Editor’s Note: Haroon Moghul is an author, essayist, and public speaker. Follow him on Twitter @hsmoghul. The opinions expressed in this commentary are solely those of the author.
I have no idea what happened to Michael S. I haven’t seen or heard from him in 25 years, though I likely won’t soon forget him.
One fine December day, my mom dropped me off at Michael’s house to play. (We were 8, OK?) Then and there, I saw my first Christmas tree. What a great and glorious thing! Ornamented, bejeweled, resplendent. I must’ve stood there, slack-jawed and stupid, stunned by the gifts, the gift-wrapping, the ribbons on the gifts, the number of gifts.
For contrast: On our big holiday, the day after Ramadan ends, my father would slip me a $50 like he owed me money for drugs.
That December day was the first time I wished I was Christian. But it wasn’t the last time.
Of course, in the Muslim world, there are plenty of Ramadan traditions old and new. Ramadan, for example, has become prime-time television season, with many Muslim markets inundated by special monthlong series. Binge watching in lieu of binge eating.
My new online video venture “Confession” is just such a series, 30 episodes, each one minute long — the first is here for you to watch.
“Confession” is also an American spin on a new Muslim tradition.
I was born into Islam, but I’m still confounded and even confused by it – and that’s the story I want to share. Every day, a new, one-minute episode relates my dawning disillusionment with the religion of my birth, my parents and my heritage. I share how I chased after atheism and wandered toward Catholicism, looking to find something that could be my own.
It’s a story I’m sure you can relate to, because it’s universal.
Coming of age means finding one thing about yourself that is fully and truly your own. It’s only when you’re rooted in the ground that you can really grow. It’s only when you’re immune to the push and pull of the world outside that you can focus on the inside. It took a long time for me to reach a place where I am comfortable sharing this journey.
But I feel I have to: No one should feel alone.
No matter what faith we were born into, what faith we embrace, or even if we embrace any faith. There’s far too much misunderstanding in the world. This Ramadan, I want to make a contribution to changing that. I want to talk about Islam beyond the headlines.
At the heart of Ramadan is the inculcation of empathy, and there is no greater consequence to empathy than to say: You are not alone. Maybe you’re a Muslim, struggling with your faith, and you see something of your agony in this story.
Maybe you’ve never met a Muslim. Maybe all you know about us is what’s on the TV. Maybe you’d have never imagined that someone who seems so different from you could be so like you.
We don’t have our own Easter bunnies or painted eggs. We might not have Hanukkah candles or Christmas trees. (We do seem to have a lockdown on the bearded men, though.)
But we’re not all that different. Each of us is many people and many places and many times, trying to find some harmony, some balance, some semblance of peace. There’s still an atheist and a Catholic, a Pakistani and a New Englander, jostling inside of me. And I’m OK with that.
Happy Ramadan, from one human being to another.