For some of us, particularly those far from home, Ramadan can stir a quiet kind of loneliness.
Marrakech – Ramadan has always been a family affair, a time when the walls of our homes are filled with warmth, laughter, and the shared experience of fasting together.
Growing up, it was a time when the iftar table felt like a reunion, and the long nights of prayer were spent with loved ones by our side.
But now, living miles away from home, Ramadan feels like a distant echo of those memories.
It’s not just the physical absence of my parents, but the emotional void that creeps in as the days stretch on.
The rhythm of their voices, the comforting sight of them in the kitchen, preparing meals with love — it all becomes a reminder of what’s missing.
And while everyone around me goes about their day, talking about the blessings of the month and their favorite dishes, I can’t help but feel like an outsider looking in.
The loneliness doesn’t hit immediately. At first, there’s excitement — a chance to embrace Ramadan on my own terms, to reflect, and to grow.
But then, as the days pass, the reality sets in. The prayers don’t feel as comforting without the soft murmur of family in the background.
Iftar alone isn’t quite the same as when it’s shared with people who know your every nuance, every flicker of emotion that might pass over your face.
And it’s in those moments, as the sun sets and I prepare my solitary meal, that I realize: Ramadan is not just about fasting.
It’s about connection, and when you’re far from the people who define your home, the month’s spiritual beauty can feel just a little bit more distant.
But here’s the thing, dear reader: loneliness doesn’t always have to be sad.
There’s a certain strength in embracing it, in learning to make peace with the distance. It’s okay to miss home.
It’s okay to feel that pang in your heart when the days grow longer and the nights quieter.
But it’s also okay to create new rituals to carve out space for yourself — both in your prayers and in your solitude.
Sometimes, Ramadan’s quiet moments are an invitation to reconnect with yourself.
So, while I might miss the bustling laughter of my parents or the shared joy of the iftar table,
I’ve learned to find solace in the stillness.
It’s not the same, but it’s a reminder that even in loneliness, there’s a kind of togetherness — whether it’s with God, or with the memory of those who love you.
So this Ramadan, as I break my fast alone, I choose to cherish the silence, to send my prayers across the distance, and to remind myself that even when we’re miles apart, family is always close in spirit.
