For decades now, Muslims everywhere have grown accustomed to Ramadan’s most frequently posed question; in fact, we not only expect it but welcome it this time of year.

I remember a few years ago when this holy month of fasting fell during graduation party season and I went from one to another apologizing for refusing the perfectly-glazed donuts and chicken wraps and freshly-pressed mint lemonade. A friend’s mom handed me a bottle of water and said, “At least you can have that,’’ little did she know, no, not even water is allowed.

To learn how from sunrise to sunset one abstains from all foods, drinks, water, gum, medicine, intimacy and the mundane pleasures of everyday life can seem shocking, and yet, believe us when we say, these thirty days are the most delightful of the entire year. Ramadan calls us to a spiritual cleansing from the inside out, to a time of deep gratitude and reflection away from all distractions. It reminds us of the fragility—and power—of our bodies, how the first few days we nearly collapse then slowly, grow healthier and accustomed to this new routine by the hour. Not only are the practices of this month scientifically proven to improve our abilities and organs (I’m sure you’ve read all about intermittent fasting, that if you haven’t considered or tried it yourself!) but at the heart of Ramadan is kindness—charity, community, worship, and the humility of experiencing hunger the way millions do, only without the certainty of when they might eat again.

In Arab and Muslim countries, Ramadan brings with it a particular aura of celebration craved all year. In my one-woman show, "A Map of Myself," about immigration, belonging and finding home directed by Six-Word Memoirs' own Larry Smith, I tried to paint a glimpse of Ramadan:
“In Syria, the country never felt more alive than during the holy month of Ramadan when, we, Muslims, fast from sunrise to sunset, no foods, no drinks, not even water — I know! — but pure calmness during the day.

"Now at night, when we break our fast, the alleys would come back to life, people gather, stores stay open till 2am, and we go out for ice cream or shopping at midnight! We make up for starving all day and when Ramadan comes to an end, everybody celebrates what’s called ‘'Eid.'’ Mothers bake their best cookies, the kids wear their cutest outfits, there’s candy and toys everywhere, elders give us money for being good—you know, kind of like Easter and Christmas combined. Everybody loves Eid—Syrian Christians and Muslims and Jews, all honoring the deliciousness of this time of year.”

This year and the last, the pandemic has added its own flavor to this special month, that with masks, one can joke, we can’t even have air. It is partially true, but one more layer of cloth that is protecting our communities from illness isn’t what I find suffocating; in fact, Ramadan and the virus both ask us to slow down. But it is the loud demands and horrors of life that make it hard to breath. I watch my mother work tirelessly and with little sleep to help her students, teach her classes, wake us up before the sun is up for a meal then again at night. And as a student myself, I cannot help but wrestle with the loneliness of our times, the disturbing news of shootings here and there, professor threats of failing classes if I don’t meet deadlines, and the guilt of never doing enough.

We’ve given up water for over 1400 years for Ramadan—would you help us bring back the joy and air?
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Find me and my creative work on www.saraabourashed. com & on social media @SaraAbouRashed or @mapofmyself.