Tanpa Ku Sedari, Air Mata Ku Mengalir

I know what most of my friends who read this will think. That I've been working at AMP for too long and I'm starting to use Malay comfortably in my communications. Wrong. As my friends messrs Aizat, Nasruddin, Nazir and Mustakjm will tell you, I still hardly use Malay and they are not comfortable those few times that I do.

But the title perfectly captures what Ramadhan and the subsequent Eid means to me - a Singaporean in a world so secular that I, a Muslim, might feel awkward in a country more steeped in Islam.

Ramadhan has always been there, lurking in the over-1400 years of the Islamic calendar, celebrated and revered when it comes, but seemingly distant during other months.

And then when it arrives, everything seems to fall into place. The prayers, the discipline of the body and soul, the emotions that nurture and bridge, the oneness of community.

So when Ramadhan touched me, my tears flowed without me realising it.

I'm sure some of you might think, "Hell, this is not Suffian."

But I assure you I'm still the same person. I would tell you a dirty joke if it wouldn't spoil the mood and theme of this entry.

I'm still the same person, but I've never been more inspired.