This Ramadhân has been different — very different. Even for my introverted self who avoids social gatherings for the most part.

Most of us are probably accustomed to large family gatherings with extended family and extravagant feasts at the end of the day. I can see the scene in my mind — adults coming and going with food to set up for the meal as rambunctious children race everywhere. There would be the dates, then the main course, and don’t forget all the fried samboosa (samosa) and other pastries; and if you’re from the Middle East, laban (buttermilk) is a must to break your fast with.

It wasn’t quite like that for me, though I did experience it during my mother’s marriage to my former stepfather when we went to his first wife’s house for iftâr. The family was large — five boys and four girls — and sometimes there would be cousins, too. There was always a long smât, or sufrah, (plastic spread for food) to sit on and eat. There were always a lot of choices, and after that there was dessert, too.

Iftâr at my grandmother’s was a little bit different. They usually start with simple fare — dates, laban, a traditional soup, and maybe one more thing. Any extra stuff is often after breaking the fast and prayer.

Then, there were the iftar gatherings the local da’wah center held as well as the one the halaqah (study circle) group Mom and I are a part of do.

The da’wah organization holds one or two every Ramadhân — usually — and use the opportunity to educate non-Muslims living and working in the country about Islâm. They always advise Muslims to bring a non-Muslim friend or acquaintance. They invite guest speakers, often times from abroad, to give an inspiring lecture. When I first started attending them, they were hosted in the house of a wealthy woman who is big on the da’wah scene. She’s known for giving da’wah to her non-Muslim employees and helping them find Islâm (may Allâh reward her). The last one I went to was held at her school — coincidentally, the very same school I took my IOU exams at. The food is usually a planned, extravagant buffet, so it’s not only the lecture people look forward to.

The halaqah iftârs are the best in my opinion. The women that are a part of it are from everywhere. At least half of them are converts, or reverts, to Islâm, including the speaker herself. They have been ongoing off and on since I was a child, though members have come and gone over the years. The woman who has been running it is still the same. I’ve known her since I was little girl and her daughter and I were best friends as children. They meet twice a month, listen to the talk that has been prepared, discuss, and then eat. It’s a potluck of sorts where everyone brings something — an American tradition that I’ve always loved. In Ramadhân, we would meet twice and have a potluck iftâr. With such a wide range of women from different parts of the world, we also had a wide range of different cuisine.

Iftâr at home is rather different though. We have never been big on cooking in Ramadhân. We usually had the dates, laban, one meal, a dessert, and then perhaps something for dinner. By the end of Ramadhân, Mom and I are tired of cooking and we go to restaurants for the remaining days.

This year has been different. No iftâr at my grandmother’s. No iftâr at the halaqah. No iftâr gatherings with an inspiring speech from a foreign guest speaker. And no iftâr at restaurants.

This year, even iftâr at home is kind of different. I took on the responsibility of cooking both suhoor and iftâr. I chose something simple, easy, and that doesn’t require taste buds to come out right. Every early morning or evening, I cook oatmeal or tapioca pudding. A few hours after iftâr, Mom or both of us make dinner. On days she doesn’t feel like cooking, we order out. Desserts have been almost non-existent.

I made the first dessert of the month about a week or two ago. It was brownies. It was also a disaster. I’ve made brownies so many times and never messed them up. This time outside forces were at work though — outside forces called Mom leaving the burner of the stove on, which is where I always place the cake pan to cool after removing it from the oven.

As usual, after it came out, I left it there on the stove and sat in the next room — good thing I did since I usually just go back to my room. Sometime later, I smelled something burning. That was odd. When I went in, the brownies were literally sizzling like butter in a frying pan. I had no idea why. That had never happened before. I tried to save what was left by removing the pan and setting it on the counter instead. If you’ve studied science, you probably know what happens when intense heat and cold react. I was too worried about the brownies to remember that. Just as I put down the pan, it exploded.

I escaped with just a bleeding finger. That could have gone a lot worse.

Later, when I looked at the stove to find out why it was cooking the brownies after they were out of the oven, I noticed the burner was on. Mom claims that I should have checked if the burner was on. I’ve never had to do that before. My sister agrees with me. People, when putting something on the stovetop to cool, usually don’t have to check for a burner that was left on.

I made brownies again a few days later. This time no accidents occurred. I’ve since also made my own version of Reese’s, which Mom and my brother love.

Some of us are probably missing those iftâr gatherings we were so used to and all the different kinds of food. But Ramadhân isn’t about socializing, iftâr gatherings, or food. Most of us have forgotten the true purpose of Ramadhân. I think, in a way, that this virus has given us a little bit of a taste of what a true Ramadhân is.

Ramadhân is the time to improve your habits. Ramadhân is the time for introspection. Ramadhân is the time for isolating yourself from the dunyâ. Ramadhân is the time to be alone with your Lord. Ramadhân is the time for worship and seeking forgiveness.

Ramadhân is not the time to celebrate. Ramadhân is not the time to eat. Ramadhân is not a feast. Ramadhân is not a social gathering.

Every Ramadhân, in the last few anyway, two of my close friends and I make a plan to do an Islâmic course together. This year we chose tafseer of several sûwar, the Ramadhân Droplets course, and also one course that was on a book of the etiquettes of the carrier of the Qur‘ân. I have been unable to do the third, but I’ve completed the tafseer of Sûrah Al-Kahf, which is filled with amazing lessons, and have stuck to Ramadhân Droplets.

All of them have been of great benefit to me, and I have posted the notes so that others can benefit, too.

Ramadhân is passing us by. The first 20 days are already gone or almost gone, and Laylah Al-Qadr is coming upon us. If you haven’t been doing so well, take heart — the best of nights is coming. Make these last ten days your ultimate best.

Pray, recite, worship. Don’t give up hope in Allâh or yourself.