Hoor Fatima | VIII-A
5 a.m, and my mom has been on a full-on mission trying to wake me up for the past hour. Honestly, I think she’s secretly training for a marathon with how many times she trips over my blanket while shaking me awake. Somehow, with only thirty minutes left for suhoor, I spring up like a ninja who’s been possessed by caffeine or sheer fear of starvation. Hands washed, mouth brushed, teeth brushed again because apparently one round isn’t enough, and then I inhale my food faster than Matt Stoney himself. And water? Chugged like I’m trying to set a world record. Bathroom, ablution, Fajr prayer, all done in record time. Then I collapse back into bed like a defeated champion, praying that the alarm for school doesn’t sound in five minutes.
Thirty-minutes-left-for-school later, I’m up again, speed-running my morning routine like it’s an Olympic sprint. Hijab? Sort-of done. Uniform? Barely. Backpack? Thrown over shoulder in style. Somehow, barely, I make it to school without becoming a statistic on the side of the road. Classes are a blur of hunger, yawns, and silent prayers that the bell rings faster. Every subject feels like a test of survival, and my stomach is loudly reminding me that yes, it is still very, very empty. The hunger hits hardest during tests, when your brain is supposed to be functioning at 100% but instead it’s busy negotiating with your stomach over whether you’re going to make it to iftar.
Home is slightly better, but only slightly. Shower, homework (attempted), and a nap that turns into staring at the ceiling, confused, because hunger refuses to let me sleep. Two hours later, I roll over, realizing the clock is laughing at me—30 minutes to Maghrib. Pray Asr, wait, dramatic side-eye at the food. Iftar hits and suddenly I am a superhero: full stomach, full energy, fully alive… for a hot five minutes before the post-food coma kicks in. I sprint to Maghrib like my life depends on it, and then read the Qur’an.
Post-iftar “study time” is basically a battle between my brain and my phone. Brain: “We must study!” Me: scrolling memes “Yeah, but these are educational… in 2026 TikTok standards.” Isha and Taraweeh come, and sleep… but not really sleep, because the phone is eternal, and staying up till suhoor is trendy (don’t tell my mother!). Somehow, the next day, the entire chaos repeats like a very dramatic, very hungry Groundhog Day.
Being a student during Ramadan is a mix of chaotic survival. It’s sprinting through mornings, yawning through classes, napping-but-not-napping, and celebrating every iftar like it’s a victory parade. Hunger? Always there, no buts required. Sleep? Optional. Motivation? Rare (unless it’s your sadistic English teacher’s lesson). But somehow, by the grace of Allah, the snacks, and the sheer force of will, we make it through. And honestly? That’s the real Ramadan glow-up.
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