{"id":6511,"date":"2026-03-17T11:31:19","date_gmt":"2026-03-17T03:31:19","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/bangsamororeview.com\/main\/?p=6511"},"modified":"2026-03-17T11:32:31","modified_gmt":"2026-03-17T03:32:31","slug":"lasttendays","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bangsamororeview.com\/main\/lasttendays\/","title":{"rendered":"One Prayer Through the Last 10 Days of Ramadan"},"content":{"rendered":"

Raihana K. Lamalan<\/em><\/p>\n


\n\u266c Eid is joy.. <\/em>and the most beautiful joy
\n<\/em>Reunites the close and the far away
\n<\/em>being happy about it… <\/em>makes it
\n<\/em>A beautiful memory, beyond Eid time \u266b<\/em><\/p>\n

I remember this song playing on our favorite channel, our big, fat TV screen showing it in Arabic while we cleaned the table after eating Iftar. It signaled that Ramadan was nearly over and Eid was within our reach. After mouthing the words I didn\u2019t understand back then, my brother and I raced to the bathroom to perform wudhu. Our salah followed, and then we prepared to go to school.<\/p>\n

\u266b Eid is joy\u2026 and the most beautiful joy<\/em><\/p>\n

I was merely seven years old the first time I practiced fasting. Growing up, it was never an issue for me to endure temptation during Ramadan. The heat was nothing compared to the discipline of hunger. One of the perks of growing up in a Muslim country was that the odds were always in your favor.<\/p>\n

Like when we were in high school, our class started at 7:00 p.m. Isha began around 8:20, and taraweeh followed. During this holy month\u2014whether it fell in early August or late July\u2014we were almost free from schoolwork because we were always excused to practice our belief system. It wasn\u2019t challenging; it was an honor to witness Ramadan again.<\/p>\n

Dada said that celebrating Ramadan used to be almost as cheerful as Christmas. He told us that apartments and houses were once covered in lights, even the trees, and the phrase \u201cRamadan Kareem\u201d was written in English and displayed in lights everywhere. He said it was unfortunate that we never witnessed it ourselves, but he promised me that the real joy of Ramadan was always in being close to Heaven. Our wishes, he said, would be heard by the Almighty God, and they would always come true.<\/p>\n

So I prayed for a home. A house with a kitchen and a clean toilet.<\/p>\n

But I couldn\u2019t help disagreeing with my father sometimes. Considering that our class started at 7:00 p.m., we were often excused to go to the masjid, allowed to arrive late, and our attendance was loosened enough that class ended at ten thirty, even though dismissal was technically at midnight. Because no, we didn\u2019t go home right away.<\/p>\n

Jeddah was awake. The city was alive. People swarmed the streets, and Qur\u2019an recitations could be heard almost everywhere. Our day started at Maghrib. During the daytime in Jeddah, it felt almost like a deserted town. Most establishments were closed, and nighttime was the only time they could sell. Not that the government forbade them\u2014no, they were also observing the fast.<\/p>\n

Our practices as Muslims were our priority then.<\/p>\n

Our male friends followed behind us and carried our bags while we, the girls, walked ahead of them. Men and women were not allowed to be close to each other unless they were married. Otherwise, a mutawa would call you out, sometimes even making you perform salah in the middle of the street.<\/p>\n

But our boys were mostly our brothers, classmates, and childhood best friends. We would go to the malls, grab some ice cream, or eat shawarma from our favorite Pakistani, Egyptian, or Jordanian shops, and then go home at three in the morning to prepare for suhoor.<\/p>\n

On Palesteen Street, where we lived near our school, the culture was rich enough that everyone seemed almost identical to one another. We could never quite tell who was Arab and who was Masri, not that you should try to do that, but for us, it was never a big deal.<\/p>\n

Those were mostly the highlights of my childhood, and whenever Laylat al-Qadr came, I prayed harder. Dahil simple lang ang gusto ko \u2013bahay.<\/em><\/p>\n

But maybe that was too much to ask, too ambitious, especially for someone like me, who had no resources. The house came true, but maybe I should have been more specific.<\/p>\n

One thing that weighed heavily on us when we returned to the Philippines was that people assumed we would never run out of fortune, that we were bound to sustain them indefinitely. To our shock, we arrived at a house with no kitchen. No windows either. Walang pinto, walang kubeta ‘nung pag-uwi namin, samantalang nagkandakuba sa pagkayod sina Mama para maipatayo ito.<\/em><\/p>\n

It was painful to watch Mama\u2019s hands tremble from labor, her tears soaking the bare walls. There was no evidence of our hardship abroad. We had been deprived even of receipts to justify the cost of the house we had worked so hard to build. May mga bagay na hindi nagtugma, hindi ko alam kung saan napunta ang ilang bahagi ng pangarap at paghihirap nina Mama.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u266b <\/em>Reunites the close and the far away<\/em><\/p>\n

Like the essence of the song I used to hear as a child, we let things slide because we knew what was at stake if we spoke out. May mga salitang hindi mo na kayang bawiin. Kapag bagong salta ka at walang karamay, mas pipiliin mong manahimik kaysa mapagtulungan ng marami.<\/em><\/p>\n

Unlike abroad, I find people more free-willed here. It surprises me that I\u2019ve encountered some who ditch fasting because they are thirsty or because the hunger is unbearable. I have always treated fasting as an honor. Our parents introduced us to Islam at a young age, and in this religion, one of our pillars is to fast\u2014or as we call it in Maguindanaon, puwasa<\/em>. I guess it is safe to say that I am more culture-shocked here than I ever was abroad, even among our neighboring cultures in Sarangani.<\/p>\n

Nostalgia filled my nostrils when I smell the mixed spices from our neighbors cooking sambuza for their\u00a0buk\u0101<\/em>. The aroma is rich; my stomach trembles as I endure the last minutes of fasting. I stare closely at the Lucky Me Beef Labuyo that will break my fast. Mama is at the masjid helping prepare food for the townsfolk. Dada is in Marbel, spending Ramadan with his sisters. My kuya, who could no longer bear the weight of our dearth, is in Davao looking for a third job to support my studies.<\/p>\n

I have always imagined myself having a house to call my own. Even when we were still in Saudi Arabia, I would watch vlogs and entertainment about houses in which they create spaces to suit the style the owners dream of. And I feel envious, dahil wala kaming sariling bahay. Walang magagamit tuwing bakasyon. Walang lugar para ipagdiwang ang kahit anong uri ng tagumpay, walang lugar para pagsaluhan ang lungkot, walang mapagpahingahan kapag tagatak ang pawis.<\/em><\/p>\n

This isn’t how things are supposed to be, but this is how it is.<\/p>\n

Kaya simple lang ang pakiusap ko. Ang pag-unawa.<\/em><\/p>\n

While being poor is often taken as a punchline nowadays, it becomes easier for barbed jokes to slip out. I often wonder why I cannot relate to my peers. They ask for something simple and receive it right away. I, on the other hand, learned early how to ask for a rain check. Now I can clearly see it, the subtle lines that divide us: the children who have and the children who cannot. The silence. The exchanged looks. The way they talk behind your back, not to backstab you, not even to exclude you, but because you cannot afford to be part of their world.<\/p>\n

I am humanized by grace. And if I\u2019m being honest, all I feel is\u2026 guilt.<\/p>\n

My presence is more tolerated than welcomed. What I bring simply does not seem to belong in their world. This is something we cannot talk about\u2014money. The wall between us becomes impossible to ignore once it enters the conversation. It is the kind of truth everyone recognizes, yet no one dares to say out loud.<\/p>\n

Hindi mo nga nabibili, mas lalong hindi mo rin mahahawakan kung hindi ka maglalabas ng pera.<\/em><\/p>\n

They say they understand you, but they don’t.<\/p>\n

But the right people will understand, and it will feel natural.<\/p>\n

Scarcity has followed us across continents. We wear our poverty as if it were a debt we owe to everyone else. Hindi mo man pinili ito, pero parang kailangan mong humingi ng tawad sa mundong hindi kayang makisalo sa kakulangan mo.<\/p>\n

And still, I cling to the simplest prayer: bahay.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u266b Being happy about it makes it a beautiful memory\u2014beyond Eid time<\/em><\/p>\n

Ayokong maging komportable sa kakulangan.<\/em><\/p>\n

Dito, buo at kampante akong magpapahinga.<\/em> When the sun sets, I want to hear the call to prayer echo across the streets. Jinn will bask in the glow of sunset, but I don’t mind. I know the malaikat<\/em> will descend from heaven as the clock strikes to signal Maghrib. I hope they will be kind enough to hear prayers, the same way they listen to our pleas.<\/p>\n

Dito, hindi ko na kailangang mag-alala kung saan sila Mama magfu-<\/em>fut\u016br, dahil may nakahanda nang hapagkainan at may pintuang nag-aantay sa kanila\u2014hindi para makaalis, kundi dahil may uuwian na sila.<\/em><\/p>\n

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Raihana K. Lamalan \u266c Eid is joy.. and the most beautiful joy Reunites the close and the far away being happy about it… makes it A beautiful memory, beyond Eid time \u266b I remember this song playing on our favorite … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[22],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6511","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-essay"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":false,"jetpack_likes_enabled":false,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bangsamororeview.com\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6511","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bangsamororeview.com\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bangsamororeview.com\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bangsamororeview.com\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bangsamororeview.com\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6511"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/bangsamororeview.com\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6511\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6514,"href":"https:\/\/bangsamororeview.com\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6511\/revisions\/6514"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bangsamororeview.com\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6511"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bangsamororeview.com\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6511"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bangsamororeview.com\/main\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6511"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}