Ramadhan

 

Coming into the third week of Ramadhan, yet it’s only my second day fasting.

Before you assume, yeah right, this woman bothers to fulfill one of her five duties of being a Muslim, I’m usually quite good at this. If not for the sake of adding brownie points, it’s a forced diet to lose a bit of weight I gained from those I’m-so-horny-I-ain’t-getting-any-so-I-stuff-my-face moments.

But multicoloured antibiotics to be taken at strict hours prevented me from fasting during the first two weeks. Yes, I had sex with a sick man, and then I got terribly ill myself. I know. Serve me right. Let’s move on now.

Ramadhan. It’s a whole month when Muslims abstain themselves from all temptations sunrise to sunset. For the school of thought which I follow, we don’t drink, we don’t eat, we don’t pick our noses or any parts of the body with holes, and we don’t have impure thoughts nor act upon it.

All of which are relatively easy for me. Except the last part.
Well, hello, look at the byline for this blog. 

I was complaining to a friend and he said. You can’t even THINK about sex? He checked with someone else. She said of course you can, just don’t do anything.

Ah yes, easier said than done. Cause I think and I think about that time when we … and this time he and I… and that other time … or that piece on … and I really really want to touch myself.

It didn’t help either that my first and second day of starting the fast is a weekend. I get quite lethargic at the beginning. I don’t get to go out for lunch with friends, or go to the gym. So I stay home.

Ample time to kill. I go on the net. I surf. I get bored of reading about the current chaotic political scene and depressing news of road accidents and natural disasters. I surf some more. By this time, my mind is already clouded with filthy embarrassing thoughts I can’t help but read the sex sextion (oops, Freudian slip) of the sites I frequent. 

I came across this.

It’s an article on the Huffington Post differentiating a slut. And a sex addict. I hate that word. Let’s replace it with dependency. Oh, how politically correct of me.

Am I just a whore sexually liberated? Or sex dependent? I took the test.

It says that on a scale of 0 (asexual) to 20 (need rehab), I was in the middle. So that means I had the tendency to. I never thought I’d say this. But that’s actually quite scary. What if one day I plainly fall off to the darker side? To think that I’m not in fact in love, but simply, in love with sex.

Discovering all this in the holy month! Holy crap!

Seriously, this battle for me is not just during Ramadhan. It’s constant. I am not a religious person per se, but rather spiritual. Although with spirituality are also insertions of my religion into manifestations of belief and indemnity. 

The first code of Islam is Justice, however abstract that word may be. And within the Qur’an is the mention of the injustice extra-marital sex brings – the unfairness towards the spouse being cheated on. But what about pre-marital sex between two consenting adults? Where is the injustice there then? Furthermore, it is not pre-marital sex if you have no intentions of getting married, right?

Am I to be thumped just for having these often satirical debates in my own dangerous mind? To each their own I guess, some may not agree with my radicality.

Needless to say this, in all its actuality, is a trying month for me. I’ve got two more weeks to go. Wish me luck.

For the flesh is weak. But the libido – even weaker.