Filed under: Struggle for My Soul | Tags: Eman, Fasting, hassaballa, islam, muslim, muslims, Ramadan, rant, sunset
Tonight is the 19th night of Ramadan, and I’ve fallen into the same slump that I fall into every year. I start off strong and then I get a short break (we’re all adults) or I just poop out. And then I’m coasting on very little until Eid.
I’ve been seeing people on Facebook talk about how awesome they feel and I feel a little bit jealous, because I don’t feel that. I’m actually counting down the days until Ramadan ends so I can stop feeling guilty for not taking advantage of it. Fasting is wiping me out and I wish I had somewhere to travel to, or a really bad cold, so I can have a small break. And all I hear is the supplication that I’ve been hearing for many years about hoping to blessed to see another Ramadan.
Ramadan was so much easier when I was in college. Firstly, Ramadan was in December and sunset was at 4:30. Secondly, I didn’t have a care in the world. My life consisted of hanging out at school and skipping class. I didn’t have a mortgage, a job, debt and all the other things that weigh our spirit down.
I miss being excited about Ramadan. This year I was dreading it. And the first week was tough. By 3:00 pm, my knuckles were dragging on the ground at work and I was moving at a snail’s pace. And this year Egyptians didn’t even turn back the clocks like they always did. I bet they miss Mubarak (joke).
My prayer to God is to give me the strength to make the most of this Ramadan, and although I didn’t earn it, I hope that I get to see many more Ramadans, so that I at least can get rewarded for sleeping while I’m fasting. And please, please forgive me for my shortcomings.
Now I need to go and do something useful.
Filed under: Struggle for My Soul | Tags: abdelnabi, asma khalid, bayan, Bayan Hassaballa, blogging, Eman, fat, headscarf, hijab, islam, kindness, koran, lifting the veil, metra, muslim, npr, rasmieyh, research, scarf, veil
So my original post responding to the NPR piece called Lifting the Veil, which talked about why women chose to remove the veil or dejab as I like to call it, garnered a lot of attention and a lot of comments. I’m still catching up on them as we speak.
Before I begin though, there are a few things I need to clear up. First of all it was inappropriate for me to Rasmieyh’s opinion BS. Even though I still don’t agree, that’s not best way to start a dialogue with someone. I’ve actually reached out to her and apologized privately, but also would like to apologize publicly as well. I am sorry for using language as such, and should have used more appropriate words to express my disagreement.
Secondly, reducing her research to a Google search was also unfair and untrue. I’m actually very interested to see her research, so I can be better schooled in the subject.
That does not change how I feel about the piece or that I disagree with the opinion. If there is a minority opinion in Islam that says that hijab is not required, than that’s what it is, a minority opinion. But it cannot over shadow the majority opinion that says it is required. But I really need to research the matter more deeply myself.
My beloved teacher, Dr. Umar Faruq Abd-Allah says very beautifully and eloquently in this four-part (this is the fourth part, but the first three are linked at the top) piece on altmuslima, “The scarf must be nothing but an item of clothing. We cannot blow it up and conflate into the scarf issue all these other things.” This was the point I was trying to make. Someone objected to my shoe analogy, but I stand by it because we never talk about whether or not to wear a shoe (or clothes for that matter) but the discussion centers around how. But we still need to be wearing them.
Dr. Umar also said that the four schools all require the headscarf. He also cautioned against using the word hijab because it means something so different than that thing I wear on my head. Please read his interview.
One comment on the earlier piece said that I should be for justice for all, and never did I say I wasn’t, but what I didn’t want to defend against was my right to cover because of my belief that God said I have to.
The reason that I used to the word sympathize rather than empathize, is because honestly, that’s not something I struggle with. My struggles are internal and they are just as difficult as the struggle that someone has with the headscarf, but my struggles aren’t as public as the struggle with whether to cover or not.
I have had moments when I’ve been sick of wearing a scarf, like when I used to take Metra. I would be on a packed train, and had gotten there early enough to get a seat alone. I never sat upstairs because I’m also an overweight person and those chairs were not comfy for a big girl like me, and I never took more than my half of the seat. Countless people (mostly white) would walk right past my seat even though there were no other seats on the train or they would opt to sit on the stairs. That hurt. Let’s say I decided to take off my hijab. What does that change? I’m still fat, brown and likely not going to have people sit next to me, because I decided why they didn’t sit next to me. That may not have been the truth, even though it was my truth.
I didn’t write this response to my response to defend myself; I don’t need to, but I just want to make sure that it was clear that I did not mean to single out Rasmieyh, and I wanted to clarify a few more points.
This is an issue that needs more voices from both sides of the veil, and we need to be able to have an honest and respectful dialogue about it. I definitely will be writing more about it, since no one cares why Taylor Swift makes me cry. :)
Filed under: Struggle for My Soul | Tags: headscarf, hijab, islam, lifting the veil, muslim, npr, scarf, women
I just recently celebrated my 20th year wearing hijab. I started wearing hijab when I was in sixth grade. It was Friday, April 5th, 1991. My mom was trying to convince us to go to Islamic School so we visited Universal for the day. To attend the school, we had to cover. I had no plans of wearing hijab; I always wanted to start after high school. I used to say that I wanted to have my chance of doing my hair and wearing make-up before I started hijab. But after we left the school for the day, it felt so comfortable that I told my mom that I wanted to keep wearing it, just to try it out. Like I said, it felt so comfortable, that I forgot I was wearing it, until I saw myself in the glass of a shop. I startled myself because I didn’t realize it was me in the window. Later that evening, I told my mom that I had decided to wear it full time. My mom worried that it might be too much, and told me that if I wanted to just wear it in and around the community I could, but I didn’t have to wear it to school. I told her that if that was the case, then there was no point in wearing it. It was all or nothing for me.
I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. This was right smack in the middle of the school year and it was by far one of the toughest school years to date. I had a hard time making friends, and the friends that I did have weren’t in my class, so the only time I saw them was during recess. That meant that the prospects for partners on projects were very low, and I was usually paired up with the person who couldn’t secure a partner, and maybe our class was an odd number, so the teacher would shop me around to other groups to make a group of three. So you’d think I’d think about my decision and its effect on my already low social status. But I went ahead and started wearing hijab, and the reaction wasn’t so bad. It didn’t help or hurt my social status, but it lead me in a new direction in my life.
Jump about ten and a half years later to September 11, 2001 and Islam was on the forefront and not in a good way. We all remember what it was it was like. I remember gathering all my cousins that day from UIC and heading home, and at that time we all were in hijab. My cousin’s grandmother, a white Christian, left her a message telling her to take off her bonnet because it was too dangerous. Thankfully, we were able to laugh it off because our lives were not in danger. We went to a school that was diverse and reached out to us, asking us if the MSA needed anything. The MSA set up a plan of action to make sure people were escorted when needed and we never felt like we were in any sort of danger. And this is when it started.
Just as the sentiments of Grandma Betty, lots of girls started taking off their “bonnets”. We started hearing that religious scholars were permitting it. There was a lot of confusion, fear and knee-jerk reactions to what was happening.
As I said confusion was everywhere, and I remember the sense of relief when Shaykh Abdullah bin Bayyah issued this fatwa that basically said if one fears for their life, they should stay home and not go out and if they must then they should cover in the most inconspicuous way possible, by way of a cap or hat, never did he say it was okay to stop wearing the hijab. We’ll come back to that later…but think about what that means.
Jump another 10 years to this week and I’m on Facebook. I see this link and it’s been shared several times. It’s starting to go viral on FB. So I give it a listen and then I was glad I was delayed in writing my hijab post. So here goes nothing or everything.
I have always thought that hijab was given too much emphasis. And I think this is what messed things up for us with respect to hijab. But before I get into this, I’d really like to address the NPR piece.
The first person they talked about is Rasmieyh Abdelnabi who mentioned that she “had done [her] research” and realized that hijab is an expression of Arab culture. I have two letters for that: BS. I’m sorry, I respect your decision to unveil for whatever reason you had, but please don’t malign my religion along with your decision. If it was Arab culture, then as one of my heroes said, paraphrasing, if hijab wasn’t required why is there an iteration of it in every Muslim culture throughout history. Whether it’s in West Africa, Indonesia, Muslim Spain or South East Asia, there was ALWAYS some expression of hijab, even if it didn’t resemble what we know today. Remember what I said about Shaykh bin Bayyah, even when safety is an issue, stay inside or wear a baseball cap, but dejabbing, as I call it, is never made halal. But that doesn’t mean you can’t dejab. That’s between you and God, and it’s not for us to meddle in what personal decisions you make, but you can’t say it’s not a part of the religion. I’m saying that for your own sake. In the same way we tell people to not make haram what was made halal; don’t make halal what God made haram. It’s not that you’re questioning God’s will, as you said, actually you’re going against 1400 plus years of scholarship that you undid with a simple Google search (Post Script Correction: Rasmieyh had written a paper in her master’s program). Because had you properly researched you would not have come to that conclusion. I have more respect for someone who says that it was a burden they couldn’t bear, rather than they shed their responsibility and try to say that it’s not a part of Islam.
Speaking to the point of representing the community when you’re in hijab, I agree that it feels that way, but that’s an internal feeling that has been turned into an external reality. That is where I think people who think that way are dead wrong. Yes the way I look communicates a lot about who I am. But it’s UBER important for me to take control over that communication to make sure that I communicate who I am. I was just complaining to someone that I feel like my hijab communicates something about me that I am not. I am not conservative, I am not religious, and I am not a prude. I’m just a regular girl who loves cheeseburgers and social media. For me the solution is to not take it off, but to redefine what my hijab looks like. It’s a stereotype like all the other stereotypes that are out there. How do we combat stereotypes? Not by taking the issue off the table altogether. I’m glad Rasmieyh stays silent, because honestly and with all due respect, when it comes to what the religion says about hijab, she’s got it all wrong. Although speaking to NPR isn’t really staying silent. Back to my other point about hijab in the first place.
I hear people say: when I’m ready, I’ll wear hijab. Ready? What the heck does that mean? No one told us, inshaAllah when you’re ready you’ll start praying or fasting, or not stealing, or not lying. I really think that’s what gave us a hijomplex (do I need to explain that?). People think well, I’m not religious enough to wear the headscarf. When I get there, then I’ll wear it. Get where exactly ya mama? This isn’t Mario Bros, and when you get to level 8, you’re a good enough Muslim to wear the hijab. It’s just any other obligation among the numerous other obligations that as a Muslim we choose to take on. Oh and about it being a choice.
Yes America, it is a choice. I made a conscious decision to cover and if I were to dejab it would also be a conscious decision. But the choice is in whether or not I choose to observe a part of my religion or not. It’s really very simple.
So thinking that one has to reach a certain level to wear hijab creates a problem. I’m not good enough, or I’m a horrible person and I don’t want to make Islam look bad, so I’ll just dejab. We all think we are horrible people, but that doesn’t mean we are. If we thought we were spectacular, then we’d have a bigger issue on our hands. So one of the things that we have to do is change the way we look at hijab. I wish we’d give prayer the same emphasis that we give to hijab. I think our community would be in a better place if we did. Bring hijab down a couple of notches people. To me wearing hijab is like wearing shoes, it’s something I have to do. I can wear heels , sandals, flip-flops or loafers, but I just gotta do it, because walking barefoot could be an option but it will hurt me and society.
I do want to say this: I, by no means, am judging people for dejabbing, nor am I looking down on anyone who decides to make that decision. On the contrary, I have the utmost sympathy for anyone who has to make that decision, as the NPR piece said, “the choice to unveil is highly private, emotional and religious.” I agree with that and I’m so thankful that’s not an issue for me . And I think it should be portrayed that way. But what’s happening is some people, not all, are taking their own feelings about their decision and projecting it back on Islam, or as a defense mechanism saying in essence I did nothing wrong by dejabbing, actually there’s no proof hijab is required in Islam. Why?
Because when you take your scarf off, it only makes it so much harder for us to step out into the world with hijab on, not only do I have to defend my right to practice my religion the way that I want, but now I have to defend your right too. It’s a disservice to the religion when you don’t take ownership of your actions. And that’s a burden I should not have to bear.
Thanks to @angie_em, Asad Jaleel and Maie Seif for your feedback and critique.
Well Ramadan is over and we should (emphasis on should) have developed good habits to last us until the next Ramadan. I’m trying to list my good ones and can’t think of anything really except for my new found love for Prophet Musa (Moses) and a renewed relationship with the Quran. I guess that’s not too bad considering the last few years have not been good ones due to a number of reasons.
Our Prophet has told us that during Ramadan the devils and the evil spirits that try to tempt our souls are locked up for this month. I know there are a lot of technicalities of which types of devils are chained up and so on and so forth but for all intents and purposes let’s just focus on them not being around. And there are two things in particular that I want to talk about in this post.
The first thing is this month is a chance to get really comfy and cozy with one’s self. It’s a time where I can’t say the devil made me do it. There are nafsany thoughts and shaytany thoughts. The nafsany thoughts are those that originate from your own self. And the shaytany thoughts are those that originate from those external forces whose jobs are to guide away from the path to God. Or at least this is my definition of the two terms and I’ll use them as such. So what’s my point? Oh yeah, I remember now. This to me is the point of ramadan. In addition of course to all the other things: God-consciousness, empathy for the poor, etc. Ramadan was a time for me to look myself straight in the face and try to ascertain (without the noise of the shaytany thoughts) what makes me tick in a bad way and try to purge that through fasting worship reflection and reading the Quran. And I was intrigued with what I found out about myself.
I found myself to be the same person that I was before Ramadan. Hmmmm! I saw that I was really the same person with the same whims and desires. I didn’t expect a huge change, but I expected to feel something different. But what I realized is the shaytan didn’t have as much as an effect on me as I thought. It was a little depressing because that meant that it was me. But that’s the way it should be, we should always blame ourselves first, then move to the others. But our society has become one that blames everyone BUT themselves. But I wanted to shift to something else that’s really on my mind.
I started writing this on Eid al-Fitr (our holiday after Ramadan) before the services started because I was a little upset for a bunch of reasons, but one that was painfully obvious was that my beautiful niece Bayan wasn’t with us, and this was one of the very many firsts that are going to occur. This was the first Eid without Bayan. So I was writing to output some of that emotion, rather than sobbing in front of hundreds of nosy Egyptians. But I said I was upset for other reasons too.
I always brace myself for something big after Ramadan. And it’s almost become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I always think to myself, “man Shaytan’s been locked for a month and he’s going to raring to go”. I used to warn newlyweds about the Eid Fight. “Beware of the Eid Fight,” I would tell them. And most of the time I would hear from them saying that it had occurred. It could be anything, missing prayer, getting into it with a parent, sibling or friend. But without fail, I’ve allowed myself to be fooled that the devil made me do it. I’m kind of realizing that as I’m writing all this down. Hmmm.
I did say before that he had no effect on me. But then I trick myself into thinking he’s back and badder than ever before. It’s these moments that make me realize that I have long way to go on that journey.
My ADD has kicked in and I’m just going to keep rambling, so I think I’ll end here. I hope what I just made some sense.
Remember to always be doing something useful, which I hope includes praying for me.
I still am in the middle of two posts, but this popped into my head and I thought I’d give it some air time.
Ramadan is like detox, I was telling a friend. Not just from food, drink, caffeine, sugar and such, but also a spiritual detox. It’s a purging of negative feelings towards people and towards one’s self. We spend the whole year surrounded by the noise of our lives, jobs, television, movies; the list goes on and on. Ramadan is time to turn the knob way down on the volume down on that noise and listen to ourselves and to God. And after thirty days, we’re supposed to come up with a new plan, a blueprint for the next year, hoping that we’ll live to see another Ramadan.
We’re afforded an amazing gift. God has chained up the evil spirits that try to distract us from our path to Him, according to our tradition. This is the noise that allows us to listen to ourselves. It is now we should be able to distinguish the nafsani thoughts that originate from our own whims and desires and from the shaytani thoughts that originate from those who are now chained up unable to affect us in the same way. The sad thing is, there isn’t much change, which tells me that I’m not so much affected by them, and am more affected by the diseased soul that resides in the shell of a body I’m not even properly taking care of. But it’s reassuring, nonetheless, because at least I have some control over the enemy within.
Some of the other noise around me that I try to block out this month is the constant, consistent and even insistent entertainment, media, and whatnot that exist now almost everywhere. I think I have become desensitized to some of it, even though I try to avoid the worst of it, but it still bombards me from every which way. And it’s hard, because it’s so accessible and available, and it isn’t hard to find. I mean, I haven’t detached completely, I’ve grown a new appendage called an iPhone and still manage to distract myself from my responsibilities through Facebook. Even my husband, who was dying to get it, gets frustrated from the fact that it’s always in my hand. I fear that I might develop a neck issue, from my constantly looking down at it. It’s almost like it’s humiliating us, by keeping our heads down. My dad walked in, to his dismay, on us all sitting in a couch not talking to each other, each one of us looking down at our phones. As opposed to looking down at our place of prostration or looking down at the Quran, speaking of which, that’s the first app (and so far the only one) that I have bought. And I’m able to put it to good use, hopefully. So here I am trying to block some (not all) of the most egregious forms of entertainment that are like toxins that pollute our minds from His remembrance.
I think about the times when we used to get sad at the end of Ramadan, because we were engrossed in so much of His light that we knew that it was not going to be as easy. We would savor the last few days of Ramadan, the same way I savor the last few bites of food that I have given myself as a treat. Ramadan used to be such a treat for us. We’d stand shoulder to shoulder with our friends and family every night. We’d break our fast and eat something to satisfy the hunger and rush off to prayer. We’d spend our free times getting comfortable with the Book that has become something I’ll pick up to move out of the way or dust under. That’s really where I need to turn my ear to. Now we bitch and moan that Ramadan is coming and then when it’s here we count down the days until Eid. And I think to myself, where is that girl from years past who’s binding on her Quran fell apart from the constant use? Has she died? I hope not, for God’s sake.
I feel like I had a good relationship with God. He heard me and I listened to Him. The messages were subtle and I got them. He still listens, but my hearing has gotten a little bad. Now everything has to be said bluntly, because I’ve gotten a bit dumb. And every once in a while, I have to get a swift kick in the butt to get me to listen well again, but then I’m back to my old ways. Here’s the thing, now me going back to my old ways has more serious consequences, and yet I still go back to them. I’m in the middle of one of these cycles now and I feel like I’m reeling from it. But I’m trying to bring myself back to that time when I had good hearing, or rather I’m trying to get my hearing back again.
It’s hard to know where life is going to take me. And I wish I could just get to the happy ending without the pain, heartache and hardship that comes in between, but like always I’m taking it one step at a time and hoping (actually praying) that I come out on on top. Ameen.
*sigh*
Go. Do something useful.
