Takeaways from a Heart-Wrecked Ramadan

Mujeeb Jaihoon recollects a spiritual espionage that unexpectedly catapulted a 2X ‘faith-style’ during the Holy Month (Mar 2025).

There are moments when life forces you to stop—when the rhythm you have known so intimately is replaced by silence, by surrender. This Ramadan (March 2025), I was not where I thought I would be—not standing in congregation, shoulder to shoulder with my brothers in faith, nor moistening the masjid rug with my redemptive tears, nor managing the iftars for my dear ones.

I was not bending in prayer during the night’s quiet hours, nor was I feeling the hunger of fasting that drew me closer to my Lord. Instead, I lay still beneath hospital lights, my body bound by tubes, cables, and needles, and my heart gripped by uncertainty. I became the object of pity and ill health for my visitors.

When Worship Becomes Stillness

For the first time in my life, I had missed the fast. I missed the suhoor, the iftar, the sacred hunger that refined the soul. Little did I know that I was more absorbed in my acts than for Whom they were acted upon. I honored the ceremonial rituals, perhaps more than the One who ordained them. I had relied on worship rather than the Lord Himself.

But the bells of Divine Intervention rang hard. Habits severed. Destiny robbed me of all self-reliance. Speed of action, even thoughts, halved. Confidence shattered. Courage deafened. Instead, solitude, fear, and pain screamed.

Like a corpse, I was stripped of the routines I believed were infinite. No outward motions, no grand gestures—just the raw intimacy of calling upon the Almighty with nothing but my breath, nothing but the quiet surrender of a heart laid bare. I could never predict this spiritual espionage would take me by surprise and catapult my consciousness into a labyrinth of hidden truths.

The Silent Language of Love

I have always believed life is a solitary journey, and in many ways, it is. The afterlife will be walked alone, and the moments of reckoning are ours alone to carry. But in this pause, in this forced stillness, I realized how deeply woven I was into the lives of others.

My rest made many hearts restless—especially my family’s. Fortunately, I was blanketed by prayers, wrapped in unseen waves of supplication. Colleagues, neighbors, childhood companions—people I had not spoken to in years—heard of my condition, called, visited, and messaged.

Some, like my elder son, had telepathic vibes even before I told them, sensing my discomfort like an echo in their own hearts. Perhaps love moves in ways we do not understand, stretching across distances and tethering souls together in a silent language of care.

The nurses and doctors treated me not as a patient but as a newborn infant. Their kindness, patience, and unwavering dedication—I noticed their every tireless gesture to see me recover. Were they God-sent angels to heal me in those dark hours? Indeed, they were.

The Miracles we Forget

To be well, to move without pain, and to breathe without struggle—these are everyday miracles we callously and carelessly overlook. We ask for grand signs, abundant fortunes, millions in prize money, yet forget the gift of a beating heart, the ease of a step, the simple act of waking up whole.

As I lay there, watching the world move on without me, I realized how insignificant my absence was in the grand scheme of things. No one is inevitable. The world continues its motion, and it is folly to believe otherwise.

Beyond the Illusion

In the absence of screens, I found clarity. No endless scrolling, no curated images of joy, no artificial validation. The fallacy of synthetic social media happiness unraveled before me—perfect moments frozen in time, polished lives built for display—all of it a shadow of something deeper, something real.

True connection lay in presence. Awareness and attentiveness. In whispered prayers. In the undistracted gaze of a loved one sitting beside you. In that stillness, I realized what truly mattered.

Lesson learned: AI was sublime to inform, but a love-sigh was inevitable to keep us alive.

A Rebirth in Ramadan

This Ramadan was different. It was slow, quiet, and personal. The nights I once spent celebrating in congregation were replaced by silent contemplation. The prayers I once voiced aloud became whispers only the Divine could hear.

I was not where I thought I would be, yet perhaps I was exactly where I needed to be. Since my feeble heart could not afford my sobbing cry, I thought it was better to let the tears converse. There were renegade-like moments when I ranted to myself—if the Creator did not want my worship, so be it. The sheer loss of Ramadan devotion had taken a toll on my sanity.

The 2X pace of a so-called thinker, trainer, and traveler was now at .5 or slower. The loss and longing of this wounded creative beast were unbearable. And yet, though stripped of distraction and illusion, in that emptiness, I found renewal.

Maybe Ramadan was not about perfect devotion but about returning—to what is essential, to what is true. And in that pause, I returned to Him in a way I never had before. I missed a Ramadan of motion but gained a Ramadan of illumination.

And perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, this was the Ramadan that my soul truly needed. Indeed, every system needs a reboot.

Thoughtful Takeaways

Medication continues. Recovery is on the right track. Speed of steps and thoughts are almost normal. This medical break opened my eyes—and heart, literally—to a world of truths.

• The external good deeds are not important. Love is. Zoom in on the Lord. Zoom out of self-righteousness. Rely on His Love, not your ceremonial worship.
  
  
• Don’t take lightly or proudly the chances of His nearness. Every step towards the Divine is by invitation only. To bow and prostrate before Him is purely out of His grace. He can undo you entirely: don’t take His worship for granted.
  
  
• Though I remained in a ‘handle with care’ condition, I was glad my pitiful state dragged many hearts closer to the Almighty—and that was a trophy I could claim.
  
  
• Family and real-time friends are super important. They are the knights who protect you in wounded times.
  
  
• A normal, healthy day is the greatest miracle one can enjoy.

A few weeks later, during a lunch meeting with a remarkable community leader from Malabar, I found his words full of hope and solace: “Since you are a Prophetic lover, he too had this heart-cleansing experience (prior to the Ascension).”

Was this not a chance to purify my heart, to strip it of all that weighed it down, to return to faith—not out of habit but out of need? Certain races are won through relaxed walking, not necessarily speeding or rushing.

With prayers,
Mujeeb Jaihoon