It is 3:30 a.m. I’ve been woken up from deep slumber by my cellphone alarm. Luckily, my wife, Weena, seems undisturbed. I stumble out of our bedroom, guided by a few strategically placed nightlights, to our little kitchen. There is a hotdog sandwich waiting for me. This isn’t a late-night snack and the hotdog is pure beef, which is relevant because I’m a Muslim and this is the season of fasting or Ramadan. So I have to eat my sandwich, drink my juice, and take my vitamins this early because from sunup to sunset, I am forbidden from eating and drinking.
When I was a child, waking up at 3:30 had a celebratory aspect. I grew up in a Muslim household and so everyone would be awake at the wee hours of the morning, there would be a lot of dishes prepared, and it was pleasant to see my whole family sharing a meal and observing Ramadan together. Now that I live in a non-traditional and mixed-faith household (my kids, who are Muslim, are too young to participate in Ramadan as of yet) eating my pre-dawn meal is a solitary experience. In fact, being a Muslim in Metro Manila is, at times, both lonesome and difficult. Particulary during the Ramadan season when you see your Christian officemates and co-workers eating, drinking and enjoying their meals while you suffer the pangs of hunger and thirst.
So why do I stick to my faith? Why do I even bother to fast and observe Ramadan? Why can’t I just do what some Muslims do when they live in predominantly non-Muslim areas and just follow the rhythms and observances of the majority and thus not fast?
The answer is because I am — and choose to be — a Muslim. Ask any Muslim what it means to be one and they will give you a variety of answers but some will say that being Muslim means observing the five pillars of Islam, namely, 1) belief in the oneness of God and that Muhammad is his prophet; 2) observing the five daily prayers; 3) giving charity; 4) observing Ramadan; and 5) for those who have the health and resources for it, to perform the Hajj pilgrimage.
Certainly, I am not an expert on Islam, although I do read the Quran as well as many other books in Islam, but being a Muslim, for me, isn’t limited to these five pillars. And let me make a confession: I’m very far from being a “perfect” Muslim as I do have my lapses, specifically in regard the five daily prayers. But obviously being Muslim is, despite my failure to strictly observe the five pillars, important to me, otherwise I wouldn’t even bother to forego food and drink during the daylight hours.
My choice to be a Muslim is largely predicated on two things: 1) a respect for my heritage; and 2) because it provides me a compass or moral guide in which to make my way through life.
Ask people why they are Christian, Catholic, Muslim, etc. and they’ll usually answer something in the way of their parents adhered to that faith and so they followed suit. Often religion, like good or bad genetics, is passed on from one generation to the next. Of course, this merely refers to the nominal aspect of the religion, meaning that a person declares himself to be named as a Catholic or Muslim. But observing the traditions of a faith, particularly when one is already apart from the parental domicile becomes a true personal choice. For me, part of the choice to be a Muslim, and specifically to observe Ramadan, is partly based on tradition. I respect the traditions, including the choice of faith, of my parents. I find value and meaning in observing these traditions as well because, in way, it keeps me plugged into history of my parents.
But more important than heritage, I choose Islam because it provides me with a guidepost to mark my way in life. The choices, temptations, challenges, problems, and concerns of a human life are infinite. And without a core belief to ground yourself upon, you will just flutter around from one choice to the next, without purpose or direction. Sure, you might get lucky and end up making good choices but, more often than not, without a moral compass or set of essential values, you will make quite a few wrong decisions.
But having a religion, meaning declaring oneself as Muslim or Christian, is never a guarantee for piety, integrity, or even basic decency. As someone who has travelled the world of Philippine politics, I have seen Catholic politicians who go regularly to mass, give alms to the poor, and appear to paragons of Chiristian virtue but who are, in reality, the epitome of corruption and selfishness. Or Muslims who follow strictly the five pillars of Islam, even perform the Hajj numerous times, and are elected into the highest offices of the Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao and yet steal, lie, and even kill indiscriminately.
Religion, as I see it, is far more an interior experience rather than an exterior event. Very often those who proclaim themselves to be pious and put on a great show of piety are in fact the worst offenders of religion. My view of religion is that it a means, a pathway, in which to elevate humanity — to make us all better, kinder, more tolerant, more generous, and more forgiving. The end goal of religion and religiosity is, simply, to help us become better human beings. However, others mistake the trappings of religion — the prayers, going to mass, wearing certain types of clothing to mark oneself as being of a specific religious denomination, and the religious rituals — for the very purpose of religion itself. So they go to the mosque or go and participate in the mass but, once home, they curse their household helpers and treat others with scorn and ill temper. By being intolerant and unkind, as shown by their treatment of others, despite their outward show of piety, these people, for me, offend religion in the worst way. And they offend me in the worst way as well.
Anyway, I’ve always preferred that to see one’s faith, or religiosity, expressed in moral actions and choices instead of through mere ritual. Thus, I believe that it is a purer and better expression of religion for someone to give charity quietly to the poor rather than to regularly go to church. Of course giving charity and going to church would be much better but I find far more genuine faith in sharing blessings with others as opposed to merely participating in a religious service. There is a story that illustrates this point even better: The Prophet saw a man carrying a prayer mat who was walking towards the Mosque. He asked another man, who was going in the opposite direction, and who was carrying tools for tilling the land, who the person with the prayer mat was. The man with the tools, who was named Abdul, answered, “He is my brother Yusuf. He is very religious. He goes every day to the mosque and he spends the whole day praying there.”
The prophet asked Abdul, why he wasn’t going to the mosque to pray. Abdul answered, “Well, unfortunately since Yusuf spends all his time praying, he doesn’t earn anything to feed his family. So I have to go to the fields to farm and work in order to feed both his family and mine. That’s why I don’t have the time or energy to go to the Mosque. I know I’ll probably be punished for not praying but someone has to support our families.”
As Abdul set off to work, someone heard the Prophet say, “Abdul will go to heaven and Yusuf will burn in hell.”
Finally, the hotdog didn’t stand a chance. Vitamins and juice are ingested. And the city remains dark. Not a single soul knows that high above the streets, in a small Condo in Mandaluyong, there is a man, proclaiming through his simple act of fasting that he is, indeed, a Muslim.