It has also, taught me to be patience and, at the same time, building resilience, as well.

Stepping into Ramadan this year feels like walking into a carefully laid plan, yet knowing that its execution is entirely in Allah’s hands.

As an adult part time student in my third semester, a full-time worker, and a mother of five (including a very curious toddler), the weight of responsibilities is real.

The month was set with structure - a full sahoor and iftar menu to ensure healthy meals, a mosque-hopping plan for Terawih, and scheduled iftar gatherings with parents, siblings, and close friends.

But will everything fall into place? Only Allah knows.

Yet, Alhamdulillah, His mercy shines through in the smallest moments.

Our first tadarus after Maghrib went beautiful- each child reciting a page, while the little one sat on my lap, determined to hold the Quran just like the abang and kakak.

Our first Terawih at home was a success - led by the eldest son, (as the Mr had to work) with pauses in between prayers to manage the ever-demanding baby boss.

As we embark on the second, third, and fourth nights ahead, may this Ramadan be one of growth, patience, and barakah.

May Allah accept all our efforts, despite the imperfections.

Ramadan Kareem to all readers! 🫰🏻

It was a powerful reminder that even in times are difficult, there is always room for compassion by helping around the mosque. It really warmed my heart to see such kindness.

It was brilliant to see from young children to pregnant women and advanced age women coming over to MDG to perform their prayers with such enthusiasm and smile.

They say to surround yourself with people who remind you of your religion and Allah, yesterday was one of the days that I was reminded I was there in the mosque, for a purpose. Though challenges may exist, be it internally or externally, try to face them with an open mind and find reasons behind everything. May we get to the end of Ramadan this year, in shaa allah

read off his phone

The imam

did not read juz ‘Amma

because he was good that way

The imam

read with a nice melodious voice

The imam

ended with six long unrushed harakats

something like

الظاااالميييييين

The imam

was about to ruku’

for sure he was

The imam

tricked me

and continued with one more ayat

The imam

was my brother

and I think he was trying to be funny

- FV <3

Last night felt different.

For the first time this Ramadan, my husband, the father of my children sat with us for iftar and performed Terawih together.

Usually, he’s on duty at the mosque, making sure everything runs smoothly for others.

It made me wonder…

How often do we stop to think about the people who serve us during Ramadan?

The mosque staff, the volunteers, the imams..

While we rush to break our fast and stand in prayer, they are working tirelessly behind the scenes.

Have we ever paused to say thank you to them?

Have we ever thought about what their iftar looks like?

A rushed bite? A sip of water before heading back to their duties?

And what about us?

Are we doing our part to make things easier for them?

Cleaning up after ourselves?

Being patient when things don’t go as planned?

Last night, I was grateful.

Grateful for the ones who dedicate their nights to serving the ummah.

Grateful for the rare moment we got to sit and pray as a family.

And grateful for the reminder that Ramadan is not just about receiving blessings, but being a blessing to others.

May Allah ease their sacrifices, and may we never take their efforts for granted.

#PauseAndAppreciate #NotesAfterTerawih #JejakRamadan

It wasn’t just about the bubur. It was about the innocence of childhood, the purity of joy found in serving others, and the beauty of generosity in its simplest form. I found myself wondering, do they truly understand the significance of what they are doing, or is their happiness purely in the act itself? Perhaps it is both.

As I watched, I felt a warmth spread within me, a quiet reminder that kindness, no matter how small, carries immense weight. I found myself smiling too, caught up in their joy. It made me reflect, how often do we give with such pure hearts, without expectation?

Maybe this Ramadan, I, too, should strive to give with the same sincerity. To give not just in charity but in kindness, in patience, in time. And perhaps, like those little children, I will find my heart beaming just as brightly.

Praying at Masjid Darul Ghufran is a test of endurance at times. The prayers are long, and fatigue inevitably sets in. But there’s something deeply comforting about it. I find solace in the atmosphere, in the quiet hum of whispered du’a, in the unspoken bond between strangers bound by the same faith.

Despite the length, I enjoy every moment. The qiyam, the tasbih, the pauses between raka’ats where the air is filled with the soft murmurs of tired yet determined souls, I soak it all in. Letting the atmosphere fill me, reminding me that these nights are fleeting, and that I should cherish them.

Ramadan brings these rare moments where worship feels weightless, not a burden but a gift. And standing among my brothers in faith, I am grateful to be here, to be part of something greater than myself.

I remember the old blue mosque, where a grand chandelier once hung, its glow illuminating the dewan solat, casting a warm radiance over those in prayer. Now, in its place, a giant fan whirls overhead, not as decorative, but undeniably practical, bringing relief to the worshippers below. A shift, a change, yet still serving the same purpose: to create ease in worship.

Even the spaces within the mosque have evolved. This Ramadan, the muslimah have been relocated to Level 3, not as an afterthought, but as a gesture of comfort and dignity. A place where they can break their fast, pray, and find solace away from the distractions of the world below. A change, again, but one designed for ease.

And then I pause and ask myself, if even the mosque, the very space I seek refuge in, continues to transform for the better, have I? After more than a week of Ramadan, have I truly changed? Or am I simply going through the motions, expecting the month to shape me without making the effort to shape myself?

Ramadan isn’t just about witnessing change, it’s about becoming it. The real question is, when the final night falls, will I emerge better than when I began? Or will the winds of change pass me by, leaving me untouched?

Some dads are deeply present, gently guiding their children through each movement of prayer, patiently answering their questions, or even just watching them with a smile as they explore their surroundings. Others are more focused on their own ibadah, while their children, perhaps a little restless, find new friends among the other young ones, filling the mosque with quiet laughter and soft footsteps.

To some, it might seem like a distraction. But to me, the sound of children during Terawih is something I cherish. It’s not noise, it’s life. It’s the gentle echo of the future.

These children are not just guests in the masjid; they are its future custodians. The ones who will remember these nights, who will return one day as men, as fathers, bringing their own children, continuing a cycle so beautifully rooted in faith, love, and community.

And so, in the chorus of their innocent giggles and whispered conversations, I don’t hear disruption, I hear hope. I hear a tradition being quietly passed down, saf by saf, heart to heart.

Our first interaction was when she pulled her prayer mat and placed it horizontally. She intended to share as she told me that the mat had been shared with her too, so she didn’t mind sharing it. Even later, when we had to move again for Witr prayer, she still made sure I had my share of the prayer mat.

I never got her name, but she was so kind that I wish I could meet her again. 💜

In the tranquil part of the praying area

I happened to read through Surah At Tahrim verse 10

ضَرَبَ ٱللَّهُ مَثَلًۭا لِّلَّذِينَ كَفَرُوا۟ ٱمْرَأَتَ نُوحٍۢ وَٱمْرَأَتَ لُوطٍۢ ۖ كَانَتَا تَحْتَ عَبْدَيْنِ مِنْ عِبَادِنَا صَـٰلِحَيْنِ فَخَانَتَاهُمَا فَلَمْ يُغْنِيَا عَنْهُمَا مِنَ ٱللَّهِ شَيْـًۭٔا وَقِيلَ ٱدْخُلَا ٱلنَّارَ مَعَ ٱلدَّٰخِلِينَ

Allah sets forth an example for the disbelievers: the wife of Noah and the wife of Lot. Each was married to one of Our righteous servants, yet betrayed them. So their husbands were of no benefit to them against Allah whatsoever. Both were told, “Enter the Fire, along with the others!”

It somehow made me reflect

We can be married to the most righteous man on earth…

And still not be saved.

We can be surrounded by goodness…

And still make the wrong choices.

We can be close to pious people…

But if our heart is distant from Allah, that closeness won’t help.

The wife of Nuh.

The wife of Lut.

Both had front-row seats to the truth.

Both were married to prophets.

But they chose otherwise…

And their ties of marriage couldn’t save them.

They had every opportunity to believe.

They lived under the same roof as the righteous.

They saw the truth up close, yet they turned away.

Yet, what did they do?

One mocked and denied her husband’s message.

The other betrayed her husband by exposing his secrets and siding with the wrongdoers.

So we ask ourselves:

What choices are we making?

Who are we when no one is watching?

Is our faith based on our surrounding? or our own sincere heart?

What are we doing with the guidance we have?

Are we sincere in our faith? or just going with the flow?

Are we supporting our families in goodness? or exposing their flaws and siding with what’s wrong?

At the end of the day, our titles, relationships, and status won’t matter.

What matters is our own stand with Allah.

No one’s faith can carry us… except our own

And suddenly, I couldn't stop. I finished through surah Maryam. Then went on to the next surah. Getting a bit tired, I went on to surah Ar-Rahman and Mulk. It has been an unreachable dream to memorise Quran, but I have a special place in my heart for these two surahs. I started memorising them after I became a mother, and I am still struggling to memorise them, five years later.

Suddenly, it happened. Something unlocked and I burst into tears. Every single word hit my heart. And I felt so small and overcame with His Might, His Grandeur and His Mercy. How beautiful, poignant and wonderful is this life? Each breath, each heartbeat, each blink of an eye? Each touch, snuggle, smile of a child? How precious, and how fleeting? I broke down, sobbing.

Thank you Allah, for Iman, for Your Mercy, for Your Infinite Guidance. I was so very lost, after my divorce and a string of hopeless relationships where I tried finding solace in people, only to finally, find You.

After a stressful day at work, i always find myself looking forward to perform terawih and qiyam at the mosque.

Allah mentioned in the Quran:

ألا بذكر الله تطمئن القلوب

Indeed by the remembrance of Allah do hearts find rest.

May Allah ease our affairs and accept our ibadah 🤲