“Labbayk Allahumma labbayk” (Here I am, Oh Allah, Here I am) are the first words every Muslim intending to perform the Hajj must utter. Having been a Muslim in name only since I was young, and this being my first Hajj pilgrimage, my journey began with a mixture of nervousness, excitement, and apprehension.

The Hajj pilgrimage is held annually between the 8th and 13th days of Zil-Hajj, the 12th month on the Islamic lunar calendar. This year, the corresponding Gregorian calendar dates of Hajj 2025 in Saudi Arabia are between the 4th of June and the 9th of June.

At the Hajj, Muslims gather in Saudi Arabia to unite in acts of worship as they fulfil one of the Five Pillars of Islam, a religious obligation. It can be a spiritual experience of a lifetime for them, offering a chance to seek God’s forgiveness and the forgiveness of past sins. Hajj is the fifth pillar of Islam, after Shahada (declaration of faith), Salat (performing the five daily prayers), Zakat (giving charity from one's wealth), and Sawm (fasting during Ramadan).

My Hajj started in the Holy City of Madinah, where the days were spent praying at the mosque initially built by the Prophet Muhammad (Peace be upon him). I was certainly awed by the vastness of the holy site. I had the chance to visit the Prophet’s final resting place.

Entering the Holy City of Makkah afterwards, every pilgrim had to don the ihram, two simple pieces of unstitched white cloth for men. This initial step is profoundly symbolic, stripping away all markers of wealth, status, and nationality. Rich or poor, prince or pauper, all pilgrims stand equal before God, united in their devotion.

The first major ritual upon entering the Grand Holy Mosque of Mecca is the Tawaf, a circumambulation of the Kaaba, located at the center of the mosque, performed seven times. The sheer volume of people, a swirling human vortex around the ancient black structure, was overwhelming yet incredibly unifying. The ritual symbolizes the centrality of God in a Muslim’s life—just as the Kaaba is the physical center of the ritual, God is the spiritual center of existence. It also connects pilgrims to the legacy of Prophet Ibrahim (Abraham), who, along with his son Ismail, built the Kaaba as a house of worship.

Following the Tawaf, the Sa'i between the hills of Safa and Marwah, commemorating Hagar's desperate search for water for her son, was a testament to perseverance. Walking and running seven times, amidst throngs of people, was physically demanding but spiritually invigorating, a reminder of the mother's unwavering faith.

The physical hardships of Hajj are undeniable. The sheer number of people, especially during peak times, means navigating immense crowds, enduring long waits, and often walking for miles under the scorching Arabian sun. It was organized chaos. The minimalist ihram offers little protection from the elements, and sleep can be elusive in the bustling camps.

The significance of these rituals, however, far transcends their physical demands. The Day of Arafat, when pilgrims gather on Mount Arafat, is the spiritual zenith of Hajj. The day commemorates the Prophet’s Farewell Sermon, delivered over 1,400 years ago at Mount Arafat, and is seen as a moment of divine mercy and forgiveness. It is a day of intense prayer, repentance, and seeking forgiveness, believed to be the day when sins are expiated. Everyone felt a powerful sense of humility and hope. It was a profound reckoning, a personal conversation with God, stripped of all worldly distractions.

That night, under the open sky of Muzdalifah, every pilgrim lay on the stony ground beside strangers who felt more like kin. There was no luxury, no barrier between us and the earth. We all gathered small pebbles—each one a symbol of our resolve to battle personal demons and shun temptation. It was a humble, grounding night. It’s a powerful reminder of the unity of Muslims and the equality of all believers before God.

In Mina, we all stood before the towering stone pillars known as the Jamarat. With every stone we hurled, we cast out fear, envy, and doubt—each strike a declaration of resistance against inner and outer evils. The stoning was not just symbolic; it was cathartic, helping me confront struggles I had long buried. According to Islamic tradition, Satan appeared to Ibrahim three times to dissuade him from sacrificing his son. Each time, Ibrahim drove him away by throwing stones. Pilgrims emulate this to honor his unwavering faith. This act, followed by the Eid al-Adha (Festival of Sacrifice) where an animal is sacrificed, completes a cycle of dedication, purification, and gratitude.

The renewal that follows Hajj is a slow burn, a profound internal shift that permeates every aspect of life. Returning home, I became not merely someone who has completed a journey, but someone slowly transforming, symbolized by my newly shaven head. The sense of purpose is heightened, the connection to faith deepened. There's a newfound patience, a greater capacity for empathy, and a profound appreciation for the simple blessings of life. The Hajj, truly, is not just a pilgrimage of the body, but a profound and lasting journey of the soul.