The thing about university events is that you never really know what you’re signing up for. You pay RM25, tell yourself it’s for the experience, and then pray (ironically) that it’s worth it.

I have never fasted a day in my life, but hunger is a universal experience. It dulls the senses, sharpens the mind, makes time stretch and warp until all that exists is the countdown to relief. And tonight, that relief comes in the form of a simple date and a sip of watermelon juice, handed to me by someone whose name I’ll never know but whose generosity reminds me of the purpose behind fasting. It’s to cultivate empathy, patience, and gratitude.

MUISS and MEMS collaborated to host the Grand Iftar on March 25, 2025, from 4:00 PM to 8:00 PM. The badminton court felt too big for the number of people in it. A handful of students lingered near the mini games, some aimlessly walking between booths, others hovering around trying to make the best of the empty space. You could tell this was an event that people would arrive for the food, not for the game. By 5:45 PM, there was movement. Groups of friends, some in carefully curated modest fits, others in traditional attire that looked straight out of an instagram moodboard.

You weave through the booths, henna, calligraphy, mini games, and a photobooth that greets you with a golden “ramadan kareem”. There’s a raffle, because of course there is, and you’re pretty sure people were manifesting their wins. The henna booth is the busiest. You can hear the light chatter, the clink of the cone, and the sound of people showing off designs as if they’re wearing little pieces of art. Vedha, one of the girls doing the designs, she’s seen it all, the questions, the comments, the random quests. Watching it feels calming, like you can almost feel the designs imprinted into your skin.

The Arabic script, delicate and precise, seems like it could tell stories if you stare long enough. The way each stroke forms something ancient and meaningful. You wish you knew how to write in a language like that, something so fluid and rich with history. You can’t help but feel that learning it would give you a deeper connection to all the things written but never said.

At around 6:30, the crowd finally settled as an islamic lecture began. I won’t pretend to have known exactly what was being discussed, but from the way people listened, some nodding, some deep in thought, you could tell that this was more than just words. Even without understanding everything, I could feel the quiet reverence, the kind of peace that comes from knowing you are part of something larger than yourself.

I’ve never really known where I stand with God. Or if I stand anywhere at all. Faith has always felt like something… distant. Something belonging to other people. Those who bow their heads in prayer, who find comfort in scripture, who see signs where I see only the mundane, the world as it is, or nothing more than coincidence. But a part of me always wonders if it’s there, somewhere, buried beneath all the skepticism. If I ever do have faith, would I even recognize it?

Watching this, I couldn’t help but think about how belief carries people like a quiet force, how it gives hunger a purpose beyond just the ache, how it turns patience into devotion. There’s a part of me that wonders if I could ever feel that, if I could turn my doubts into something that strong. Could I ever find something that makes even the smallest moments feel purposeful? Something to carry me through, like faith does for others? It’s a strange  thought, but in that moment, I couldn’t help but feel a little envious of the certainty I saw around me.

And then, the food arrived. The dates did their job, a quiet, unassuming tradition… but the rest? Neatly packed paper bags, more practical than festive. The chapli kebab was firm, the cutlet subtle, the dessert a small mystery, neither exciting nor disappointing. The drinks at least stood out, refreshing in a way that almost made up for everything else. You take a sip. It’s fine. It’s all fine. Just enough to satisfy, but not quite enough to linger.

I had hoped the meal would tie everything together, that there would be some sort of culinary satisfaction that would mirror the fulfillment I was beginning to feel in the quieter moments of the event. I was still glad to share it with people who brought their own meaning to the experience. Something about enjoying it alongside them that elevated the presence of it all.

As the evening progressed, it was time for prayer. MUISS and MEMS members moved efficiently, rolling out mats across the badminton court, turning the space into something softer, more intentional. You stay back, giving space to the moment, letting it unfold as it’s meant to. Observing the quiet unity, the way people move in sync, the way faith doesn’t need an audience as it simply exists.

So, what was Grand Iftar 2025?

A cultural exchange? A community gathering? A night that felt, at times, both intimate and distant?

Maybe all of the above. Maybe none.

The event had its flaws, timing that ran late, a slightly underwhelming meal situation, the awkward pause before things picked up. But in between all that, there were moments. Moments of connection, moments of appreciation, moments where I realized that, regardless of belief, people just want to feel a part of something. We want to feel connected, even if it’s just for a few hours. And in that sense, maybe RM25 wasn’t such a bad investment after all.

Written by Jananee Jagadeesan

Photos by Daven