Alpine Calamity

Preface:
I found this in an email. I wrote this for an English course in high school. I don't remember the prompt. It is the story of my bike accident in Germany.

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Alpine Calamity

I don’t remember much. It all seems like a distant dream, one that should have awakened me with a jolt. But this was different. It lacked certain dream qualities; the fall was too quick, my stomach didn’t have that light-as-air feeling and I did not instantly wake up.  I vaguely remember being lifted. I managed to mutter a mere “ow” only to let my barer know that I was conscious, though I didn’t actually feel any pain. I didn’t feel anything. Then, my head was lying on my mother’s lap and she was stroking my hair until the ambulance came and lifted me onto the stretcher. I recall my mother asking for scissors because she finally had the chance to cut off the hair-ties I always had around my wrist. I remember ironically singing one line from Stay Awake by All Time Low—stay awake get a grip and get out your safe—over and over again in my head. I wasn’t scared.  As a matter of fact, I felt very safe and content. I was more worried about the two hair-ties that my mom just destroyed than about what was actually wrong with me, I wasn't even sure what had happened.
 
The hospital is just one blur. I took some X-rays, and my friend’s mom translated all the German for my parents, informing them that I should be woken every two hours to make sure my concussion didn’t worsen. Before we left the hospital the doctors patched up the huge scrapes that covered my arm and lower back. I was also given a brace to readjust my clavicle which had been snapped and small bottle of morphine to ease the pain which soon became excruciating.

I don’t remember much about the accident. I remember racing my friend down the mountain. Speeding so fast down a steep slope that my tire began to shake, in an attempt to slow down, I pressed the brakes. Then, all I remember is concrete and nothing. I don’t recall waking up, and unless my mother hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t even remember the two men that picked me up and carried me to the side of the road and stayed with me until my parents arrived. They were just behind us on their bikes, unaware that their daughter lay in an unconscious heap on the road.

It took me a year to gain enough courage to ride a bike; I wore a helmet that time. It was terrifying at first- flashes of the accident kept racing through my mind. However, that reaction didn’t last long. My father encouraged me to pedal my way through simple and flat streets of Washington D.C. and helped me ride up and down a simple hill. The fact is that no matter how much I fall, I know I always have to get back up.

No Food or Water in the Desert: the Story of My Ramadan

It's been 2.5 weeks since Ramadan started. I am hungry and thirsty, but it has become easier to manage. Most people are shocked when they hear that me and two of my friends--both non-Muslims--have decided to participate in this month-long fast. The Muslim students I have encountered on campus, however, were delighted that I was doing Ramadan. It is their holiest month, after all.
            In fact, Ramadan encapsulates two of the five pillars of Islam: fasting and charity. It is a celebration of receiving the Qu'ran from God, but it is also about being reminded of the suffering that continues around the world. During the month, Muslims do not eat, drink, smoke or participate in errant activities while the sun is up. It is a month of reflection on your material life and to connect with those who have less. It is not about punishment and the purpose is not suffering, it is to reconnect with God and to take care of your fellow creations.
            Despite this, Ramadan is still incredibly challenging. If I want to eat breakfast, I have to wake up before the first morning prayer which generally happens around 4am. After that I am restricted from food and water until after the evening prayer around 19:40 when I can finally feast.
            I decided to put myself through this challenging Islamic tradition for myriad of reasons, but it’s not everyday one finds themselves in the Middles East surrounded by a different faith. This may be the only opportunity I have to participate in and to learn from an authentic experience. As of now, I have been invited to three iftar (breaking of the fast feasts) all around Palestine. This experience is one that has already begun to change my view of Islam. Witnessing the community and the camaraderie behind Ramadan is inspiring. In the villages, people support each other through the difficulty of the day. 

            On top of moral support, Muslims raise money to support local charities. For example, last year British Muslims donated over £100,000,000 in the UK alone. I hope by being apart of this tradition I can speak about my experiences with my friends and family back home and with future friends I meet around the world to help them paint a more accurate picture of Islam.
            Ramadan, for me, is a way to reconnect and strengthen the charitable and warm image I have of Muslims. In today’s world, it is easy to get caught up in the media and lost in the negative image of this particular faith. By participating in Ramadan, I hope that my Muslim friends and colleagues will know that my friends and I are not being swayed by extremism because we understand what Islam is really about—peace. Through my participation, I hope to gain a unique perspective of the Muslim faith. Ramadan is not only about fasting, but about being a good person. The hunger pangs and the dehydration are meant to act as a reminder that there are people who do not have access to food or water. There are people suffering much more than me and even some of those people will be participating in Ramadan being reminded that there are some who have even less than them.
            Ramadan is meant to help realign myself and to remind me of my place in the world. I hope that with every thought of the magnificent feast waiting for me after sunset, I will also think of those suffering more than me. I will think about the families stuck on rafts in the Mediterranean fleeing from their worn-torn home—about those who do not have a home or a warm feast waiting for them tonight—about children having to spend another day separated from their parents and about their families who miss them dearly. 
            Ramadan is also a celebration, the iftars act as an opportunity to gather as friends, families and communities to be together and celebrate what is most important—our relationships. If I’ve learned anything in the last 2.5 weeks, it is that I have a strong support system, a family, in the friends I’ve made during my time here. I wish them all a happy Ramadan and I thank them for accepting me and teaching me about their faith. 

Ramadan Kareem (Happy Ramadan).