Day 1 Ramadhan

So today… I decided to fast.

Not because I’m spiritually glowing.

Not because I’m metabolically optimized.

But because I thought, “Yeah… I can handle this.”

Famous last words.

You need to understand something.

Since I got sick, I have never skipped lunch. Never.

12 PM is sacred.

12 PM is not a time.

12 PM is a survival strategy.

My stomach and I have an agreement:

“You don’t burn me, I don’t skip rice.”

Very healthy relationship.

10 AM hits.

My stomach goes:

“Hey… remember "The Last"?”

And I’m like, “Oh no. Not the prequel.”

Suddenly I feel this little heat in my stomach.

Not pain. Just… warm.

But my brain?

My brain goes full Netflix disaster documentary.

“This is it.”

“Season 2: The Return of Gastritis.”

“Featuring Vertigo — now spinning in IMAX.”

I’m already imagining myself collapsing dramatically in slow motion.

In reality?

It lasted 30 minutes.

Thirty.

Minutes.

It left like a polite guest:

“Alright bro, just checking in.”

And now it’s 1:30 PM.

I’m fine.

No spinning world.

No stomach rebellion.

No emergency rice deployment.

Turns out… the loudest organ in my body isn’t my stomach.

It’s my imagination.

My stomach whispers.

My brain grabs a microphone and a spotlight.

And then I remembered something from a lecture:

“Excessive worry can be sinful.”

Great.

So now I’m not just worried about my stomach.

I’m worried about being worried.

Layered anxiety. Premium subscription.

But here’s what I realized today:

I wasn’t afraid of hunger.

I was afraid of losing control.

Food was my safety button.

Skip lunch? That felt illegal.

But today I skipped it.

And the universe didn’t collapse.

The earth didn’t spin faster.

My stomach didn’t file a lawsuit.

It just… adjusted.

Maybe my body is stronger than I think.

Maybe my fear just has better marketing.