Between Takjil and Tarawih: A Reflection of Gratitude in Ramadan

Alhamdulillah, this year I am once again reunited with Ramadan.

There is an emotion that is difficult to put into words. Not merely because age continues to advance, but because we never truly know whether last year’s Ramadan was our final one. So when the Maghrib call to prayer echoed on the first evening, my heart could only whisper: Thank You Allah, for granting me another chance.

Around 5:00 PM, just before breaking the fast, there is always a moving atmosphere in the air. The streets are filled with people. Takjil vendors line the sidewalks. People queue for simple foods: dates, sweet porridge, fried snacks, sugary drinks in clear plastic bags. Lively. Vibrant. Warm.

Yet behind the bustle, I see something deeper than mere buying and selling.

I see hope. I see small efforts struggling to endure. I see hands seeking lawful sustenance before the Maghrib call to prayer.

In another corner, I witness moments of quiet generosity. Some set aside their time and wealth to give. No cameras. No announcements. Ramadan seems to awaken the softest side of our humanity.

When I was in Malaysia, I was accustomed to performing 20 rak‘ahs of Tarawih without a sermon—concise, swift, direct. Here, I experience a different atmosphere: 11 rakaat including witr, accompanied by heartfelt spiritual reminders.

The difference is not in the number of units of prayer.

The difference lies in the experience. The difference lies in perspective. The difference lies in how we embrace worship.

From these differences, I learn an important lesson: Ramadan never arrives with the same face each year. It changes according to place, age, circumstance, and maturity.

This Ramadan feels calmer. More reflective. More conscious.

Perhaps it is because we are gradually realizing that life is not about who is the busiest, the wealthiest, or the most impressive—but about who is most capable of keeping their heart anchored in gratitude.

In a world filled with competition and ambition, Ramadan teaches a different rhythm: to restrain ourselves when we have the ability to indulge, to give even when we feel we lack, and to pause long enough to remember the true Source of all provision.

And perhaps this is its deepest meaning—Ramadan is not merely about restraining hunger, but about training the soul not to be greedy. Not merely about waking for suhoor, but about awakening awareness.

May this Ramadan not pass as a mere annual routine, but become a turning point. A moment to purify intentions. A space to realign the heart.

Thank You Allah, for this Ramadan. May we emerge from it calmer, stronger, and more beneficial to others.

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