:bism:
Real Struggles: In Response to Sister Yasmin Moghdad's words
Hijab is a piece of cloth, but is not a cloth like any other.
When I was younger, people in hijab used to freak me out; I thought the women were probably extreme in their religion because culturally I had never seen anyone wear the hijab.
My sibling excelled academically and I didn’t. Since I couldn’t compete with my sibling in academic performance, I thought I could at least draw attention to my outward appearance.
I was a sorority-rushing, fashion-loving female, and I did not have concerns beyond maintaining my outward appearance. You’d think that I was happy, but I wasn’t really happy because I felt very insecure; I felt that if I ever lost my “looks,” people wouldn’t “love” me anymore. And I desperately needed to feel that I was lovable, because I’d been bullied when I was younger.
Many things happened in my life, and one important turning point led me to study Islam. I fell in love, with Islam. Hopelessly in love. With Allah. I didn’t need the love of people anymore. Finally, I was free from the invisible chains I’d worn in needing people’s love. I had Allah. I had True Love.
I had been an agnostic, one that called herself an atheist, but my heart had now submitted to Allah.
I changed, and I kept changing. Until one day I decided that I needed to wear the hijab, not for modesty reasons or any number of reasons that people try to explain the wisdom behind the hijab. Not at all. I wanted to wear the hijab for Allah, out of love for Allah.
My practice of Islam had already brought tension in my home, this despite the fact that I’d been born into at least a culturally “Muslim” family. My mother has never accepted my hijab and continues to cajole, blackmail, and sometimes threaten me with a dire future because I wear the hijab.
If someone had told me when I’d first started wearing the hijab that I’d consider taking it off, I’m not sure I’d have believed that would happen.
That said, am tired of the conspiracies of silence in which I see the Muslim community mired in regards to real struggles. I have now for some time struggling with the hijab, because of the role that I’d stepped into for which I had never felt prepared: When I wear the hijab, I am very conscious that I could be the first Muslim person the non-Muslim person meets and also of the fact that I could be the first practicing Muslim person the cultural Muslim meets. I feel there are no room for errors. I am automatically placed in the role of being a role model, without my desire or will, and I have very grave reservations about being a role model. I wanted my hijab to be a private communication of love between me and God, but it has turned out a public communication between me and the world. I don’t like that at all, and I don’t want to be a role model. I have my own flaws and I want to work on them rather than have people assume I’m some sanctified being.
Then of course there’s the other extreme end of the spectrum in which I’m considered an oppressed human being. My law school professor feels free to remark about oppression of males in reference to my hijab as the presumption is that some male is responsible for me doing that which I probably would not choose otherwise to do. The supermarket clerk asks me about whether I was forced to wear the hijab and I gently explain to her that I was not. I don’t know if she believes me, but I hope she did.
Then, Paris Attacks happen, and San Bernardino attacks occur, and both of them call attention to my ostensible “Muslim-ness.” I have never deliberately tried to hurt anyone nor have had thoughts about hurting others, and yet the public rhetoric is about how Muslims are alien to America and have a penchant for killing infidels. I wonder if my co-workers think I might one day turn on them. I feel sad.
My father who still sometimes professes problems with my Islam had still supported me in wearing the hijab when I’d decided to do so. Recently, he said that he’d understand if I’d take off my hijab. My mother has of course renewed her efforts to try to have me stop wearing the hijab. She’s scared. And through all of this, I try to assure them I’m fine. And I do not tell them about the thoughts myself of taking off the hijab because I know I’d not find them give me any support or reassurance telling me that I can wear the hijab despite the anti-Muslim feelings in the world.
There’s this real but quite invisible struggle with which I struggle, and I’m not sure how I feel about people telling me that I’m the “light” in the world. I don’t want to be the light. I don’t want to be anything. I want to be left alone to be with God.
In the spirit of sharing with sisters who really do struggle with the hijab,
:wa:
Real Struggles: In Response to Sister Yasmin Moghdad's words
Hijab is a piece of cloth, but is not a cloth like any other.
When I was younger, people in hijab used to freak me out; I thought the women were probably extreme in their religion because culturally I had never seen anyone wear the hijab.
My sibling excelled academically and I didn’t. Since I couldn’t compete with my sibling in academic performance, I thought I could at least draw attention to my outward appearance.
I was a sorority-rushing, fashion-loving female, and I did not have concerns beyond maintaining my outward appearance. You’d think that I was happy, but I wasn’t really happy because I felt very insecure; I felt that if I ever lost my “looks,” people wouldn’t “love” me anymore. And I desperately needed to feel that I was lovable, because I’d been bullied when I was younger.
Many things happened in my life, and one important turning point led me to study Islam. I fell in love, with Islam. Hopelessly in love. With Allah. I didn’t need the love of people anymore. Finally, I was free from the invisible chains I’d worn in needing people’s love. I had Allah. I had True Love.
I had been an agnostic, one that called herself an atheist, but my heart had now submitted to Allah.
I changed, and I kept changing. Until one day I decided that I needed to wear the hijab, not for modesty reasons or any number of reasons that people try to explain the wisdom behind the hijab. Not at all. I wanted to wear the hijab for Allah, out of love for Allah.
My practice of Islam had already brought tension in my home, this despite the fact that I’d been born into at least a culturally “Muslim” family. My mother has never accepted my hijab and continues to cajole, blackmail, and sometimes threaten me with a dire future because I wear the hijab.
If someone had told me when I’d first started wearing the hijab that I’d consider taking it off, I’m not sure I’d have believed that would happen.
That said, am tired of the conspiracies of silence in which I see the Muslim community mired in regards to real struggles. I have now for some time struggling with the hijab, because of the role that I’d stepped into for which I had never felt prepared: When I wear the hijab, I am very conscious that I could be the first Muslim person the non-Muslim person meets and also of the fact that I could be the first practicing Muslim person the cultural Muslim meets. I feel there are no room for errors. I am automatically placed in the role of being a role model, without my desire or will, and I have very grave reservations about being a role model. I wanted my hijab to be a private communication of love between me and God, but it has turned out a public communication between me and the world. I don’t like that at all, and I don’t want to be a role model. I have my own flaws and I want to work on them rather than have people assume I’m some sanctified being.
Then of course there’s the other extreme end of the spectrum in which I’m considered an oppressed human being. My law school professor feels free to remark about oppression of males in reference to my hijab as the presumption is that some male is responsible for me doing that which I probably would not choose otherwise to do. The supermarket clerk asks me about whether I was forced to wear the hijab and I gently explain to her that I was not. I don’t know if she believes me, but I hope she did.
Then, Paris Attacks happen, and San Bernardino attacks occur, and both of them call attention to my ostensible “Muslim-ness.” I have never deliberately tried to hurt anyone nor have had thoughts about hurting others, and yet the public rhetoric is about how Muslims are alien to America and have a penchant for killing infidels. I wonder if my co-workers think I might one day turn on them. I feel sad.
My father who still sometimes professes problems with my Islam had still supported me in wearing the hijab when I’d decided to do so. Recently, he said that he’d understand if I’d take off my hijab. My mother has of course renewed her efforts to try to have me stop wearing the hijab. She’s scared. And through all of this, I try to assure them I’m fine. And I do not tell them about the thoughts myself of taking off the hijab because I know I’d not find them give me any support or reassurance telling me that I can wear the hijab despite the anti-Muslim feelings in the world.
There’s this real but quite invisible struggle with which I struggle, and I’m not sure how I feel about people telling me that I’m the “light” in the world. I don’t want to be the light. I don’t want to be anything. I want to be left alone to be with God.
In the spirit of sharing with sisters who really do struggle with the hijab,
:wa:
