I miss attending Taraweeh prayer during the beautiful nights of Ramadan.
I miss rushing to finish my iftar after Maghrib so that we could clean up before leaving the house for Isha.
I miss struggling to find parking because no matter how early we leave, people still beat us there.
I miss walking into the women's section and seeing that even though there is still 20 minutes until Isha, the lines are already packed and it's hard to find a spot.
I miss looking down and seeing the rows and rows of men, waiting for the Isha Adhan.
I miss seeing the ladies walk in late for Isha, yet still trying to squish into the first row.
I miss the feeling of frustration of getting kicked to the back line even though I came early.
I miss the feeling of frustration of getting kicked to the back line even though I came early.
I miss the Arab auntie who always brings an extra abaya and spreads it next to her to save 3 spots for her friends right next to the door.
I miss the Somalian aunties trying to touch my feet and moving them closer to me even if I try to move away.
I miss the Pakistani aunties greeting me as if I am their own daughter and asking me if my mom is attending taraweeh that day.
I miss the ladies sitting in the middle of the rows during the break and trying to squeeze into the front row when everyone stands up.
I miss the Arab aunties turning around and shushing us and yelling 'Haram!' when they were the ones who were talking the loudest.
I miss the standing in prayer and getting tired, contemplating if I should sit down but deciding against it during every rakat.
I miss bending down in ruku and thinking, 'I should've worn socks."
I miss bowing down in sujood and getting distracted by the ladies who practically yell, 'Subhaana Rabbi al-A’laa.'
I miss wondering which woman is reciting surahs out loud as if they are the Imam.
I miss looking for my friends when I walk into the ladies' section and then praying next to them.
I miss sitting cross legged in order to save a spot for a friend or family member.
I miss the beautiful faces, waiting for the next prayer to start.
I miss the Masjid.
Until next time...