dear ramadan, i'm ready (almost)

ramadan is in three/four days, and i keep going back and forth between feeling calm about it and slightly unsettled.

usually, by this point, i’ve already started mentally entering the month. i romanticise it a little bit. i start thinking about how i want to show up differently. i feel this sense of excitement, like something sacred is approaching and i want to meet it properly. but this year feels… layered. i’m aware that ramadan is coming, but i’m also aware of myself in a way that feels uncomfortable.

the first few months of this year haven’t been chaotic in a dramatic sense, but they’ve definitely been shifting. i started the year thinking i was in a stable place emotionally. i thought i had learned certain lessons properly. i thought i was grounded in ways that meant i wouldn’t get thrown off easily. and then life reminded me that growth isn’t permanent just because you’ve named it. you can still fall back into patterns. you can still get caught up in feelings. you can still surprise yourself.

some of those surprises were subtle. some of them were humbling. all of them forced me to reflect more than i expected to this early in the year.

in the middle of all that, me and my sister were supposed to go to barcelona in january. we had it planned, and then there was a storm forecasted, and we just knew it wouldn’t feel right. the flight technically wasn’t cancelled, but we decided not to go because what’s the point of travelling somewhere beautiful if you’re going to spend it stuck indoors? so we postponed it. we promised ourselves we would go before ramadan instead.

then, at the beginning of february, we just booked it. a week before. no overthinking. just “let’s do it.” it was the first time the two of us had gone abroad by ourselves, and i don’t think i realised how significant that was until we were actually there. there was something really grounding about navigating a new place together. i felt my mind slow down. i felt present in a way i hadn’t felt in weeks. it genuinely felt like a reset, like i could breathe properly again. and i needed that more than i’d admitted.

but resets don’t erase everything.

coming back home meant coming back to my final year of university, and that reality sits in the background of everything i do now. this is meant to be the year i focus properly. the year i prove to myself that i can finish strong. and some days i believe that. some days i sit down and feel capable. other days, my motivation just isn’t there. not because i don’t care. i do care. but my energy feels divided. my thoughts feel crowded.

and spiritually, it’s been similar.

i’ve felt distracted. like my heart has been preoccupied. like i’ve been navigating my own emotions so intensely that i haven’t been as intentional about my relationship with Him as i usually am. and that’s difficult to admit, because i never want to feel distant. even a slight shift feels unsettling to me.

so when i say i don’t feel ready for ramadan, i’m not talking about logistics. i’m talking about that internal state. i keep seeing reminders about preparing for the month — starting to read more Qur’an, cleaning your heart before it begins, setting goals so you maximise every day — and i find myself wondering whether preparation is supposed to feel organised and confident. because if that’s the case, i’m not there.

but maybe preparation isn’t about arriving polished. maybe it’s about arriving aware. aware that you need the month. aware that you’ve drifted slightly. aware that you’re not as disciplined or as focused as you’d like to be.

and i am aware.

i’m aware that i need structure again. i’m aware that i need to feel anchored in something that doesn’t change with my emotions. i’m aware that i don’t want to carry this slight distance into another season of my life. maybe that awareness is the beginning of preparation.

another reason this ramadan feels different is because, for the first time ever, i won’t be spending it at home.

every single ramadan before this, i’ve gone back home from university. i’ve rearranged everything around it. being at home during ramadan has always felt non-negotiable to me. it’s where my routine lives. it’s where my structure is. it’s where i know exactly how my days will unfold. i wake up at a certain time for tahajjud. i pray in the quiet of my childhood home. i have suhoor with my family. the house moves in sync. there’s comfort in that rhythm. there’s something about fasting in the same space you grew up in that makes everything feel softer and more intentional.

but this year is my final year of university, and i just couldn’t risk disappearing for a month. i thought about commuting. i tried to mentally map out how it would work. but logistically, it didn’t make sense. and academically, it felt irresponsible. so i made the decision to stay here.

and i’ve never done that before.

part of me is excited. i won’t pretend i’m not. i’ve always felt a tiny bit of fomo watching people experience ramadan on campus. when i’m at home, i sometimes imagine what that must feel like. so there is something beautiful about finally experiencing that side of it. about breaking my fast with friends. about feeling that collective energy in a different way.

but at the same time, now that i’m staying here, i feel a different kind of fomo. the kind that comes from imagining the dinner table at home without me. from knowing the house will still move in its ramadan rhythm, just without my presence in it. i’ve never spent ramadan away from my family before. not once. and that realisation makes this feel like more than just a logistical decision. it feels like a shift into something new.

and i think that’s where some of the fear is coming from.

because when i’m at home, ramadan is very structured for me. it’s almost protected. i delete social media. i go ghost. i reduce distractions to the bare minimum. my days revolve entirely around my relationship with Allah. there’s a simplicity to it. my only real focus is ibadah. i don’t have lectures to attend. i don’t have work shifts to think about. the outside world feels paused.

this year won’t be like that.

i’ll have uni. i’ll have deadlines. i’ll have work shifts. i won’t be able to delete the world and disappear into a quiet, protected bubble the way i usually do. and if i’m honest, that’s been hard to accept. there’s a part of me that keeps thinking, but ramadan is supposed to feel different. it’s supposed to feel slower. softer. more secluded.

but then i had to pause and really think about what i was saying.

because the truth is, having lectures to attend, a final year to complete, a degree to finish — that’s a blessing. having a job to go to is a blessing. having responsibilities means i’ve been entrusted with something. and ramadan isn’t meant to exist separate from the life Allah has given me. it’s meant to live inside it.

so maybe this isn’t something to mourn.

maybe it’s something to reframe.

it is a privilege to have things to juggle. it is a privilege to be busy with meaningful commitments. and if i believe that everything in my life is from Allah, then why would i treat my everyday responsibilities as obstacles to Him instead of pathways back to Him?

maybe this ramadan is teaching me to stop separating “life” and “worship” so rigidly.

at home, it was easy to view ibadah as something distinct — long prayers, structured Qur’an time, quiet nights. but here, on campus, maybe ibadah will look different. maybe it’s showing up to lectures with the intention of seeking knowledge for His sake. maybe it’s fulfilling my work responsibilities with integrity. maybe it’s choosing patience when i’m tired and fasting and overwhelmed. maybe it’s lowering my gaze in crowded spaces. maybe it’s smiling at a friend at iftar. maybe it’s doing the small, unseen things consistently.

maybe everyday life is ibadah, if i let it be.

and that mindset shift feels important.

because i’ve spent years measuring ramadan by how much i could add to my routine. extra prayers. extra dhikr. extra goals. and those things matter. they do. but this year might be less about addition and more about intention.

what if the difference isn’t in doing more, but in doing what i already do, differently?

what if attending uni while fasting becomes a form of discipline and sabr that’s just as valuable as a perfectly structured schedule at home?

what if balance isn’t a downgrade from intensity, but a different kind of strength?

i don’t want to romanticise the struggle. i know there will be days when i’m exhausted. i know there will be moments when i miss the sound of my family in the kitchen at suhoor. i know i’ll probably feel the weight of distance.

but i also don’t want to miss the blessing hidden in this version of ramadan.

because not everyone gets to grow through change. not everyone gets to experience different forms of community. not everyone gets the chance to learn what sincerity looks like outside of comfort.

and maybe that’s what this ramadan is really offering me: a deeper understanding that my relationship with Allah doesn’t need perfect conditions to thrive.

it just needs presence.

and maybe that’s exactly why i need ramadan more than ever this year. i don’t know why, but it always seems to come at the right time, even when i don’t realise it. like somehow, when life feels heavy, when my heart is tangled in things i can’t sort on my own, when i’m just… lost in my own thoughts, Allah brings ramadan. and suddenly there’s this invitation to step back, to breathe, to look inward, and to reconnect.

this year, it’s going to be different. physically, i won’t be at home. the routines i’ve relied on won’t be the same. i won’t have that familiar rhythm of my family around me, the quiet of the house before suhoor, the long stretches of time i could dedicate to focus solely on Allah. and yes, that scares me. i’m aware of it. i know i’ll have uni, work, and responsibilities tugging at me every day, and i’m nervous about whether i’ll be able to give ramadan what i want to give it. but i also feel this strange excitement because maybe this year, that’s exactly what i need. maybe this version of ramadan is meant to teach me how to find Allah in the little things. how to maintain my focus even when life doesn’t pause for me. how to be sincere even when i can’t do everything perfectly.

and i remind myself that Allah knows my heart better than i do. He knows my fears. He knows my struggles. He knows my exhaustion and the parts of me i can’t even articulate. and even though i’m scared, i’m also aware that i’m being invited to show up anyway. not because i’m perfect or ready, but because He knows i can, in my own messy, human way.

because honestly, right now, i’m spiralling a little. my pmdd has kicked in again this month. my mental health isn’t in a great place. there’s a heaviness in my thoughts that i can’t quite seem to grasp. but that’s exactly why this ramadan feels like such a mercy. because if Allah didn’t want me to come back — if He didn’t want me to reconnect, to reset, to breathe and reflect — then i wouldn’t be here for this month. and for that, i’m grateful. not just grateful in passing, but so, so, so grateful. grateful that He continues to give me chances. grateful that He’s patient with me. grateful that even when i feel lost, there’s still a way back.

and as i think about all of this, ramadan… i can’t help but feel my heart swell just at the thought of you.

ramadan, my beloved, i don’t even know where to begin. there’s a part of me that feels like words will never be enough to describe how much you mean to me, but i want to try anyway. every year, you arrive like a long awaited guest, and your presence fills everything. you bring with you a kind of peace that i can’t find anywhere else. you come with long, calm nights and soft, early mornings, with serene streets and the smell of home-cooked food in the air. you come with the rhythm of prayers, the sound of the Qur’an being recited, and the collective heartbeat of people striving to be better, together.

i love you more than i can express. i love how you remind me of who i truly am when the rest of the world feels loud and overwhelming. i love how you slow me down, how you make me pause and reflect on every little thing. my actions. my intentions. my heart. you bring growth, and happiness, and clarity, even when i don’t realise i need it. even when i feel lost or scared, you arrive, gentle but certain, and suddenly life feels softer, and the world feels smaller, and everything i’ve been carrying feels lighter.

you have always been my highlight of the year. every memory tied to you is a thread in the fabric of who i am. the suhoors. the laughter of family during iftar. the friendships that deepen in your light. the moments when i cry to Allah and somehow feel seen. you carry lessons i never thought i needed and gifts i didn’t even know i was asking for. you are comfort and challenge all at once. you make me reflect on what i’ve done right, what i could do better, and what i’ve been avoiding in my own heart.

this year, i know you will be different. i won’t be home. i won’t have the familiar rhythms i’ve always relied on. but somehow, that excites me too. because i know that even in difference, you will find a way to meet me where i am. you will teach me that my relationship with Allah doesn’t need perfect conditions to grow. that even in the little moments, in the everyday things, i can reconnect with Him and with you. that even in uncertainty and fear, there is space for love and peace.

so i’m here, ramadan, ready to meet you again. to learn from you. to be challenged by you. to be comforted by you. to let you guide me, gently but firmly, back to the core of my heart. i can’t wait for your quiet mornings, your reflective nights, your lessons, your mercy. i am grateful for you, i am excited for you, and i am ready to receive all that you are bringing, exactly as it comes.

thank you, ramadan, for always arriving when i need you the most. always.

love, imaan x

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