PUBLISHED February 18th, 2026 12:15 am
Ramadan is often described in simple terms: a month of fasting from dawn to sunset, of early suhoor meals and evening iftar spreads, of packed mosques and late-night prayers. But to understand Ramadan only through its most visible rituals is to miss its deeper rhythm.
Observed in the ninth month of the Islamic lunar calendar, Ramadan marks the period when the Qur’an was first revealed to the Prophet Muhammad. For Muslims around the world, it is a sacred month shaped not only by abstaining from food and drink during daylight hours, but by a disciplined recalibration of the self.
More Than Abstinence
Fasting is one of the five pillars of Islam, but it is also a framework for reflection. The daily fast from dawn to sunset is intended to cultivate taqwa, a heightened awareness of God and one’s moral compass. Hunger becomes a teacher. Thirst becomes a reminder of those who live with less.
The physical act of fasting is paired with spiritual labour: increased prayer, reading of the Qur’an, acts of charity (zakat and voluntary sadaqah), and a deliberate effort to practise patience and kindness. Muslims are encouraged not only to restrain from food and drink, but also from gossip, anger, and excess.
Ramadan, in this sense, is less about deprivation and more about discipline and consciously choosing generosity over ego, restraint over impulse.
The Singapore Rhythm
In Singapore, Ramadan carries a distinctly communal texture. Bazaars light up neighbourhoods like Geylang Serai with food stalls and families out in force. Mosques fill for nightly tarawih prayers. Extended families gather to break fast together. The experience is collective and deeply familiar.
But what happens when Ramadan is observed far from the community that once defined it?
For Reza Hasni, a Singaporean Muslim artist currently based in Berlin, distance has sharpened his understanding of the month.
“For me, Ramadan is a month of spiritual cleansing,” he says. “It is a time to step back from the noise of everyday life and reflect. You cleanse your body through fasting, but at the same time you cleanse your mind and heart by practising extra compassion toward others.”
Ramadan in Berlin: A Quieter Observance
In Berlin, the external markers of Ramadan are subtler. There are fewer communal iftars, no late-night buzz spilling out from neighbourhood mosques in the way one might experience in Singapore. Yet the absence of familiarity has clarified something essential.
“Ramadan feels very meditative,” Reza explains. “Since I do not eat or prepare food during the day, the extra time and energy I have are redirected inward. I focus on becoming a better version of myself and showing loving compassion to everyone I encounter. It creates a slower and more intentional rhythm in my life.”
Without the automatic structure of a large Muslim-majority environment, intention becomes more deliberate. The month becomes personal, stripped back to its fundamentals.
The Meaning of Community
Still, community remains central to the experience.
“Community is at the heart of Ramadan,” Reza says. “It is about the collective experience among Muslims. Breaking the fast together, supporting one another, and sharing both material and emotional wealth. There is a powerful sense of unity and belonging.”
If there is one moment that feels incomplete in isolation, it is iftar, the breaking of the fast at sunset.
“Breaking the fast feels incomplete if it is not shared,” he reflects. “There is something deeply meaningful about coming together at sunset, whether with family, friends, or community. It strengthens the sense of gratitude and connection.”
In Singapore, that collective spirit is visible in the passing of dates across a table, in neighbours exchanging dishes, in volunteers distributing porridge at mosques. In Berlin, it may take the form of a smaller gathering or even a quiet meal alone but the intention remains the same.
Generosity Beyond Money
Charity is formally emphasised during Ramadan, but generosity extends beyond financial giving.
“I give what I can within my means,” Reza says. “That might be offering support, sharing knowledge, donating, or simply being more compassionate and patient with others. Generosity during Ramadan is not only material. It is also emotional and spiritual.”
This broader understanding of care is what often goes unseen.
“I wish people understood that Ramadan is not just about abstaining from food and then enjoying a feast at sunset,” he adds. “It is a deeply spiritual month filled with reflection and discipline. You can think of it as intermittent fasting combined with a spiritual retreat that lasts for a month.”
A Shared Intention
And yet, Ramadan is not a retreat from daily life. Muslims continue to work, study, commute, create. The discipline unfolds within the ordinary. Perhaps that is its quiet power: it asks for inward transformation without withdrawing from the world.
“At its core, Ramadan feels the same wherever you are,” Reza says. “The spirit of compassion and reflection is universal among Muslims. The environment may shape the experience, but the essence remains.”
Beneath the fasting, the evening meals, and the visible rituals lies a collective commitment to becoming more aware, more generous, more humane.
Whether in Geylang Serai or Berlin, that shared intention is what ultimately binds the month together; a reminder that Ramadan is not simply about abstaining from food, but about consciously nourishing the parts of ourselves that too often go unattended the rest of the year.
To our Muslim community, Ramadan Mubarak, may this month renew compassion, patience, and shared purpose.
And for more more updates of Reza Hasni’s works, follow @reza.hasni on Instagram.