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Why am I cross? I’m angry at myself for succumbing to my scheming nafs once more.

By my twenty-fifth Ramadan, you’d think I might have made progress. But no. The last differs little from my first.

At this juncture, I wonder if there is any hope for me, every month of fasting and prayer undermined from within.

It’s as if I have a schizophrenic personality, calling both to good and bad, right and wrong, neither side particularly persuasive.

So I’m back where I started, and I fear it will be the end of me. The ill that undermines all of my good deeds.

Sometimes, I manage to follow the bad deed with a good deed, hopefully heavier in weight. But often, it is the other way round.

I’m angry at myself because I never remain steadfast. Because while others utilise this blessed month for reform, I consistently just deform.

We’re back to these inner battles once more, which I always seem to fail. I can’t seem to tame this nafs of mine.

May God help me.