Today I woke up for fajr prayer, while the world was still dark outside. With eyes more than half closed, I stumbled into the bathroom for wudu’ and with a turn of the faucet I was overcome with a nostalgic epiphany of sorts. It’s November. And I had forgotten how cold Jordan can be. For years my spirituality had been spoiled. I’ve been accustomed to waking up in a warm internally-heated apartment, with hot water pouring instantaneously from a faucet. I had forgotten that water in Jordan, at 5am, is ice-cold.
My parents, to save both water, time and fuel, will heat water in an electric kettle.
I just know that in a month’s time I will be facing the qiblah, shivering.
It’s times like this, I miss Toronto dearly.