Reflections on Ramadan

My college application essay didn't mention that I'm a Muslim, none of my high school activities included work with religious organizations, and my adolescent social life didn't involve anyone else who fasted during the month of Ramadan. Arabic was always a language reserved for somewhere outside of America, and I was left to wonder what Muslims did when they all got together. So even though I prayed five times a day and considered religion to be an important part of my life, I didn't come to Columbia as a Muslim—I just came as myself.

When I consider how, three short years later, I am working on a specialized major in Middle East and Islamic studies, I spent last summer speaking Arabic in North Africa, my time at Columbia has been defined by what I have experienced as a Muslim, and my (most recent) life plan centers around working in the Arab world, it's pretty clear that something changed. As one of my professors wryly stated once I had declared my major: I am "in search of an identity." I thought I was just pursuing relevant academic interests, but I realize now that she had a point.

I hadn't been actively seeking the Muslim community when I got to campus, but after my first year it took up most of my personal and extracurricular energy. During that first year, I was involved with everything from human rights work to photography and on my way to a political science major. I was just another individual among many at Columbia, making my own way. But I quickly realized that the human rights work focused in on countries where family lived, and that current events which apparently revealed great truths about Islam and Muslim communities dominated the discussion in my politics classes. I recognized that my interest in politics (or what I thought was an interest in politics) actually stemmed from what had become an inherent desire to make sense of things. I wanted to figure out the dissonance between my understanding of the Muslim world and the current political understanding of the Muslim world. Most importantly, I wanted to figure out my place in it all. It was in this freshly jaded state of mind that I found myself an active part of the Muslim community.

Maybe it's the strong sense of independence common to this campus that encourages students to fill in the blanks, to learn about an identity that's inherent yet inescapably foreign. Or maybe it's simply the opportunity to finally belong to a proper community that some cannot resist. Especially for those living in more than one culture at the same time, New York City and, consequently, Columbia, are the perfect places to embrace it all. As a microcosm of the world, mostly anyone can find his place—and his people—in New York City.

When I found myself far from home, praying shoulder to shoulder with the same people every Friday afternoon, and was comforted by spotting those same people during Ramadan –-when we were running around on empty stomachs while few other people knew, I realized which community was mine. It was comprised of people who could understand the horror of praying for the first time in front of a roommate you had just met the day before. People who could relate to my self-exile from the majority of college nightlife due to its tendency towards alcohol; to washing up for prayers in a communal bathroom; to the predicament of ordering (or not ordering) non-halal meat in restaurants; and understand my frustration when deciding whether or not to take a Sufism seminar conveniently scheduled during Friday prayer.

The point of higher education is that it is supposed to be career-oriented, not necessarily driven by personal discovery and curiosity. But to understand my place—in the political realm, in the world, among my peers—is more essential to my life than any skill or knowledge that I could acquire for a future profession. I am that individual I perceived myself to be but, whether I like it or not, I am tied to certain issues and identities. And I know now that it is better for me to put my energy towards understanding the differences in my lifestyle and my character rather than eradicating them. Navigating a campus community can help make sense of that, especially during the month of Ramadan, when the importance—and the necessity—of community is easy to recognize.

The author is a Barnard College senior majoring in Middle East and Asian languages and cultures.