Halfway Through

So we’re twelve days into Ramadhan. Well, actually, it depends on your denomination as well. If you’re a disciple of Naqsabandiyah—I hope I wrote that correctly, then you’re fourteen days into the holy month.

The thing is, the Ramadhan has always been an enigmatic time for me. For someone whose attitude towards food is somewhere between gluttony and anarchy, the idea of refraining from food is not very appealing, to say the least. It affects with my mood, my productivity—or lack thereof, and my ability to hold a decent conversation without falling asleep.

Like the other day, for example. I was sent to this five-hour long meeting, from 1 to 6, at a nearby hotel conference room. Yes that’s right. That’s a five hour battle to ward off severe drowsiness and boredom. The warm ambiance, cool airconditioned room, fluffy desks, and the monotonous voice of a man droning on and on about the importance of getting the program name right when they are to be included in medium-term development plan. Things like that are bad enough on a regular day. On a Ramadhan day, it’s a downright torture. The grave misery I had to experience that day is second only to the time when, stuck at an angkot, I was forced to listen to Syaiful Jamil sing.

But then again, there is the break-fasting (or fast-breaking?). Either way, it’s a truly joyous time. It’s the time when the heavily quoted sentenece ‘you never knew what you’ve got till it’s gone’ actually means something. It’s time for the bottled-out rage to be unleashed at the unsuspecting dinner-table. Feast, feast my dears. Let you be hungry or thirsty no more! Don’t sip, gulp! Attack with vengeance!

Yet, fast-breaking wouldn’t be fun if you don’t fast. Even if you only cheated with a quick gulp of water at noon. Come fast-breaking time, you may still be hungry and thirsty, but you don’t have it anymore. The mucho gusto has flown off the patio.

So yeah, it’s kinda paradoxical, isn’t it? But it never is a bad thing. May you make it till sundown. Cheers..