Holy Month. Today I was able to get there quite early though, so getting a reasonable place wasn't too difficult. And just for a change I didn't need to make my way back to work in the afternoon, so I was able to relax after all was concluded.

I'm guessing I was a fortunate exception. Today I noticed for the first time just how many of the jama'ah were wearing overalls, clearly having made their way directly from work, and most likely in a rush to get back, judging from the speed at which many left. As we were driving away, Noi noticed one guy wearing overalls that she recognised as those of someone working at the port - which makes sense considering the proximity of the mosque to the port entrance at the bottom of Clementi Road.

I hope that these guys did not have to face demanding physical labour in the hot afternoon. But I suspect that more than a few did. The spiritual dedication of so many of them in relation to real physical struggling in his month is one of the quiet astonishments of Ramadhan.

A Good Thing

8 Ramadhan, 1447

Just polished off a plateful of bangers & mash & gravy. Not exactly a traditional meal for Ramadhan, but deeply good all the same. Food tastes better in Fasting Month. Not sure why, but it does, and there's no need to think about it too deeply. Just enjoy it in the moment.

Low Points

7 Ramadhan, 1447

I'd half-forgotten, but now vividly, vitally remember, how often the demands of Fasting Month confront me with my numerous inadequacies. The funny thing is that this process sort of makes me feel good - relieved from heavier duties to deal with simple realities and then just get on with the important thing. The fast and its demands.

And whilst I'm on the subject of my less-than-impressive characteristics, it occurs to me that I've never genuinely managed to identify in any real sense with the more 'heroic' figures in literature. The three that spring to mind, that I automatically identified with from first reading, that I'm painfully aware reflect significant bits of me are King Lear, Estragon (from Godot) and Mr Leopold Bloom. Not exactly an impressive triumvirate, eh?

A Low Point

6 Ramadhan, 1447

Life decided to be desperately unfair to me this afternoon, around 5.30. There we were at the basketball court with the session going well, when the natural light began to fade. The solution was simple. Access the controls for the over-hanging lights and just switch them on. But someone had padlocked the doors to the panel, so a call to our Security was necessary. Still simple, except that it had started to rain ferociously and the doors were out in the open. Along came the helpful guard, umbrella in hand, to open the doors and try and switch on the lights. But he was new to the job and, understandably, not at all sure which switches to hit. So he passed the brolly to me and I stepped out heroically into the storm to do the necessary. Simple.

Except doing the necessary involved getting my trousers wet through up to the knees.  In which state I needed to deal with the ensuing two hours. Poor me, eh?

Well, not exactly. The low point was pretty much the solitary blip in a good day. So, facing up to reality, lucky me really. It's nice to wallow in a bit of self-pity, but five minutes' worth was more than enough.