my special 3 kinds of Ramadhan

It began in Ramadhan 1435 Hijriah… that I got a proposat text over WhatsApp. It was around Tarawih time, because I skipped that evening’s prayer due to my Japanese class. I drove my motor back home, talking to myself like, was it real? I got a proposal! A marriage proposal. It was a guy I barely knew. A colleague in my new workplace, just in different branch. He said that he left the office because his contract was terminated and he didn’t have the intention to renew it. While I was still a newcomer, a former student.

Maybe I was flattered. Maybe it was the moment of a holy month. I prayed, talked to my parents, then I let him visit them. He came alone. All by himself. I thought to myself, “How bolt he is!” then, I thought that my prayer was answered as ‘yes’ for a go…. then we got married the next month, by the end of Syawal.

By Ramadhan 1436 Hijriah, I’m in the third trimester of pregnancy. It was hard, knowing that both of us didn’t expect to conceive in our first year of marriage. But this is the fact, and I have to bear it. The baby was inside my body. I took him wherever I go. The bad news is I feel so alone at that time, even though it takes two to tango, haha. I went to my workplace by motorcycle, alone. He drove me sometimes. Just sometimes. Indeed there are times when I prefer going alone to make it easier for me to dropby somewhere. And he just let me go. I don’t know if that means being considerate, or ignorant. This was my first Ramadhan with a man I called husband. Preparing sahur, even though I couldn’t cook, preparing ifthaar and our little kiosk in front of the house, while making sure I didn’t overwork myself and collapse…. there was once, I sit to take care of the kiosk while our staff went to pray Tarawih. I looked at myself, being pregnant with his son, sitting here selling some food, while until a year ago, I was still in Jakarta finishing my undergraduate thesis. You can never predict life. I tried to be thankful, that I’m still breathing and even though it’s difficult, I still have things to eat. That I still live a sufficient life.

Ramadhan 1437 Hijriah…. I return to my parents’ house with a seven months old baby. Well, maybe not a complete return, since most of my stuffs are still in the other house. By the way, where’s he? He left. Last time I heard from him was a text message, saying that I should be a wife who can comfort her husband, taking care of the baby without sobbing, complaining, etc etc. and that was three months ago.

Who’s the one at fault? Is it the time to blame one or another? I’m counting down to have enough reason to win in the court… for someone who asked my hand in the name of Allah, to bear the responsibility of a promise. What is mitsaaqan ghalidaa means to him anyway? It’s his promise to Allah, isn’t it?

I’m broken inside. Definitely insecure of many things, start to regret one or another thing. But then, rethinking again about all of this… for someone who dare to break his promise with the AlMighty of the universe, another human being surely means nothing to him. Maybe I’m just saying this to comfort myself, to justify the anger I feel inside. The feeling of unwanted, like a wasted things, but then he’s not even anything. He’s just a bolt guy who can’t be bound to rules. If he still want to live FREELY as a single guy, why bother coming to my house and ask for marriage? I wonder myself but then, it happens as the way it has to be. Maybe it was destined this way for a test. Who has the most faith, who can prove the imaan inside. Who is the patience one when bad things come?

Allah knows and He never sleeps, my dear. Don’t bother of ruining your own life by grieving, depressing, or being lost control of yourself about what to do next. Indeed, future is not certain and judging by your current financial condition and your crazy online-shopping habit, it’s definitely dangerous for you and your son. But Allah knows, and you just have to believe. He will suffice you.

Please don’t bother that guy anymore.

I’m trying. Still. Every single day. Now that I live with my parents again sometimes my neighbor or my Mom’s friends ask about me, why I am seen here often while I’m already married and should be living with my “current family”. I feel like living in secrecy, being anxious about people knowing my real situation. But what am I hiding? Sooner or later people will find out the truth as it’s only a matter of time. I try to live an honest life but that doesn’t mean bothering everyone with this kind of story everytime I meet someone. Maybe I need to learn how to restrain, to speak only the necessary, to find the right words to say but not a lie. Allah doesn’t like liars.

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