I scramble toward the window in the semi-dark, tripping over a pair of jeans, as I desperately attempt to escape the zombie horde at my heels.
"Shut it off," my roommate mumbles.
What?
Oh. The alarm clock. Of course. It's 4:45 a.m. I swallow, trying to ease the dryness in my throat and stumble with eyes only half-open into my suite's kitchen. Easy Mac? Granola bar? Hell, I think, why not go all out? It's Ramadan, the holy month of fasting for Muslims, and I won't be eating or drinking from dawn until sunset. I glance at the clock and eat quickly - dawn's approaching, and with it, the time to set aside my utensils and pray.
Hands, mouth, nose, face, arms, head, ears, feet - that's how the Muslim cleaning ritual goes. I've been performing it since kindergarten and my hands move automatically, wiping away my sins with tap water, purifying myself for my meeting with God.
There is nothing especially sacred-seeming or even dignified about standing in a dimly lit dorm common room wearing maroon Boston College Eagle sweatpants, a baby-blue bathrobe, and a messy green and gold scarf wrapped around my head. But, gazing at the prayer rug before me, I feel the familiar sense of belonging, that this is exactly where I need to be. My breathing slows, I set my feet shoulder width apart, and lift my hands to my ears.
"Allahu Akbar," I say, into the quiet to begin the prayer. For this brief period, every moment is worship, whether I'm standing still or bowing, silent or murmuring prayers. I finish sitting on my knees after saying peace to the angels on my shoulders. All praise and thanks are due to God, the traditional Arabic phrase rises in my mind spontaneously. It's a phrase that to me now only has meaning in the moments it describes; moments like these, where a new day is beginning and I'm unprepared, reluctant, but content. All right, Allah, I think, Wherever you want to take me. I look at the neat pile of books I piled up the night before on our little coffee table, all the work I was too tired or unfocused to do yesterday. I take a deep breath, snuggle into our God-sent bowl-chair, and slog my way through my never-ending pile of reading.
Spring Break
