In the Heat of the Day, I found You

Bourke Street, Melbourne. Where we often went to find refuge during summer

Mid-summer of 1998. It was 5pm. Melbourne had its usual 40 degrees of heat again. That heat at mid-day has left us with a misty and stuffy afternoon. So stuffy that we found it hard to breathe as we walked out of the department store where we found refuge for a couple of hours. We walked through the shaded part of Bourke Street. Too weak to actually go anywhere else. But we had no choice but going to the station. These shopping centres were closed at 5, leaving us with the only option that we tried to avoid all day: home.

And sunset would not arrive until 9. Just imagining it made us felt very dizzy. Thinking of spending the next 3 to 4 hours at home was no comfort. In this heat, home was a place of trapped heat. It was just going to make it harder for us to cope.

And there was no one at home. There was no warmth of togetherness that we so long to feel. To anticipate the fast breaking time together with family or friends. There was just each of us, caring for ourselves. But still, home we went, as we had no other choice.



We separated at Flinders Street station. My two other friends went to other directions. My train arrived first. Luckily, it was an air conditioned train. At least for the next 15 minutes, I was safe.

Reaching my destination, walking onto the heat again, was a bit of a nightmare after that short cooling sensation. But again, I was lucky. My flat was located at a street where it was shaded in the afternoon. So I walked slowly home, as I did not feel that I still had the energy to walk.

Then, home. An empty home. Not sure where my flat mate was. I walked in, and quickly slumped myself at the sofa. Too tired to move anywhere else. Lucky we opened all windows (and lucky we lived in Melbourne. If it was Jakarta maybe I would find the flat empty of our things too), so the heat was not as bad as I thought it would be.

And maybe because I was too tired, I fell asleep on that sofa. When I woke up, it was only 8. The sun still glared, but softer now. I performed ablution, and took my afternoon prayer. After that I took a bath, picked up a book, and just sat quietly in the quiet flat reading my book till it was time to break my fast.

And breaking the fast was no feast. I only made some fried chicken and stir fried veggie the day before. So I ate that left over. But, it was the tastiest, most wholesome food, that I ever tasted in my mouth. And the word ‘Alhamdulillah’ meant a lot more to me.



Alhamdulillah I could experience what it was like to fast in a country where you are not protected. People eat and drink as they please around you. There are no curtains in the restaurants (which I always find silly to do, why cover the most natural activity of human being, even in fasting month?). There is no mosque in the neighbourhood that tells you each time for prayer, so you have to hang on to your own watch.
Alhamdulillah I could experience what it was like to fast far away from my family. What it was like to wake up in that early morning, alone. And to break my fast, alone.
Alhamdulillah I got to experience fasting in such a heat. 40 degrees in almost more than half of fasting month that fell in that year’s summer. And yet, I felt a strange cool sensation in my heart.

Through these experiences, I found You, Allah. I was happy to feel You by myself. In those lonely nights, that scorching heat, the stinging feel of the sun on my skin when I tried to go out during mid-day, that food that I cooked by and for myself. All those experiences, meant a lot more to me than just mere prayers. And I was never one who was diligent with my prayers, You know that. But still, I could feel You that time, through what I did, alone. And for that, thank You.

Though I was with friends, it was also the loneliest Idul Fitri that I ever experienced in my entire life, but it was also the most beautiful one. I missed visiting my grandparent’s and father’s graves (and he was only gone two months before. You know I refused to go back home, despite my mother’s broken voice on the phone a week before Ramadhan begging me to come, because I avoided the reality of not seeing him at home during Ramadhan and Idul Fitri. Oh how I missed him that time). I missed my mother and sister and family, and yet, strangely, I felt very happy. You were there with me when my forehead touched the ground in the Idul Fitri prayer. You were smiling with me. Strangely, that was the first time I felt like crying in my Idul Fitri prayer. I guess I never really felt You. Or I was just too ignorant or too busy with myself to feel You. But that time, I felt You.


And now every Ramadhan, I remember those experiences. And every time I cannot help feeling more grateful for what I have year to year since then.

So again, thank You.


(That Ramadhan in Melbourne, was the most memorable, because I was a minority, and I was ‘alone’. Somehow the experience was ‘blown up’ simply because I was not ‘protected’. Until now I never understand, for instance, why restaurants have curtains during fasting month, when there are others who need to eat, and eating is human. Why cover it up?. Fasting, just like every other ‘ibadah’, is personal, it cannot be forced on others. Nor should we force others to bend their backs just because we are doing our ibadah. It is between you, and your Creator. And by doing so, hopefully, we find our ways to The Creator. Whatever we do. That’s my view)

(RIRI)