College, Islam & Hijab. Story You May Never Hear...?
MUST READ FOR EVERY COLLEGE MUSLIMA!
In the name of Allah, the most Beneficent, most Merciful.
Say: “Truly, my prayer and my service of sacrifice, my life and my death, are (all) for Allah, the Cherisher of the Worlds”
Say: “Truly, my prayer and my service of sacrifice, my life and my death, are (all) for Allah, the Cherisher of the Worlds”
Qur’aan, 6:162
As I am graduating, I wanted to share my story with every Muslim girl in college. Why? Because I’ve been there done that.
Looking at me now, wearing Hijab, everyone thinks “She’s been wearing it all her life”.
The ‘scandalous’ girls look at me with fear—maybe they see me as an extremist—only because I follow some standards—Islam in my case.
They will never guess I was more ‘scandalous’ then they are, could ever be...
I came to college, four years ago, from a moderately conservative family. We were Muslim in the sense that we respected all the principles of Islam. My mother and father never forced me to wear Hijab, but I always thought “I know I’m going to wear it sometime in my life, just not now, I’m not ready yet. I want to be ‘good’ later, and be perfectly good”. Being ‘not ready’ really meant I wanted SOME excitement in my life before casting the MEN (in exciteMENt) all away. Yes, like every girl (or maybe like every “westernized” girl), I wanted to leave some things, some dreams to my imagination. Maybe we all watch too many Disney Movies.
So then, I was modern—except—I really wasn’t. I’d go to the prom, but feel uncomfortable dancing with a guy. I guess all this time, either morals, the way I was raised, or even God was kicking in. But it didn’t stop me from dreaming. Satan was always keeping me sitting on the fence.
Looking at me now, wearing Hijab, everyone thinks “She’s been wearing it all her life”.
The ‘scandalous’ girls look at me with fear—maybe they see me as an extremist—only because I follow some standards—Islam in my case.
They will never guess I was more ‘scandalous’ then they are, could ever be...
I came to college, four years ago, from a moderately conservative family. We were Muslim in the sense that we respected all the principles of Islam. My mother and father never forced me to wear Hijab, but I always thought “I know I’m going to wear it sometime in my life, just not now, I’m not ready yet. I want to be ‘good’ later, and be perfectly good”. Being ‘not ready’ really meant I wanted SOME excitement in my life before casting the MEN (in exciteMENt) all away. Yes, like every girl (or maybe like every “westernized” girl), I wanted to leave some things, some dreams to my imagination. Maybe we all watch too many Disney Movies.
So then, I was modern—except—I really wasn’t. I’d go to the prom, but feel uncomfortable dancing with a guy. I guess all this time, either morals, the way I was raised, or even God was kicking in. But it didn’t stop me from dreaming. Satan was always keeping me sitting on the fence.
Resist the devil and he will flee from you. Draw near to God and He will draw near to you.
James 4:7-8 (New Testament).
One thing I always did was “follow my heart”. I did take chances to touch romance, but they were never fulfilled. Good signs from God I realize now. I lived without regrets.
I still do, except, a lot of things I don’t put into the ‘regret’ category anymore.
College was the first time I was living away from home. My parents were unsure, but I think I threatened them so much that they finally relented. My mother made me promise I’d be ‘good’ and left me at the college gates crying. She was the only one crying. I was so excited, I had always dreamed of the independent life: small town girl living in the big city. That was the only thing on my mind. I was counting the seconds until my parents left and I could conquer my university.
So first year was maybe a little difficult. I was always getting used to living on my own. I’d get homesick a lot. I’d hug a girl in my hall from Greece. She missed her family terribly. One day she asked, what country do your parents live in? I replied, “They live an hour away from here”. She looked at me shocked: “And you still miss them?”
I did. Maybe the cool thing about my background was that we keep our friends close, but our families closer. We have large families, a lot of support. I never had problems, insecurities, stress, etc living at home.
All this, I encountered at college.
Second semester, I wanted to get out more—get involved. Meet people. So I was more outgoing. I took some chances in meeting males, but they never got far. I was shy and insecure then. Plus, I didn’t look like a model (that problem got solved over the summer).
But I did join a cultural student organization as an executive board member—happy that I’d meet people more like me. I finally wanted to be in a clique with people who were moderately liberal. The semester before I got tons of invites to parties, clubs, bars (yes we were all 18, they all had fake Ids, Only $ 60-$80 for a two year nonstop party adventure). I always made excuses; I wasn’t ready to be put out into that world yet. It was too new, attractive but unfamiliar.
I came back into my sophomore year having lost 40 lbs, with the weight shifted to all the right places. Whatever you think is glamorous, sexy, etc, I was all that, and more probably—I was new. New as in no one could believe it was the same Umniyah. And new in the sense that all the popular outgoing people first recognized and recruited me. And I was really pretty—always had been, but my spectacular designer clothes and tight fit finally showed it to my advantage. Not to leave out the sleek blow-dried hair, contacts, and all the other stuff merchandisers create to make a woman feel like goddess (note: “feel”, not actually be)
This was also the first semester I had the worst relationship with my parents. They didn’t know what I was up to, and I didn’t understand why they could never let me have ‘fun’. So I kept lying to them. In their eyes, I went to sleep at 9 pm. Woke for my 9 am classes. And missed all of their calls because I was studying in the library.
Reality: I’d go to sleep at 4 am -7 am. Never went to any of my classes because I was too tired form partying hard all night, and slept all day to recover (hence the missed calls). Parties weren’t always in clubs, they were in public lounges, dorms, frat houses, sorority houses, suites of men, men’s apartments, anything with men, liquor, drugs, illegal, semi-nude women, and it all goes.
I’d lament the past night that evening, and then be convinced to go out again. Hence the cycle continued.
((Of course I failed all of my classes save PE and a language class. Fail as in “D”, only doing better on finals prevented the F.))
One thing I always did was “follow my heart”. I did take chances to touch romance, but they were never fulfilled. Good signs from God I realize now. I lived without regrets.
I still do, except, a lot of things I don’t put into the ‘regret’ category anymore.
College was the first time I was living away from home. My parents were unsure, but I think I threatened them so much that they finally relented. My mother made me promise I’d be ‘good’ and left me at the college gates crying. She was the only one crying. I was so excited, I had always dreamed of the independent life: small town girl living in the big city. That was the only thing on my mind. I was counting the seconds until my parents left and I could conquer my university.
So first year was maybe a little difficult. I was always getting used to living on my own. I’d get homesick a lot. I’d hug a girl in my hall from Greece. She missed her family terribly. One day she asked, what country do your parents live in? I replied, “They live an hour away from here”. She looked at me shocked: “And you still miss them?”
I did. Maybe the cool thing about my background was that we keep our friends close, but our families closer. We have large families, a lot of support. I never had problems, insecurities, stress, etc living at home.
All this, I encountered at college.
Second semester, I wanted to get out more—get involved. Meet people. So I was more outgoing. I took some chances in meeting males, but they never got far. I was shy and insecure then. Plus, I didn’t look like a model (that problem got solved over the summer).
But I did join a cultural student organization as an executive board member—happy that I’d meet people more like me. I finally wanted to be in a clique with people who were moderately liberal. The semester before I got tons of invites to parties, clubs, bars (yes we were all 18, they all had fake Ids, Only $ 60-$80 for a two year nonstop party adventure). I always made excuses; I wasn’t ready to be put out into that world yet. It was too new, attractive but unfamiliar.
I came back into my sophomore year having lost 40 lbs, with the weight shifted to all the right places. Whatever you think is glamorous, sexy, etc, I was all that, and more probably—I was new. New as in no one could believe it was the same Umniyah. And new in the sense that all the popular outgoing people first recognized and recruited me. And I was really pretty—always had been, but my spectacular designer clothes and tight fit finally showed it to my advantage. Not to leave out the sleek blow-dried hair, contacts, and all the other stuff merchandisers create to make a woman feel like goddess (note: “feel”, not actually be)
This was also the first semester I had the worst relationship with my parents. They didn’t know what I was up to, and I didn’t understand why they could never let me have ‘fun’. So I kept lying to them. In their eyes, I went to sleep at 9 pm. Woke for my 9 am classes. And missed all of their calls because I was studying in the library.
Reality: I’d go to sleep at 4 am -7 am. Never went to any of my classes because I was too tired form partying hard all night, and slept all day to recover (hence the missed calls). Parties weren’t always in clubs, they were in public lounges, dorms, frat houses, sorority houses, suites of men, men’s apartments, anything with men, liquor, drugs, illegal, semi-nude women, and it all goes.
I’d lament the past night that evening, and then be convinced to go out again. Hence the cycle continued.
((Of course I failed all of my classes save PE and a language class. Fail as in “D”, only doing better on finals prevented the F.))
September, October, November. Only 3 months, but life goes fast in the fast lane. And can you imagine living like this for a straight 90 days? In late November, I got sick of it all. I remember the exact moment. I was in a bar. Avoiding random guys who wanted to grope me, avoiding the bouncer and DJ who were semi-stalking me (the bouncers were in love with me. I’d just walk right in and they’d still be looking for me the whole night). But I was wondering what the hell I was doing here. Through it all, I had never been comfortable with it, with myself. I stopped in the middle of the floor. I wasn’t having fun. This was not what I wanted. I looked at myself. Tight jeans, heels, short tank, make-up, loose hair—feeling so bare. Everything was fake, my identity, my personality, ME. What was worse was the great hollow in me. I was so empty. Nothing, there was nothing I was living for. Everything I had was outside, on me. I had nowhere to go, no future if I kept this up. Only to return here tomorrow? I couldn’t see any of my ‘friends’ near me right now. Anything could happen to me, did they really care? Or was I just one more hott groupie to hang out with? Because I paused in the moving dance/bar floor—a drunken guy took the opportunity to spill his expensive vodka bottle all over me. He was amused and did it slowly. All over my hair, top, jeans, everything. I was frozen. Seeing myself from another eye, above. I was so shocked, I let it happen. He was pointing and laughing with his friends. I started backing away from him. First slowly, then fast. Groped for my coat and purse, and just stormed out of the bar. Walked all the way back to my dorm alone. It was mid party; people drunk didn’t care where I was going, people outside never saw a site as I was. Angry, “sexy”, waking alone? I ignored the cat calls, slurred innuendos, and realized I was stupid to walk alone back ‘home’ alone at 3 am. But I was so disgusting, I didn’t dare drench a taxi. I made it back, striped all of those clothes off, threw every stinking drenched pieced of clothing except my shoes (my favorite Gucci stilettos, which I left outside my door and threw the next day), everything else in to the trash. I smelled, looked, felt disgusting.
Took a shower, was still too stunned, disgusted, and slept.
November was over almost—last week. I woke up next morning to my mother’s call. We were on tense terms, I think she knew about all my masquerades, but never confronted me. Maybe she always hoped it was a farce, and I’d be the daughter she always wanted. Anyway, I continued with the lie—“Yes, I just woke up, gotta go study now. Sorry I’m too busy to visit you. Yes, I know it’s been 2 months. Gotta go study now, can’t talk”. Same old, Same old, Same old lies.
That day was a little different, I had to visit my deans—all of my professors sent notes that I was failing their classes. I promised the deans I had things under control, and sincerely wanted to do better. Do you believe me in saying that? I actually did want to do better. The grad school I wanted to attend (ideally) was extremely competitive, and if I did do badly that semester, my academic life would be shot to hell.
So I looked at my classes, no notes for any of them, except for the one language class—which was easy for me to pass. Out 5 classes, I had a C- or D grade in them so far. I was on a mission now. I had to do better. I just had to. What the hell was I doing? Where would partying take me? I was SO unhappy. Yes, I was currently the MOST wanted girl on campus probably. Everyone loved me because I was vivacious, rich, lively, lovely—really hott. Every wanting guy wanted a piece of me. Yes, even the academic geeks—they are no different, just looked different. I had many offers from all men alike. No exaggerations here.
Took a shower, was still too stunned, disgusted, and slept.
November was over almost—last week. I woke up next morning to my mother’s call. We were on tense terms, I think she knew about all my masquerades, but never confronted me. Maybe she always hoped it was a farce, and I’d be the daughter she always wanted. Anyway, I continued with the lie—“Yes, I just woke up, gotta go study now. Sorry I’m too busy to visit you. Yes, I know it’s been 2 months. Gotta go study now, can’t talk”. Same old, Same old, Same old lies.
That day was a little different, I had to visit my deans—all of my professors sent notes that I was failing their classes. I promised the deans I had things under control, and sincerely wanted to do better. Do you believe me in saying that? I actually did want to do better. The grad school I wanted to attend (ideally) was extremely competitive, and if I did do badly that semester, my academic life would be shot to hell.
So I looked at my classes, no notes for any of them, except for the one language class—which was easy for me to pass. Out 5 classes, I had a C- or D grade in them so far. I was on a mission now. I had to do better. I just had to. What the hell was I doing? Where would partying take me? I was SO unhappy. Yes, I was currently the MOST wanted girl on campus probably. Everyone loved me because I was vivacious, rich, lively, lovely—really hott. Every wanting guy wanted a piece of me. Yes, even the academic geeks—they are no different, just looked different. I had many offers from all men alike. No exaggerations here.
Back to being unhappy. I was this desperate hollow girl. My self esteem was dead; I needed other people to tell me I was “hott, beautiful, sexy, etc”. I never felt that myself. It was All about IMAGE, and nothing internal. I had to keep my image (spending SO much $$$)—look sexy at ALL times, have fabulous hair ALL the time, etc ALL the time. It was the hardest job ever. You had to be happy, lovely, seductive, flirty, And AVAILABLE ALL the time. No woman can eat normally and look like a Brazilian Supermodel. And so I was bulimic. I had to look “good” remember?
Can you see how pervasive my society was? IMAGE IMAGE IMAGE, Westernization (for the most part) is ALL an image.
Oh, and I never prayed. Those three months, I never prayed, not even one prayer. If you don’t pray in Islam, you’re not Muslim. I don’t think I cared before, I don’t even think I ever thought about God. Whoever it was that knew about Islam—he/she was definitely not me. I was the farthest thing from Islam.
Then there has succeeded them a generation which has given up prayers and have followed lusts. So they will be thrown in Hell. Except those who repent and believe in the Oneness of Allah and His Messenger and act righteously.
Qur’aan. Chapter: Maryam, 19:59-60
Life crashes when you reach high peaks.
My brother called, for the first time I picked up. My father had a heart attack. I ran home. I was an expensive high class b*^#h, but I still cared about my family. I had made their lives hell. My mother, already ill, was always sick worrying about me. My father’s disaster really changed me, even more than the semi-metamorphosis I was going through already.
Standing in the hospital, afar from everyone, I realized I had to give it all up. I needed to be the old Umniyah again. This new dangerous selfish uncaring girl had to be obliterated. I didn’t want to fail, lose my scholarship? Who was going to pay for expensive education? Education? Or Freedom as I had created it to be? I cared about my family. For the two days I didn’t go partying, no one called me. None of the 30 plus girls and 40 plus guys I hung out with. No one cared I guess. I realized I was the one throwing myself in to this life. They weren’t forcing me.
That was the first of the many shocks.
It was hard. Maybe the hardest thing ever. My dad was recovering. He could have died. I realized that there was so much I didn’t know about my family. Things happened to them in these months I had no idea about. I was the stranger, the estranged visitor among them. I had lost all touch with all of my family. I never spoke to my siblings that semester. And before that, we were like triplets.
With these small steps towards reform, I was trying to get into the prayer center on campus. I asked a brother to open the door to the room for me. I had never been there before and didn’t know the lock’s combination. He looked at me puzzled, up and down--I looked like a Ralph Lauren model—and he asked the million dollar question: “Are you Muslim?”
I stared at him dumbly for 20 mins, I am sure. I was shocked. I didn’t understand the question.
After some time, he asked again, more forcefully, “Are you Muslim?”. Maybe he was afraid I going to break in and destroy things, or maybe he thought I was lost. I nodded slowly and dumbly. I was very confused. Why is he asking me that?! Then I was angry, don’t I look Muslim? Then I looked twice at myself. NO, I didn’t look Muslim. Not the way I looked then.
Muslims have markers on them, women wear Hijab—that tells you they are Muslim. Another woman can be questioned. (Men have the beards as their markers).
That’s what I realized. I was still so angry/shocked. Never had my faith been questioned. I never prayed to God but I always kept Him in my heart, I think.
That didn’t matter, how dare he ask me?
I sat upset on the floor in the prayer room, finally let in. Was I Muslim? How can I tell? I guess I had to wear Hijab to identify myself. But why did I have to wear Hijab, I wanted to know the exact reason. What is Islam actually? I didn’t know what Islam was, I didn’t believe in Islam. What did I believe in?
I left the prayer room. Walked out dazed. You would feel the same. I had the same thoughts in my head as I did the night I walked out perplexed from the bar.
I hated myself so much at that point. So much. I went back to my room. Sat by the window, looked out. Girls in my dorms were walking to and fro. Busy. It seemed everyone had a life, had a mission. I had none. Everything I had, I sold away to society, or I fabricated it. I wanted to kill myself at that point. Then, I couldn’t. Maybe I was too weak, maybe God decided to give me some hope, something. I spent the whole day at that window, unhappy, thinking. Then it was night.
I decided to change my life. Completely.
After some time, he asked again, more forcefully, “Are you Muslim?”. Maybe he was afraid I going to break in and destroy things, or maybe he thought I was lost. I nodded slowly and dumbly. I was very confused. Why is he asking me that?! Then I was angry, don’t I look Muslim? Then I looked twice at myself. NO, I didn’t look Muslim. Not the way I looked then.
Muslims have markers on them, women wear Hijab—that tells you they are Muslim. Another woman can be questioned. (Men have the beards as their markers).
That’s what I realized. I was still so angry/shocked. Never had my faith been questioned. I never prayed to God but I always kept Him in my heart, I think.
That didn’t matter, how dare he ask me?
I sat upset on the floor in the prayer room, finally let in. Was I Muslim? How can I tell? I guess I had to wear Hijab to identify myself. But why did I have to wear Hijab, I wanted to know the exact reason. What is Islam actually? I didn’t know what Islam was, I didn’t believe in Islam. What did I believe in?
I left the prayer room. Walked out dazed. You would feel the same. I had the same thoughts in my head as I did the night I walked out perplexed from the bar.
I hated myself so much at that point. So much. I went back to my room. Sat by the window, looked out. Girls in my dorms were walking to and fro. Busy. It seemed everyone had a life, had a mission. I had none. Everything I had, I sold away to society, or I fabricated it. I wanted to kill myself at that point. Then, I couldn’t. Maybe I was too weak, maybe God decided to give me some hope, something. I spent the whole day at that window, unhappy, thinking. Then it was night.
I decided to change my life. Completely.
…surely Allah does not change the condition of a people until they change their own condition… besides Him they have no protector.
Qur'aan; 13:11
Next, how many Gods did I believe in? Was I ready to be Hindu? Greek Mythology anyone? No, I realized God is ONE. What is this with many Gods? That just didn’t make sense to me.
Then you will begin to seek God your Lord, and if you pursue Him with all your heart and soul, you will eventually find Him.
I resigned from my crazy cultural club. Everyone there was Muslim, but not openly, they were all like me— caught in three different worlds, trying to figure out where they belonged and being partially in neither. Next I got off Facebook—I had a crazy life, knew about a million people, and subscribed to every nightclub/party memo. Back then you could delete your account. Permanently. So I did that. I never logged on AIM. None of my ‘friends’ called me anyway, so I didn’t have to shut my phone. (Why didn’t they call me? B/c I was always online and always available. And if I wasn’t other girls would be. Never a lack for people like me). During this mental process, I decided to test out Hijab, as it was Ramadan now. So I kept it on for the week of finals. People were confused, “You’re Muslim? I always thought you were Hindu or Christian or Atheist!” I was surprised; didn’t they always know I was Muslim? Didn’t my name tell them? I had a lot of funny questions asked. Hijab was probably new for people, and I was one of the few girls wearing one. I never met another one there with Hijab; maybe I was so popular that people were noticing it on me for the first time. I was putting Islam into the spot light.
Finals ended, school ended. I moved out. Moved home
The day I got my grades, my GPA down from a 4. 0 in High school, to a 3. 2 first year, to a 1.7 this semester. Only one semester! I was on academic probation. I would NEVER get into grad school with this! Never! On top of that, I was at risk of losing my academic scholarship. Dare I mention how much debt I was in? Just from personal spending! I was severely depressed. My parents never stopped berating me; they made my life hell with reminders of my failure. At some point they realized I had been a compulsive night partier (I didn’t tell them the whole truth fearing they would die of shame). The stress was so bad for my semi-ill mother, she had to be hospitalized. Can you image how I felt? I was the destroyer of my family.
I pray none of you send your Moms to the hospital. I pretended to kill myself, I was so unhappy--I remember reading that the top most skin layer—if you make a slight cut, it bleeds. So I did that to my wrists. And then I actually hoped I would die. This pathetic destructive life wasn’t worth living. After a few minutes of minor bleeding (it looked worse than it was, which was my aim, I was too scared to die!), went to the bathroom, washed off the blood, felt stupid for doing this, and put ointment on my wrists. Dying wouldn’t solve problems, my parents would have to buy my body—tell people what? Their daughter committed suicide. I couldn’t put them through excess shame.
But this was the ice breaker. My parents finally saw that I was suffering too. They stopped being against me and joined me in my resolve to help myself. Finally, I was mending my relationship with them. Slowly, we were building trust. My wrists healed perfectly, no wounds, my heart too healed. Later, my soul.
Finals ended, school ended. I moved out. Moved home
The day I got my grades, my GPA down from a 4. 0 in High school, to a 3. 2 first year, to a 1.7 this semester. Only one semester! I was on academic probation. I would NEVER get into grad school with this! Never! On top of that, I was at risk of losing my academic scholarship. Dare I mention how much debt I was in? Just from personal spending! I was severely depressed. My parents never stopped berating me; they made my life hell with reminders of my failure. At some point they realized I had been a compulsive night partier (I didn’t tell them the whole truth fearing they would die of shame). The stress was so bad for my semi-ill mother, she had to be hospitalized. Can you image how I felt? I was the destroyer of my family.
I pray none of you send your Moms to the hospital. I pretended to kill myself, I was so unhappy--I remember reading that the top most skin layer—if you make a slight cut, it bleeds. So I did that to my wrists. And then I actually hoped I would die. This pathetic destructive life wasn’t worth living. After a few minutes of minor bleeding (it looked worse than it was, which was my aim, I was too scared to die!), went to the bathroom, washed off the blood, felt stupid for doing this, and put ointment on my wrists. Dying wouldn’t solve problems, my parents would have to buy my body—tell people what? Their daughter committed suicide. I couldn’t put them through excess shame.
But this was the ice breaker. My parents finally saw that I was suffering too. They stopped being against me and joined me in my resolve to help myself. Finally, I was mending my relationship with them. Slowly, we were building trust. My wrists healed perfectly, no wounds, my heart too healed. Later, my soul.
Fear thou not . . . I will strengthen thee. . . I will help thee.
- Isaiah 41:10
- Isaiah 41:10
Going along with my ‘new’ analogy, I started from scratch. Spiritually.
Academically I knew I could get As after working severely hard.
I was determined.
I needed a religion with peace. Buddhism, Confucianism are peaceful, but wait: first I asked myself: Do I believe in God?
I needed a religion with peace. Buddhism, Confucianism are peaceful, but wait: first I asked myself: Do I believe in God?
You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. [Old Testament. Jeremiah, 29:13]
Next, how many Gods did I believe in? Was I ready to be Hindu? Greek Mythology anyone? No, I realized God is ONE. What is this with many Gods? That just didn’t make sense to me.
Then you will begin to seek God your Lord, and if you pursue Him with all your heart and soul, you will eventually find Him.
Old Testament; Deuteronomy, 4:29
All right: Christianly, Judaism, Islam—the monotheistic religions.
Christianity: did I believe Jesus was God, was the son of God? What? I thought: that’s the same things as polytheism. If wanted to worship a human, I would have worshipped myself. And I had just done that for THREE months. Also, I didn’t believe in having idols of my “God”. That’s why Hinduism was cancelled. I was better looking than the Hindu gods. Wasn’t God supposed to be a million times better looking than I was? And WHO knew what God looked like? Unless they met God, but then we could never reproduce His image. And places I went had Black Jesus’, Chinese Jesus’, Blond Jesus’, Red-headed Jesus’, and every other form that resembled the people who attended the church. That meant people were creating God in their own image. That’s just too unrealistic. God is Above that, above us. And He is Infinite, All–Powerful; He didn’t need to prove anything to us. He’s better than that, us. He doesn’t need us, we’re many. But we need Him, He is One.
"Verily! I am Allah! None has the right to be worshipped but I, so worship Me, and perform prayer for My Remembrance.
All right: Christianly, Judaism, Islam—the monotheistic religions.
Christianity: did I believe Jesus was God, was the son of God? What? I thought: that’s the same things as polytheism. If wanted to worship a human, I would have worshipped myself. And I had just done that for THREE months. Also, I didn’t believe in having idols of my “God”. That’s why Hinduism was cancelled. I was better looking than the Hindu gods. Wasn’t God supposed to be a million times better looking than I was? And WHO knew what God looked like? Unless they met God, but then we could never reproduce His image. And places I went had Black Jesus’, Chinese Jesus’, Blond Jesus’, Red-headed Jesus’, and every other form that resembled the people who attended the church. That meant people were creating God in their own image. That’s just too unrealistic. God is Above that, above us. And He is Infinite, All–Powerful; He didn’t need to prove anything to us. He’s better than that, us. He doesn’t need us, we’re many. But we need Him, He is One.
Qur’aan. 20:14
That’s more directly Judaism and Islam.
Ok Judaism: I liked this modesty in females, the less male and female interactions, the respect and principles the religion had. Except, there are so many strict regulations. I could never get them right even if I understood them all. Why would God want my life to be SO difficult? My heart didn’t buy it.
So Islam: All right, One God, finally! Thank God. And it had everything of Judaism (prophets, etc, all). But then Muhammad (peace be upon him). Who was Muhammad (pbuh)?
Let me leave you with my two favorite quotes:
"...And it may be that you dislike something which is good for you and that you like something which is bad for you. God knows but you do not know" (2:216)
If Allah helps you, none can overcome you: if He forsakes you, who is there after that that can help you? In Allah then let believers put their trust.
... Lo! Allah loveth those who put their trust (in Him) Al-Qur’aan (3:160,159)
God took me high, as He promises when you turn back to Him.
I am close to the thought that My servant has of Me, and I am with him whenever He recollects Me. If he remembers Me in himself, I remember him in Myself, and if he remembers Me in a gathering I remember him better than those in the gathering do, and if he approaches Me by as much as one hand's length, I approach him by a cubit.... If he takes a step towards me, I run towards him.
No affliction befalls, except it be by the leave of God. Whosoever believes in God, He will guide his heart. And God has knowledge of everything.
I have such faith—after going through this. I taught myself my religion. Everything I do, say, feel, observe is what I BELIEVE. Islam is a way of life, not a ‘religion’, not a salad bar where you can pick and choose. Either buy the buffet ticket or not. You HAVE bought the ticket, you are a ticket holder. It’s time for you to start filling your plate. And your soul will be filled too.
It’s important to note that God understands how much you can take at first. I came to Islam prowling and reading my way through. I say, have good intentions, aim higher:
Just try it.
O My servants, every one of you is in error, except the one I have guided, so ask guidance from Me and I will guide you.
That’s more directly Judaism and Islam.
Ok Judaism: I liked this modesty in females, the less male and female interactions, the respect and principles the religion had. Except, there are so many strict regulations. I could never get them right even if I understood them all. Why would God want my life to be SO difficult? My heart didn’t buy it.
So Islam: All right, One God, finally! Thank God. And it had everything of Judaism (prophets, etc, all). But then Muhammad (peace be upon him). Who was Muhammad (pbuh)?
And We have sent you (O Muhammad) not but as a mercy for the worlds.(Quran 21:107)
{Say (O, Muhammad): “If you love Allâh, then follow me, Allâh will love youand forgive you your sins. And Allâh is Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful”}; [Quran, 3:31].
I started reading the Qur’aan, reading Muhammad’s (pbuh) biography, reading literature on Islam, reading/listening to interpretations of the Qur’aan, reading conversion stories. I liked it a lot. A lot of conversions stories were like mine—lost (deranged?) people who found peace. Literally “Islam”.
I started reading Hadith—stories/encounters/way of life of the Prophet (Muhammad (pbuh)). I fell in love with the principles, the ways, the reasons, everything…slowly. I even read in the Qur’aan that Islam came as a religion to break the harsh customs of Judaism, and it’s the upgrade from Christianity (look at all the references of Jesus in the Qur’aan. Why would God mention him if this religion was entirely new? Think about it). I felt justified. There was some peace in my heart. I recited the Shahdah (Islamic declaration of Faith) with meaning, choosing Islam.
I wanted to pray now. So I taught myself prayer, myself—from the Prophet’s example. I didn’t identify myself as Shia, Hanafi, etc. I didn’t understand the Imams yet, I wanted to live with THE Prophet (pbuh) in Heaven and the only way I could do that was be like him—pray and act like him as closely as possible (being a woman myself). There’s a great website where you can learn to pray as he did: http://english.islamway.com/sindex.php?section=prayer
As for Hijab, I was questioning it. I liked my hair. It was long, gorgeous, with curls to die for. I went to sleep thinking about Hijab. If it was wrong or silly, why would so many women in this world wear it? Why was it a marker for Muslim women (Jewish and Christian women have a type of Hijab too, except Muslim women MUST cover their Hair AND their breasts). God must want Hijab. I couldn’t sleep; I had to answer this question, so I got up in the middle of my restless night and opened my Qur’aan. I had 3 different translated versions of the Qur’aan. Chapter 23, verse 31. The first one said that women must be modest (nothing else). The second one translated the Arabic as women must cover their bodies with loose garments—hair, bosom, & body. The third one translated it as nothing except one eye must show—all hand and feet covered.
The first and last versions didn’t’ put me at ease. The second one, the middle interpretation did. So It WAS in the Qur’aan that woman must observe Hijab. It was a command from Allah. I was going to listen to Him, obey Him. After all, by definition, “Muslim”—is ‘one who submits’, to Allah (God) in the case of Islam). I remembered a friend of mine was asked, “Why do you wear Hijab , you look more beautiful without it!”. She replied with a smile, “But, I want to look beautiful in the eyes of Allah”. It was set, I wanted to wear Hijab for Allah. I grew to love the principles behind it—as the Qur’aan said, to prevent women from harassment:
“And say to the believing women that they should lower their gaze and guard their modesty; that they should not display their beauty and ornaments except what must ordinarily appear thereof; that they should draw their veils over their bosoms and not display their beauty except to their husbands, their fathers, their husbands’ fathers, their sons, their husbands’ sons, their brothers, or their brothers’ sons or their sisters’ sons, or their women or the servants whom their right hands possess, or male servants free of physical needs, or small children who have no sense of the shame of sex, and that they should not strike their feet in order to draw attention to their hidden ornaments. And O you Believers, turn you all together towards Allah, that you may attain Bliss.”
I started reading Hadith—stories/encounters/way of life of the Prophet (Muhammad (pbuh)). I fell in love with the principles, the ways, the reasons, everything…slowly. I even read in the Qur’aan that Islam came as a religion to break the harsh customs of Judaism, and it’s the upgrade from Christianity (look at all the references of Jesus in the Qur’aan. Why would God mention him if this religion was entirely new? Think about it). I felt justified. There was some peace in my heart. I recited the Shahdah (Islamic declaration of Faith) with meaning, choosing Islam.
I wanted to pray now. So I taught myself prayer, myself—from the Prophet’s example. I didn’t identify myself as Shia, Hanafi, etc. I didn’t understand the Imams yet, I wanted to live with THE Prophet (pbuh) in Heaven and the only way I could do that was be like him—pray and act like him as closely as possible (being a woman myself). There’s a great website where you can learn to pray as he did: http://english.islamway.com/sindex.php?section=prayer
As for Hijab, I was questioning it. I liked my hair. It was long, gorgeous, with curls to die for. I went to sleep thinking about Hijab. If it was wrong or silly, why would so many women in this world wear it? Why was it a marker for Muslim women (Jewish and Christian women have a type of Hijab too, except Muslim women MUST cover their Hair AND their breasts). God must want Hijab. I couldn’t sleep; I had to answer this question, so I got up in the middle of my restless night and opened my Qur’aan. I had 3 different translated versions of the Qur’aan. Chapter 23, verse 31. The first one said that women must be modest (nothing else). The second one translated the Arabic as women must cover their bodies with loose garments—hair, bosom, & body. The third one translated it as nothing except one eye must show—all hand and feet covered.
The first and last versions didn’t’ put me at ease. The second one, the middle interpretation did. So It WAS in the Qur’aan that woman must observe Hijab. It was a command from Allah. I was going to listen to Him, obey Him. After all, by definition, “Muslim”—is ‘one who submits’, to Allah (God) in the case of Islam). I remembered a friend of mine was asked, “Why do you wear Hijab , you look more beautiful without it!”. She replied with a smile, “But, I want to look beautiful in the eyes of Allah”. It was set, I wanted to wear Hijab for Allah. I grew to love the principles behind it—as the Qur’aan said, to prevent women from harassment:
“And say to the believing women that they should lower their gaze and guard their modesty; that they should not display their beauty and ornaments except what must ordinarily appear thereof; that they should draw their veils over their bosoms and not display their beauty except to their husbands, their fathers, their husbands’ fathers, their sons, their husbands’ sons, their brothers, or their brothers’ sons or their sisters’ sons, or their women or the servants whom their right hands possess, or male servants free of physical needs, or small children who have no sense of the shame of sex, and that they should not strike their feet in order to draw attention to their hidden ornaments. And O you Believers, turn you all together towards Allah, that you may attain Bliss.”
Qur’aan 24:31http://www.themodernreligion.com/women/hijab-Qur’aan.htm
Did anyone know harassment, sexual harassment, more than I did, in my ‘past’ life?
So I came back to school with values and principles. I was really hesitant at first, no one would accept me, and I wanted friends. College is all about friends and hanging out—if you are social. So some of my friends were the same—only the ones who didn’t party with me. Funny, the ones I spent every second with partying never called or asked how I was since the day I left the bar. That was more than a month ago. They weren’t my real friends, how sad. I was replaceable. In that crowd everyone is, we ourselves only think we are special. We’re nothing in their eyes.
Some of the ‘social’ Muslim men (I used to hang out with) didn’t recognize me, or were they too afraid to see what happened to me? They probably thought I was a new girl because I was ignored. I finally asked one guy who had been close to me, “Why are you acting different. I’m the same person as before”. Eyes downcast at first, he quickly looked up at me replied, “You ARE different now. You wear Hijab. We have to respect you”. Then looked back down and left quickly.
I stood there surprised. So what did that mean? Every girl that doesn’t wear one is a slut? Doesn’t deserve respect? Is a potential flirting partner? And only the women who wear Hijab have to be respected? Maybe that is true in men’s eyes. Us poor women, fooling ourselves all along! This dichotomy exists, girls, men see you different. Unfortunately.
I remember when I didn’t wear Hijab, I went to an MSA (Muslim Students Association) iftaar (opening of the fast) wearing Hijab—just for that first day of Ramadan, just to be respectful. That day all the Hijabi Muslim girls came to talk to me. They were so nice. I felt so happy and good. One Hijabi girl really inspired me—Teresa. She had converted too (yes, haha, I see myself as a ‘convert’. Or as they say more correctly: “Revert”).
To the next iftaar, I went as my non-Hijab self (with a shawl in my hand to use in prayer). First person to talk to me that iftaar was a guy, then his friend, then his friends. After that, all we non-Hijabi girls conglomerated to a corner next to the guys’ section. Kind of embarrassed in front of the more religious people. But we had each other to give support. MSA was fractioned like this, as well as any society that had difference in people and their religion, or subcategories of either. That day none of the Hijabi girls spoke to me, some smiled. I think they didn’t know who I was, or were shocked (betrayed?) that I had pretended to be one of them the day before.
After four iftaars, did Teresa recognize that I was the same girl she met day 1, but that I didn’t wear Hijab. She was still as nice. She was my greatest source of support in my troubled religious times pre and post Hijab. I thank Allah for her still.
As a Hijabi now, I smile at everyone. We are all the same inside for the most part; we are all looking to belong, always seeking to be better. I hope in my kindness I too can inspire a woman to liberate herself form the chains of ‘modern’ society. Here I am, sharing my story. =)
As a Hijabi, I carry no image. I don’t’ have to sell myself; I don’t have to force myself to be liked, to like people. I can just be me. FREEDOM!! I feel so confident now. I am still fun, very funny, and love a lot of things. I just don’t randomly flirt, go to bars, dress to a minimum. People see me differently yes, they come to me for support, love, hugs, advice, etc. Men talk to me without looking at my breasts or legs, or behind, as I walk away. They look into my eyes for the first time, talk to me straightforwardly, respect and comment on my ideas. I never had that before. Before comments were laced with innuendos, flirtatious eyes, opportunity, if not alcohol or drugs. Even men have to maintain the “cool” image, and maybe sacrifice things for it. It’s all about being “wanted” in this society.
This change was fantastic, truly fantastic.
No longer do I worry about myself or my image. I do so much volunteer work now. I don’t need to buy expensive designer clothes to make a statement. I try to give a lot of my money to charity. Help one of the millions of starving children, try to end injustice. WHO is going to help those people, if not US, WHO? Ok, I’m not Mother Teresa, but every little thing counts.
Did anyone know harassment, sexual harassment, more than I did, in my ‘past’ life?
So I came back to school with values and principles. I was really hesitant at first, no one would accept me, and I wanted friends. College is all about friends and hanging out—if you are social. So some of my friends were the same—only the ones who didn’t party with me. Funny, the ones I spent every second with partying never called or asked how I was since the day I left the bar. That was more than a month ago. They weren’t my real friends, how sad. I was replaceable. In that crowd everyone is, we ourselves only think we are special. We’re nothing in their eyes.
Some of the ‘social’ Muslim men (I used to hang out with) didn’t recognize me, or were they too afraid to see what happened to me? They probably thought I was a new girl because I was ignored. I finally asked one guy who had been close to me, “Why are you acting different. I’m the same person as before”. Eyes downcast at first, he quickly looked up at me replied, “You ARE different now. You wear Hijab. We have to respect you”. Then looked back down and left quickly.
I stood there surprised. So what did that mean? Every girl that doesn’t wear one is a slut? Doesn’t deserve respect? Is a potential flirting partner? And only the women who wear Hijab have to be respected? Maybe that is true in men’s eyes. Us poor women, fooling ourselves all along! This dichotomy exists, girls, men see you different. Unfortunately.
I remember when I didn’t wear Hijab, I went to an MSA (Muslim Students Association) iftaar (opening of the fast) wearing Hijab—just for that first day of Ramadan, just to be respectful. That day all the Hijabi Muslim girls came to talk to me. They were so nice. I felt so happy and good. One Hijabi girl really inspired me—Teresa. She had converted too (yes, haha, I see myself as a ‘convert’. Or as they say more correctly: “Revert”).
To the next iftaar, I went as my non-Hijab self (with a shawl in my hand to use in prayer). First person to talk to me that iftaar was a guy, then his friend, then his friends. After that, all we non-Hijabi girls conglomerated to a corner next to the guys’ section. Kind of embarrassed in front of the more religious people. But we had each other to give support. MSA was fractioned like this, as well as any society that had difference in people and their religion, or subcategories of either. That day none of the Hijabi girls spoke to me, some smiled. I think they didn’t know who I was, or were shocked (betrayed?) that I had pretended to be one of them the day before.
After four iftaars, did Teresa recognize that I was the same girl she met day 1, but that I didn’t wear Hijab. She was still as nice. She was my greatest source of support in my troubled religious times pre and post Hijab. I thank Allah for her still.
As a Hijabi now, I smile at everyone. We are all the same inside for the most part; we are all looking to belong, always seeking to be better. I hope in my kindness I too can inspire a woman to liberate herself form the chains of ‘modern’ society. Here I am, sharing my story. =)
As a Hijabi, I carry no image. I don’t’ have to sell myself; I don’t have to force myself to be liked, to like people. I can just be me. FREEDOM!! I feel so confident now. I am still fun, very funny, and love a lot of things. I just don’t randomly flirt, go to bars, dress to a minimum. People see me differently yes, they come to me for support, love, hugs, advice, etc. Men talk to me without looking at my breasts or legs, or behind, as I walk away. They look into my eyes for the first time, talk to me straightforwardly, respect and comment on my ideas. I never had that before. Before comments were laced with innuendos, flirtatious eyes, opportunity, if not alcohol or drugs. Even men have to maintain the “cool” image, and maybe sacrifice things for it. It’s all about being “wanted” in this society.
This change was fantastic, truly fantastic.
No longer do I worry about myself or my image. I do so much volunteer work now. I don’t need to buy expensive designer clothes to make a statement. I try to give a lot of my money to charity. Help one of the millions of starving children, try to end injustice. WHO is going to help those people, if not US, WHO? Ok, I’m not Mother Teresa, but every little thing counts.
Didn’t Budda say, “A jug fills drop by drop”?
I had been so preoccupied with myself and playing it off rich that I didn’t care about anyone. I am so happy I can make a real difference in this world. Now.
I see my younger wilder self in many girls today, still. They too are at the stage I was, the experiMENt stage. It hurts to the point of tears for me, I don’t want them to ever go through what I did. You can reread this again if you didn’t think my life was worse than hell at some point.
As someone who covers, you may think I’m too boring now. No, I am the most interesting, most diverse, open-minded person I know. I do everything still—sports, art, dining, adventure, travel, etc. Just within the limits of Islam. Like: I don’t’ draw humans, nor do I go one on one with men in basketball, or bed. I’m not a personal cabaret singer, I don’t belly dance in front of men, I don’t’ get drunk and let them kiss me. See, I still do a lot. I make my life happy. I can talk to everyone. I hold no prejudices. No longer do I need to be friends only with the rich good looking men or women. All people alike spark my interest. And, I am still very fashionable—not like before though. Pretty and simple. Enough to make one’s soul cheery =)
I see my younger wilder self in many girls today, still. They too are at the stage I was, the experiMENt stage. It hurts to the point of tears for me, I don’t want them to ever go through what I did. You can reread this again if you didn’t think my life was worse than hell at some point.
As someone who covers, you may think I’m too boring now. No, I am the most interesting, most diverse, open-minded person I know. I do everything still—sports, art, dining, adventure, travel, etc. Just within the limits of Islam. Like: I don’t’ draw humans, nor do I go one on one with men in basketball, or bed. I’m not a personal cabaret singer, I don’t belly dance in front of men, I don’t’ get drunk and let them kiss me. See, I still do a lot. I make my life happy. I can talk to everyone. I hold no prejudices. No longer do I need to be friends only with the rich good looking men or women. All people alike spark my interest. And, I am still very fashionable—not like before though. Pretty and simple. Enough to make one’s soul cheery =)
And I have to say, getting off facebook gave me a REAL life. You start touching people’s lives in real ways, not just internet pokes, haha.
I love my religion, and my life, and keep myself optimistic and happy
I love my religion, and my life, and keep myself optimistic and happy
"...Surely my prayer and my sacrifice and my life and my death are for Allah, the Lord of the worlds..."
Qur'aan; 6:162
Qur'aan; 6:162
Let me leave you with my two favorite quotes:
"...And it may be that you dislike something which is good for you and that you like something which is bad for you. God knows but you do not know" (2:216)
If Allah helps you, none can overcome you: if He forsakes you, who is there after that that can help you? In Allah then let believers put their trust.
... Lo! Allah loveth those who put their trust (in Him) Al-Qur’aan (3:160,159)
God took me high, as He promises when you turn back to Him.
I am close to the thought that My servant has of Me, and I am with him whenever He recollects Me. If he remembers Me in himself, I remember him in Myself, and if he remembers Me in a gathering I remember him better than those in the gathering do, and if he approaches Me by as much as one hand's length, I approach him by a cubit.... If he takes a step towards me, I run towards him.
~Allah, taken from 40 Sacred Hadith
Things don’t worry me now.
No affliction befalls, except it be by the leave of God. Whosoever believes in God, He will guide his heart. And God has knowledge of everything.
Qur'an 64.11
I have such faith—after going through this. I taught myself my religion. Everything I do, say, feel, observe is what I BELIEVE. Islam is a way of life, not a ‘religion’, not a salad bar where you can pick and choose. Either buy the buffet ticket or not. You HAVE bought the ticket, you are a ticket holder. It’s time for you to start filling your plate. And your soul will be filled too.
It’s important to note that God understands how much you can take at first. I came to Islam prowling and reading my way through. I say, have good intentions, aim higher:
Just try it.
O My servants, every one of you is in error, except the one I have guided, so ask guidance from Me and I will guide you.
O My servants, every one of you is hungry, except him whom I have fed, so ask food of Me and I will feed you.
O My servants, every one of you is naked except him whom I have clothed, so ask clothing of Me and I will clothe you.
O My servants, you sin day and night, and I pardon your sins; so ask pardon of Me and I will pardon you.
~ Allah, taken from 40 Sacred Hadith
[The author asks forgiveness for anything said that may upset you. This is her personal experience, not dogma for the world.]
Posted by Umniyah Sawson, Sunday, May 6, 2007
Contact Umniyah at: Umniyah786@gmail.com
2009 Update:
Umniyah graduated on the Dean’s List with distinction in her Major from her Ivy League University. She received a special honor at graduation, being one of the 20 women chosen from her graduating class to represent it. She also received numerous other awards and recognitions in her last 2 years of college. After college, she spent 2 years working and teaching at an underprivileged grassroots Islamic school for children, & charity, as well as taking and leading classes on essential topics on Islam for women. Praise be to Allah, she now attends Grad school pursuing a Doctorate degree...falling more in love with Allah day by day.
Please keep her in your blessed prayers.
May God love and guide you and her Always.
Ameen.
