When I was a sophomore in high school in 1999, my English teacher assigned our class an essay to submit to a contest in our local newspaper dedicated to Christmas. Since I’m Muslim, my teacher gave me the option to write an op-ed on a different topic instead, but I chose to address this religious holiday that’s so ingrained in the American culture I grew up in, and take the opportunity to reconcile it with being a Muslim here. Plus, I wanted to win $50.

As lunar luck would have it, Ramadan coincided with the Christmas season that year, allowing me the perfect opportunity to reflect & expound on just how much we humans share, no matter what religion we subscribe to. We all believe in love.

And love I did, when I won first place and spent most of my prize money on Backstreet Boys fan gear. (Hey, I was a teenage girl in the late ‘90s, give me a break.)

In light of the lunar fluke that will most likely have Muslims celebrating Eid on September 11^th and the current climate of Islamophobia in America, I feel there’s no better time to present to you thoughts from my 15-year-old self (slightly-edited by my pernickety grown-up self) that I’m still proud of today.

“Merry Christmas & Eid Mubarak!” originally published in the Decatur Herald & Review on Friday, December 24, 1999

By Ghazala Irshad, age 15

Growing up Muslim in a predominantly Christian society, I knew when it was “the most wonderful time of the year”: when I saw colorful lights coiling around every tree in sight, heard carols playing on overhead speakers, felt the sharp elbows of mothers pushing to get to the front of the lines at Toys-R-Us, and tasted snowflakes on the tip of my tongue. Christmas time was here. At school I felt like I was on the outside looking in on all the merriment my friends shared while participating in plays & gift exchanges. I wanted so badly to belong, but I learned early on that I would always be different because I’m not Christian–I’m Muslim.

As I’ve matured though, with each passing Ramadan, my senses have become heightened to the ambrosial scent of attar floating around as we all got ready to go to the mosque on Eid morning, the melodic recitation of the Quran on tape playing at home, the sweet flavor of thick sheer khurma, and the moving sight of hundreds of my Muslim brothers and sisters standing shoulder to shoulder, praying in unison. I’ve discovered that no matter what religion, the true meaning of any holiday is peace, love, and happiness shared with friends and family.

As Muslims, we revere the ninth month of the lunar-based Islamic calendar, Ramadan, as the most sacred because it is the month in which God revealed the holy Quran to the prophet Muhammad. During this month, we fast from dawn to dusk every day and refrain from eating, drinking, and indulging in other pleasures in order to practice self-restraint, patience, purity, and tolerance, and to understand the hardship of those less fortunate. We commemorate the end of this holy month of purification with the festival of Eid ul-Fitr.

Although my family doesn’t decorate trees or sing carols, we do celebrate Ramadan and Eid in many of the same ways that Christians observe Christmas, and with just as much gusto.

At sunset every evening, we gather to break the fast and pray together as a family, whether at home or at the mosque. Each night is like a miniature feast consisting of an assortment of mouth-watering fruits and cuisine from around the Muslim world. Nobody counts calories when they’re having fun with loved ones.

Just like the Christians I see donating to The Salvation Army at the ring of a bell during the Christmas season, we Muslims give a small percentage of our incomes as zakat, or mandatory charity, and may also choose to contribute extra in the form of sadaqa, or optional charity.

Christians are not alone when it comes to fretting and fuming during the holiday gift shopping frenzy. My family and I like to hit the stores during the peak of the shopping season—the last minute. We don’t have a figure comparable to Santa Claus to determine which children behaved themselves throughout the year, so everyone receives presents, but children who fast acquire considerably more recognition, thereby earning more presents than those who don’t.

Like many Christians go to Mass on Christmas Eve, similarly, my family and I attend tarawih, a special prayer congregation held at the mosque every night of the month of Ramadan.

While most Christians climb into bed on Christmas Eve anticipating surprises under their trees the next morning, on the night before Eid, we are busy preparing for the next day’s festivities. Everyone finishes shopping for presents. The women usually make exquisite dishes and exotic desserts for everyone at the mosque, while the men generally serve as taste testers. Young girls sometimes draw decorative henna designs on their hands and feet.

Unlike Christians though, we don’t wake up to find presents under trees. Instead, we immediately shower, perform the necessary ablution for the Eid prayer, dress in our finest, and rush to arrive at the mosque early enough to find a good parking space. Once inside, the men and women go their separate ways to await the muezzin’s call to prayer, the adhan.

The muezzin’s voice resounds clearly over the speakers as he calls all Muslims to pray together out of gratitude to God for having blessed us with so much. Although the imam leads the recitation of the prayer in Arabic, everyone in the mosque understands the message. After the prayer, gifts are exchanged, kisses given, hugs received, and joyous laughter shared between jubilated friends and family throughout the mosque.

We spend the rest of the Eid holiday greeting our friends and relatives over many special feasts, like Christian families spend quality time with each other over Christmas dinner, albeit we need to spread everyone (and all the food) out over three days.

Although I never felt like I was a part of Christmas tradition while growing up, I now realize that I have always shared the holiday spirit with my Christian friends: reflecting on my faith, helping the less fortunate, and rejoicing in the blessings of life and love with my family and friends.