Spiritual Side Notes | Coming Back Home to Ramadan

Today is the 28th fast. The last Friday of this Ramadan. And I can feel it —

That bittersweet ache that comes when something sacred starts slipping away again.

I used to feel this ache as a child, too.

Back when Ramadan was simpler.

Back when it meant family gatherings, iftar tables full of samosas and fruit chaat, and prayers that felt routine but not yet personal.

I loved the ritual of it. But I didn’t understand the weight of it.

And then, somewhere along the way — I let it go.

I drifted. I stopped practicing. I lived in a world where Ramadan came and went without touching my heart. And I told myself that was okay.

That I didn’t need it.

But I did.

Because when life got heavier, and the world felt colder when success and survival weren’t enough to fill the emptiness — realized I was missing something.

I was missing God.

And so, I came back.

Quietly, slowly, with more questions than answers.

But I came back.

Now, I don’t just observe Ramadan. I feel it.

I feel the mercy in the air. I feel the weight of every dua I whisper, knowing Allah hears me before I even speak.

I feel the hunger not just in my body, but in my soul. A hunger to stay connected long after the crescent moon fades.

This Ramadan, I’m holding on tighter.

Because I know now, God isn’t just something I want.

He’s what I need. More than anything.

As this sacred month comes to a close, I’m not saying goodbye.

I’m promising: I’m staying close

Love,

Afia