Years of Reflection

Ramadan and Eid this year felt unlike any I’ve experienced. For these STORMY past five years, these sacred moments have been tinged with loneliness, but this year, it was something different. It marks a year since my parents’ third divorce, a year since my baba married someone new, and a year since I had to come to terms with the fact that my baba is no longer here. This year, a family, each retreating into their own separate worlds, while me, trying to make sense of it all, continue navigating life 'independently' (ok cliche)

This year’s Ramadan wasn’t filled with the usual bustle of family traditions, laughter, and shared meals. It was quiet. Still. And that silence? It wasn’t oppressive. It was a space for reflection, a space that, although uncomfortable, allowed me to observe the state of my heart. I had no family to turn to, but I found a strange kind of peace in that absence. It became clear that the connection I sought wasn’t going to come from external sources, but from within through faith, prayer, and introspection.

For the third time in a long while, I embraced my independence during Eid. I wasn’t part of the usual family gatherings, yet I found myself surrounded by people who, although not blood-related, made me feel a sense of belonging. They were the family I hadn’t expected, but one that provided a support I couldn’t have imagined. I came to understand that family isn’t always about proximity or blood, it’s about the people who accept you as you are, who offer you a sense of connection when everything else seems fragmented.

This year also forced me to confront the reality of my father’s death, a process I had resisted for so long. I spent much of the year avoiding the weight of this truth, but this Ramadan, I couldn’t escape it. As I reflected on the past, I found myself accepting the fact that my father is no longer part of my life, at least not in the way I had hoped. In that acceptance, I began to feel lighter. The grief, while still present, no longer felt like an anchor dragging me down. I realized that mourning doesn’t have to be a burden; sometimes, it’s simply a part of moving forward.

Through it all, I spent these past few weeks not just surviving, but learning how to thrive amidst the chaos. Working and studying while navigating personal loss was no small feat, but Ramadan gave me a chance to ground myself, to focus on what truly matters. It became a time not just for spiritual growth, but for personal growth. I learned how to find balance in my own life, how to give myself the space to grieve, to reflect, and to grow.

What I realized this year is that loneliness, though often uncomfortable, has its place in our journeys. It doesn’t have to mean abandonment. It can be a space for self-discovery and, more importantly, a space for reconnecting with the Divine.

This Ramadan and Eid, though different from what I had imagined, gave me exactly what I needed a chance to become more of who I am meant to be and to find peace in the quiet moments.

Selamat Hari Raya Aidilfitri, Maaf zahir batin.