On being Muslim and being or supporting LGBT

And among His signs is this that He created for you mates from among yourselves, that ye may dwell in tranquility with them, and He has put love and mercy between your (hearts); verily in that are signs for those who reflect.

Surat Ar-Rum [30:21] The Holy Qu'ran

I always hope, because it is my intention, that anything I post here is treated by anyone who happens to read it as purely, unequivocally, my opinion. If I post about issues I feel as a woman, I am in no way trying to speak for all women. If I post about issues I face as a Muslim, I am in no way trying to speak for all Muslims, or any other one beside myself. I would hope it doesn't have to be said, but in case it does, there you go.

The topic of this post is something I've been thinking a lot about lately, but I struggle with speaking about topics which have no correlation to my existence, if that makes sense. While the Qur'an does call for advocating for the oppressed, and assisting them in any way, there are times when as a white, upper-middle-class, college-educated, cis, straight American woman who has never faced adversity related to the issue, I feel like I shouldn't be the one doing the talking. I should be silently supportive and loving. 

That said, I'll finally get to the point. I am an ardent supporter of the LGBT community. Generally speaking, that is not something normally associated with being part of the Muslim community, at least in my experience. A lot of Muslims, for many reasons, have difficulty reconciling this with their faith. The same could be accurately said for my Christian upbringing. Despite churches opening their minds and doors to LGBT worshippers, I do not think we're even able to say it's something generally accepted. Not yet. And in both cases, to me, it's a shame.

My opinion on this has never changed. My religion has, but my opinion hasn't. 

And in words I would never be able to so beautifully craft because I've never faced this situation, I want to direct you to an amazing post on Autostraddle that says everything I could ever say on the subject and much, much more. I was in tears by the final response to this post.

Attraction to Women and Feelings Like a "Bad Muslim" | Autostraddle


As for any Muslims who may be searching for more resources, I hope something here can help you (they are mentioned within the article and comments but I think worth pulling out separately):

Websites: IAmNotHaraam.Tumblr.com | http://www.moralcourage.org/mentoring/
Youtube channel: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCbp94Mntcb2IV9n4BtHXpUg
Hashtags: #qfaith,  #queermuslims or #lgbtqmuslims 

Fi Amaan Allah, to each and every person reading this. Full stop.

"One always has exaggerated ideas about what one doesn't know."

In college, I was an English major. I love reading almost any kind of book from any era (with the exception of Victorian literature, sorry, Ms. Austen and Misses Bronte), but I concentrated that study around early 20th-century literature (think Marcel Proust, Franz Kafka, T.S. Eliot, Italo Svevo, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Virginia Woolf, and James Joyce, who is my least favorite of them all but pretty much required reading in any English curriculum). I loved it. I barely looked at my literature classes as class at all, I loved reading and I loved discussing the books with people who were equally interested. It's probably the thing I miss the most about college, honestly (besides being able to live off pizza and Starbucks and weigh easily 20 pounds less).

In college, I also suffered from depression of varying severities. Sometimes, it was a low hum, deep, deep down that didn't interrupt my ability to function but was nonetheless there, and letting me know it could rise up at any time and bring my normal life to a screeching halt. It was during those times, those other times, that life came to a standstill and simple acts like taking a shower or going to class or talking to my friends required intense, focused effort that left me exhausted.

It was during a particularly prolonged period of "those other times" when I knew I had to do something to break the hold it had on me before something awful happened, so I told my mother about how bad things had gotten, which she was mostly unaware of because I was living two hours away at school.

I remember the day I told her, I had come into her room one Saturday morning while she was still in bed and laid at the foot of the bed and just let it all spill out unevenly with no real narrative or timeline, because if I tried to plan what I was going to say or thought too much about it, I was going to chicken out. Admitting you're depressed, and admitting that you can't "just deal with it," can feel like a failure of sorts (even though it's very much not) and I've never been good with my own failure.

After I said my piece, she asked a few questions. After I gave my answers, she said (as any Math major might), "I don't want you reading all those depressing books for a while."

I remember laughing and saying, "If I don't read anything written by a depressed person I won't be able to graduate."

I then  explained to her that by reading those books which featured characters of shall we say "fragile" mental states, I felt less alone. Like I wasn't the only one who feels this way, like it wasn't just something wrong with me, it was something that happened to a lot of people. And that in the cases where those characters (think Septimus in Woolf's "Mrs. Dalloway") do take their own lives, it was not glorified. It was simply tragic, and pathetic, and nothing was better in the aftermath. Possibly the most disturbed character in literature, in my opinion, is Mersault from Albert Camus's "The Stranger," which is coincidentally one of my favorite books. Mersault's complete numbness and apathy for others and life in general is in stark contrast to the world around him; if anything, it highlighted for me the complete deviance of his way of thinking and how different I was from him. I felt things, I loved things, life was worth living. I actually read that book, at times, as comfort; I did the same with "Mrs. Dalloway."

But I never forgot that exchange with my mom, and I've struggled with that thought ever since.

There have always been calls to ban books for encouraging or "glorifying" this vice or that maligned way of thinking, but I can never in good conscious support banning a book. The very thought of it is sinister to me, and gives me that icky, sliding feeling in my stomach. Even books that do offend my value system...I just cannot justify it. Censorship has never led to anything good in the history of the world thus far. It does and always will have a nefarious association to me.

But then you see the news. You see kids killing themselves in numbers I really don't think you saw before, even 10-15 years ago when I was in school. And you see kids killing other kids, too. So often that we barely blink when there's a school shooting.

And amidst these tragedies, you hear those voices. It's the video games, it's the movies, it's the books, it's the rap music, etc.

At first it sounds ridiculous. All of those things existed 10, 15, 20, 25, 30 years ago, as far back as when my father was in high school, and these things weren't happening. A teen killing his or herself in 1983 when my dad graduated was a monumentous shock; by the time I graduated in 2006, I had known three people who killed themselves and would come to know three more before I graduated college.

My fiancee argues that media hasn't changed, it's people that have. That parents don't emphasize the difference between real and fantasy: they just shove an iPad at their kid and let it do the teaching from the time they're toddlers. I agree, to an extent, that contributes. Few things give me the heebie jeebies more than a kid under 2 who can work an iPad and I see it all the time. We've also gone back and forth discussing secularism's role in desensitizing people to the consequences of suicide (time was in the Catholic church, it was the only sin that could not be forgiven; in Islam, despite the pronouncements of various extremist groups, it is also one of the most wretched sins one can commit). I also agree that has a role, as well, I'm sure.

However, he doesn't believe the argument regarding what's in the media. Again, he points out that during the 1990s when he was coming of age, he listened to some rather grimy rappers (Nas, pre-"Empire State of Mind" Jay-Z, Biggie, Tupac, NWA, Wu-Tang Clan, etc) who encouraged violence against police and women, drug use, and casual sex. He played video games with guns and watched movies like "The Terminator." Valid points, as none of these encouraged him to turn around and renact these behaviors in real life. For the most part, I also agree with this. Like I said, if anything, the books I read regarding characters suffering from depression or committing suicide never glorified it for me, they gave me the strength to perservere.

But recently, my feelings on this particular argument are starting to shift. And I don't know how to feel about it.

It started with "The Fault in Our Stars." Before you pounce: yes, I read the book. Yes, I have great respect for John Green. But no, I didn't think it was that good. And I felt...unsettled by the topic, considering it is actually a "young adult" book geared for, shall we agree, people from the age of 11-16 or thereabouts. I get it; young adult literature has gotten more brazen, less young and more adult in the past years (think "Gossip Girl"). It's not "The Giver" and "The Babysitters Club," or even "Harry Potter" anymore. Which is a whole other problem regarding the over-sexualization of children you see now that you didn't back then--but that's another post. This post is about death.
And I didn't like how it was portrayed in "The Fault in Our Stars." I just didn't. Yes, it was sad. People cried their eyes out. But it was also romantic as hell, up to and even after the climactic events. It tied back to earthly existence, which is exactly what death is not. Death is unbound by earthly existence, earthly desires (the dunya, in Islam). To tie it to these things is to make it common, tangible, less sacred.

But, believe it or not, at the time I didn't think much of it. Whatever, I'm entitled not to like a book. Maybe it was just my reaction to everyone else positively losing their minds about it. I brushed it aside after a few days and pretty much forgot those feelings as it moved to the bottom of my eBooks library.

Then, a month ago, my mother was visiting, and we were all watching television when a trailer came on for a movie called "If I stay."

I'll tell you, when the trailer was over, I flipped out a little. I think I said to my mom something to the effect, "This is why kids think death is just so cool."

I will preface this by saying I have not seen this movie, I do not know the exact plot. But that almost fuels my argument. Because in the < 3 minutes of the trailer, what I saw was a complete glorification of death, again, featuring a teenage cast. And I didn't even have to pay $12 to do it.

This is the trailer.

Feel free to tell me "You don't get the whole story," "That's not the point," etc. Good, I hope that's the case. I hope I'm wrong. But that doesn't change the fact that that is what this movie is using to draw it's mostly teenage audience in with. And amongst that audience is going to be kids who are more fragile, lonely, isolated for all the reasons I mentioned above and more. Who are going to see this and think, This will give my life more meaning.

You might think I'm oversimplifying the teenage mind. And I am, to a degree. Few teenagers will literally think "Yes, I need to get into a terrible car accident so Bobby will love me," though some will and that's disturbing. But I do think it, if nothing else, softens and romanticizes death, or "near" death. This, paired with "The Fault in Our Stars," really turned my stomach.

Maybe I'm overreacting. But I don't think, if I had a 11-16 year old daughter, I would want her watching this movie, or any other that deals with teenagers and death in this way, without having a serious conversation. Hopefully she'd already be equipped with the ability to differentiate between reality and fantasy, and recognize that movies imitate real life but are not in fact real life. But with that line getting blurrier and blurrier as time goes on, will I have that guarantee?

And then I feel like a close-minded, controlling, untrusting censor, which some people would argue is the role of the parent, but is something I don't have a whole lot of reference for because my parents were never much in the way of censors. As I've mentioned in previous posts, I watched "Seinfeld" as a kid. I was reading Dean Koontz and Stephen King in the fourth grade. I watched "The Wall" with my dad for the first time when I was 7, and knew all the words to "Comfortably Numb" and "Hotel California" by the time I was 9. I saw "Cruel Intentions" at 11, listened to Eminem at 12, and read "A Clockwork Orange" at 14. And a lot of people would argue that my parents should have restricted me more, but I don't think so. For the good and the bad, those shows, books, movies, and music that I was exposed to from an early age made me who I am. They gave me a love for art that comforted me, made me laugh, made me feel less alone in my darkest hours.

But I didn't commit suicide. I didn't kill anyone. If I had, these things would have all been looked on in a very, very different light.

So what do you do. Do you take the chance that everything will be fine, that your kid will be ok, they will know where to draw the line?

I know people much older, much more experienced, who have children of their own still grapple with this. So I don't expect a revelation to come now, or even when I do have kids, inshallah, or even when those kids are teenagers. But it still troubles me in an existential way and a practical way.
Am I getting old, stodgy? Am I getting to the point where being a teenager is foreign to me, and I don't understand that most of them are just fine?

Whenever I think that, I think of the increasing number of suicides, school shootings. I think of some things I see on Facebook and Twitter from teen relatives that make me shake my head, that if nothing ever happens will just be some stupid stuff they said on Twitter when they were 18 (we've all been there) but if something does happen will be see as glaring, underlined, bolded cries for help.

So if that's the case, will I stop my own kids from seeing, reading, or listening to things I would have been allowed to listen to by my own parents? Just in case?

I don't know. I might.

There are some people who will probably look at this as "Another religious person wants to ban creative expression." That's the farthest from the truth. If I do censor what my children read, listen to, or watch, I don't think I will ever feel 100% good about it.

Especially books. As someone who loves books, loves reading, who was comforted by these stories, whose life was changed by the books I read...I will never feel right about stopping my child from reading a book.

I don't want to have to. But the more I see what's being put out there, the more the truth becomes distorted, I am disgusted, and afraid.

So in the meantime, I pray that with time will come wisdom, and when the time comes, I will be able to have conversations with my children so that I can trust they will make the right decisions and that ultimately they will make the right decisions.

I want them to see life for what it is: beautiful, precious, a gift from God. I also want them to see death for what it is, and what it isn't: a sacred, permanent state that is beyond comprehension, not a solution or answer to an earthly problem.

The religion of cynicism

I learned something about myself today that I didn't like.

I'm cynical.

You might be thinking that's not a problem; that, cynicism not being a problem, is in fact the problem to me.

I am fortunate in my current position at work to have the opportunity to participate in a lecture series geared towards building leadership qualities in women. It's the first time I've been part of a major event like this, and today as the opening speaker was giving her remarks and speaking to the goals of the program, I did something that drives my fiancee absolutely nuts.

I rolled my eyes.

Not in a rude, obvious way, but in my own head as I listened to her speak. I allowed myself to go briefly in a spiral of "This is far-fetched, this is naive, this is idealistic, this is not how the world works," and that's when I caught myself.

Why was my knee-jerk reaction doubt? Not only doubt, but dismissal and mockery. She was barely 20 minutes into her speech and I was already plotting against her, building an arsenal to attack with.

I consciously stopped the negative train of thought and examined it. Why was I doing that? I signed up for this because it seemed interesting; not because it was going to conform to my current skill set but to build a new skill set. By dismissing it outright, I was going against my own goals and wasting my own time. After less than 20 minutes!

So after realizing that, I took a breath and committed myself to keep an open mind. If after completing the series I still thought they were full of crap, that's one thing. But I couldn't shut down this quickly. I like to think of myself as an open-minded person, so this lapse into close-minded cynical thinking so quickly and innately was a little disturbing.

In what I can only imagine was preordained, when I got home tonight, my fiancee was watching a lecture by Sheikh Hamza Yusuf (who, on a side note, I would hugely recommend for anyone looking for some interesting lectures on Islam; he is a former Greek Orthodox scholar who converted to Islam in the 1980s and is now considered one of most influential Muslim scholars living today) where he spoke of cynicism.

Particularly, he mentioned the promotion of cynicism in our current society by several mediums, but particularly by television shows like "Seinfeld." If you know me, you would know I loved "Seinfeld" as a kid and young teenager (when granted, I probably only got about 40% of the jokes made). And as much as I balk at people who chalk the mentality of my generation to the "media," this was more than a coincidence that on the same day I was fully realizing my own innate, instinctual cynicism the Sheikh would reference this particular program that was a staple in my pop culture consumption from a rather young age.

Because I am cynical (hopefully soon-to-be-recovering). Not just in this scenario, but the more I thought about it at different times in the day, and discussed it with my fiancee, I realized I had been doing the same thing at various times in my life about various things, unchecked.

Religion was one of them, at one time.

I grew up around mostly Christians of varying sects, with a few Jewish families mixed in there. More than a few of my very close friends were non-denominational, Evangelist Christians, who were very devout in their faith, and would often share their revelations with me.

Which I, rather jaded by the religious institution I was raised in, gave little thought to. I dismissed it.

Doubting Katie: already so unsure of the world...

I was young, I was misguided, and religion was very much an obligation I fulfilled until I didn't have to anymore. And what's more, the world around me did nothing but encourage my secularized thinking. Not just "Seinfeld," but the attitude that even church going people around me had about religion.

"Don't talk about it outside of church or outside of your home...otherwise people will think you're crazy."

That's a pretty crude way to put it, but that's the best way to describe the message being sent to me. There is a hesitancy in our society, throughout my life, to speak of religion or faith of any kind outside of a very specific setting, and if you did, you were "that religious kid" or "that Bible thumper" or a host of other diminishing colloquialisms. Like I said, I saw and continue to see this hesitancy even in church going people I know. Not so much Evangelist Christians, as a huge part of their calling is to "Spread the Good News," but amongst Protestants, Catholics, and other "mainstream" religions, it just wasn't talked about.

One of the most devout Catholics I know is my mother's older sister. Even she, a practicing, obedient Catholic, will speak in brevity about her faith, and only then under questioning. She is not hiding anything, and is by no means ashamed, but there is a definite hesitancy to go into depth.

You could argue, maybe it's the fear of offending someone. Even within religions, devotees disagree. But I have seen, it's more than that.

My father, by nature someone who doesn't care if he offends you, once he admits he was raised Catholic to you, will in the same breath make a joke about it, or downplay or undermine it in some way. Because he doesn't want you to make the mistake he's one of those "crazy" Catholics.

Now don't get me wrong. There is a time and a place where religion and faith should not be front and center. And I'm not advocating trying to convert people at work or speaking endlessly about it to people who are not similarly interested. What I am saying is there is a stigma attached to any discussion of religion beyond very simple, superficial terms.

"I believe in God." / "I'm a God-fearing (wo)man."

"I am a Christian."/ "I am a Jew."/ "I am a Muslim."

And that's about it. Anything beyond that and I've noticed people are quick to pigeonhole someone. Even sometimes without them saying anything further. There's a wall that immediately goes up. And if the person making the statement isn't hesitant about making it, more than often not, they will make a joke. Especially when asked by someone they know is not of their faith, or has no particular faith at all.

And that, to me, is because the prevailing faith in America today is cynicism. To believe in something, a religion, a way of life, a philosophy, requires you be vulnerable, open minded, submissive (to God, in the Abrahamic religions at least) and willing to change the status quo. Cynicism requires none of that. Cynicism requires a B+ humor and the security of knowing that nothing in your comfortable little cocoon is going to change because you won't be swayed by that mumbo jumbo.

Because the people who are religious who are shown to us on TV? Often times, it is not in a flattering light. It's a Christian making homophobic pronunciations. It's a West Bank Jew calling for the obliteration of Palestine. Or it's a member of ISIS calling for their perverted, unholy interpretation of "jihad."

It's rarely the average church going Christian, the Jewish family celebrating Purim, or a Muslim man delivering Qurbani meat to a family in need.

One of my favorite quotes of late is from a TED Talk by Lesley Hazleton. She states the following:

"We, the vast and so far too silent majority, have ceded the public arena to the extremist minority.
We've allowed Judaism to be claimed by violently Messianic West Bank settlers, Christianity by homophobic hypocrites and misogynistic bigots, and Islam by suicide bombers.
No matter whether they claim to be Jews, Christians, or Muslims, militant extremists are none of the above. They are a cult all their own, blood brothers seeped in other people's blood."

It is these portrayals of religion that have "legitimized" cynicism against religion that is so insidious, it has silenced the faithful, peaceful majority.

And today, I found that shamefully, I am a perpetrator of the same problem. My silence, my hesitancy, is complicity with this hijacking.

Because today, nearly 8 months after putting a hijab, when a woman in the seminar asked me during break about it, my breath caught in my throat a little bit.

Not because I'm ashamed. Not because I'm unsure. Because that's my natural inclination when someone asks me about my hijab (or Islam generally) that I'm going to be interrogated, or maybe even worse, silently stereotyped and dismissed. I fear that. Because though Islam is a huge part of my life, there's a stigma not just with this religion, but with all religions and I fear being written off.

So after explaining it was for a religious purpose and that I was Sunni Muslim, I made a joke.

And I caught myself and felt instantly foolish and that's when the shame came.

Because she wanted to have a dialogue, but because I didn't want to be labeled, I was limiting that dialogue and thus making it even easier to be labeled.

Isn't irony delicious?

It turns out her son had converted to Evangelism as a teenager and was now a preacher, and his devotion had made her more curious about religions generally (she was a lapsed Christian Scientist) and I was the first hijabi she had the opportunity to speak with.

At the end, once I extinguished my hesitancy and defense mechanism of humor, we had a great conversation and she gave me a fist bump at the end for being "brave."

I didn't feel brave. I never do. But the fact that doing something like wearing a hijab (or a Yamaka for my Jewish brothers, or a crucifix for my Catholic family) is considered "brave" just goes to show how secular and more than that, cynical America has become.

But let me tell you, since wearing the hijab and essentially putting my religion on display, the majority of people have surprised me for the better. There are still detractors, from the outright rude people who will shout "Terrorist" or send me anti-Islam articles to my e-mail to the scoffs when I say "I am Muslim" to the "Oh," followed by an awkward silence and change of subject. But for the most part my dear fellow cynics, people have surprised me for the better.

I just need to keep reminding myself of that, until my breath doesn't catch in my throat anymore. Islam is meant to empower me, not make me worried, anxious, and bracing for the next attack.

Furthermore, and even more tragically, if I avoid dialogue (when prompted) about Islam, I am not only allowing misconceptions to remain, but clearing the path for them to deepen.

So I promised myself that starting today, I am going to do everything I can to be a Muslim, not a cynic.

Sorry, Jerry, Kramer, George, and Elaine.

This is not an apology

I posted this picture last week on Instagram and Twitter.

I did so for a lot of reasons, not least of all is this: I am a woman who wears a hijab every day. People see me and even though they shouldn't, they look at me at least a little bit to see what Islam is. I am conscious of this and try to show them the Islam I know: love, kindness, respect, and humility. It is equally important, especially lately unfortunately, to also show them what Islam is not.

And Islam is not ISIS, or their doctrine.

I have received a lot of support for this post, and for that I am grateful. There have also been a few responses I've gotten, both directly and indirectly, vis à vis Facebook and Twitter posts about "Muslim apologists" (yeah, I see you) that I felt were problematic and warranted further address.

But before I do that, let me been unmistakeably, unequivocally clear:

This is not an apology. 

To non-Muslim brothers and sisters of the Books (often, Christians) who say, "How can you say this is not Islam when they are quoting the Qur'an, too? How is this anything but pure Islam?"

I felt like this was addressed in the post itself, but allow me to delve a little deeper. Are there not verses in the Bible calling for violence? Of course there are. And just like ISIS appropriated out of context verses from the Qur'an, the Klu Klux Klan (in addition to the Westboro Baptist Church and several other groups) appropriated out of context verses from the Bible to further their own violent, greedy, racist, hateful ends. Would you call any of these doctrines "pure Christianity"? Of course not.

That is because these people and their dogmas are not religious, they are extremist. It is unfortunate, and a test of our faiths, that these people exist alongside us. And just like there is the Gospel of Jesus (pbuh), which in its teachings of love and mercy seem to at times contradict the wrathful, brutal, absoluteness of God (swt) in the Old Testament, the hadiths are offered to supplement the Qur'an, and teach of love, mercy, and respect for human life. I am not a responsible Muslim or you Christians if we do not take into advisement all of the resources and teachings granted to us by God (swt).

So as a Christian, do not tell me these men equate to my religion unless you are willing to accept the KKK as equitable to your own.

To Atheists, who say, "You're right, this is not just Islam, this is all religion. They are all irrational/violent/dangerous."

Much like my response to my above brothers and sisters in Christianity: yes, each of the Abrahamic religions has several passages in their Holy Books calling for violence of some type. But these are tempered with other passages, both in the Holy Books and by the respective prophets, which advocate peace, love, and mercy. Yes, there is a duality but it therefore requires reason to work out.

It is perhaps because of this that with Islam there is a requirement in the Qur'an of consensus of the ummah (Muslim community) before major community decisions can be made, and beyond that, a requirement of consensus between well studied individuals and academics before decisions regarding the faith (such as fatwas) can be made. Sounds pretty rational to me, because if you allow one man to have the power to cherry-pick the verses or the interpretations to his liking, you will get people like bin Laden and al-Baghdadi, and consequently their followers. 

And make no mistake: there has been no such consensus that what these men are doing is right or representative of the faith. There are extremists out there who do you think so, but they make a miniscule portion of the ummah (this is proven with statistics). And may God (swt) help their lost souls.

And finally...

To my brothers and sisters in Islam who say, "Stop apologizing," because "if we're to apologize for this than X group needs to apologize for Y event," or "This has nothing to do with us, we are good Muslims."

You are wrong about one thing: as the title states, this is not an apology. This is a declaration. I am not saying "I'm sorry for Islam." I am saying, "These barbarians do not speak for me or my religion."

You are right about one thing: every powerful country and group in the world has a lot to apologize for. There have been so many atrocities, so much loss of life, so much war, famine, poverty in just the last hundred years, and a lot of apologies are due. Humanity has a lot to answer for.

But can we control the American government officials? Or the British, Israeli, Indian, Iranian, French, Pakistani, German? No, we can't, not in a tangible way. Unless you are a member of these organizations at the highest level the likelihood you will make an impact is nil. But you are a member of the ummah. You do have an impact there, and moreover, a responsibility to it. And maybe it's not fair, but that's not the question. You can't answer one wrong with another, one complacency with another. 

That is the one thing I know for sure, that is the essence to me of the teachings of the Prophet Mohammed (pbuh) and Prophet Jesus (pbuh): in the face of injustice, it is not right to reciprocate that injustice. Granted, we are not as strong as these men. But we still have an obligation as Muslims to conduct ourselves the way they demonstrated and the way Allah (swt) commands, to the best of our ability.

Which brings me to the next point: "This has nothing to do with us! We're not out there spewing this vitriol, propagating this hate, committing these monstrous acts!" Yes, of course, that's true in a literal sense. But that does not change the fact that these men, these boys, are doing these things in the name of our religion. Doesn't that terrify you? Allah (swt), Prophet Mohammed (pbuh), and Islam are being degraded and besmirched by these horrific events not only in the eyes of non-Muslims but by Muslims too! Why else would these boys from the UK, US, Belgium, etc be going to join forces with them? They are being told by these animals that this is what Islam is and not enough people are showing them it is not.

No one is standing up and saying, "Not in my name. Not in the name of my Prophet, my God, or my religion."

Not now, not ever.

10 things people will say to you when you wear a hijab

Today marks seven months since I put on a hijab (mash'allah). Doing so has provided me with some amazing, beautiful, unique experiences, mostly internally with my own spirituality and relationship with Allah (SWT), but also externally with other people. Since I can only barely and not-very-coherently at this point describe the internal revelations I've experienced in the past months, I will commemorate this occasion by writing about the external experiences. Namely, some of the most common questions people––mostly strangers, actually––have asked or things they've said that were related to the hijab or Islam as a whole.

Now even though this is for comedic value, I don't want anyone to think I'm taking this lightly. Actually, some of these things––mostly said in innocence or with the best intentions––raise some serious questions. But if you can't laugh at yourself and your life...well, if I couldn't laugh, I'd cry.

1. "Salaam, sister," said by Muslim men and women who I do not know

This is definitely the most common thing that started happening almost as soon as I put the hijab on. There is a very real kinship between hijabis; almost never will I pass a hijabi in public and not at least make some knowing eye contact. On a few occasions, other hijabis have come from clear across the grocery store or parking lot to say "Salaam!" and offer me and my family blessings. Non-hijabi Muslimahs do the same on occasion, and Muslim men, too, though usually after a cautious, "Are you Muslim?" because even though in many countries around the world there are fair-skinned and blue-eyed hijabis, I suppose my appearance still raises some doubt in America (thanks, mass media––but that's a whole other post).

After seven months, I'm a pro, quick with the "Wa'alaikum salaam," but when it first started happening I was pretty much so surprised and touched I just gave an awkwardly big smile and said "Um, um Salaam to you too!" Ugh, noob.

2. "Are you American Muslim or Muslim Muslim?" asked by unfortunately more than one person

Don't let my response of "I'm not sure what you mean," fool you. I know "what you mean" but I'm going to play dumb so you have to elaborate and expose yourself for the Fox-News-Bill-O'Reilly-watching sheep that you are. This is the more ignorant variation of "So where are you from?" that deserves an honorable mention on this list. I'm from Scranton, Pennsylvania, by the way, good-ol' coal-crackin' country, and many moons ago my family came from Europe, much like the people who usually ask this.

3. "So what are the rules?"

I bought my first hijab at DSW where it was just a plain old scarf, and it didn't come with a rule book or instruction manual (but holla to my sisters on YouTube who showed me how to rock that 'jab).

Like most adults, I live by a very specific and personal code of what I believe is right and good for me. The Quran provides no literal, specific instructions or "rules" for the wearing of the hijab––it emphasizes modesty in both dress and action. Hadiths, or stories about the works and life of the Prophet Mohammed (PBUH), provide a little more anecdotal guidance, but again, there are no blanket, black and white "rules." This of course will not prevent people from telling you there are "rules," but what those "rules" are are their specific and personal code of what they believe is right.

Some women wear a hijab and cover all of their hair and neck (which is, incidentally, how I wear mine). Some will cover their necks but show a bit of their hairline. And some women will go beyond the hijab, covering their entire face except their eyes (the niqab), or covering their entire face including their eyes (the much publicized burqa). Some will wear only black, white, or solid colors. None of these methods are more or less right because it is entirely at the wearer's discretion.

4. "How many of those do you have?"

The answer is a lot. Maybe too many. But my hijab is my crown and I need one for every occasion.

5. "Aren't you afraid of being attacked?" asked, again, by unfortunately more than one person

Um...I wasn't...until now, a little bit...by you...

(The @%$&ing sad thing is, as a woman in the world, the possibility of being accosted, verbally or physically, was and remains a terrifyingly real concern. With or without a hijab.)

6. "Aren't you hot?"

You bet I'm hot!

Oh, you mean...well, let's put it this way. If it's hot outside, I'm hot. If it's cold, I'm cold. The scarf did not impede my body's ability to regulate its temperature. Just like you wouldn't wear a wool sweater on a 90-degree day I don't wear a thick, black hijab on those days either. Actually, covering your head with an airy, light-colored fabric actually keeps you cooler in oppressive heat (hence, men and women wearing head coverings in desert climates). Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

7. *any question about the practices, beliefs, etc of Islam*

Don't get me wrong, I am very passionate about Islam, and I love talking about it. But there is a lot I don't know, and some things I can't explain (and any Jewish or Catholic person would probably say the same about their respective faith if they were being honest). So don't be surprised when I can't answer all your questions, and furthermore, I'd be hesitant to believe any human who says that they can. For the truth about Islam, the best resource is, was, and always will be the Holy Quran.

8. "But you still wear skinny jeans/smoke hookah/etc..." OR "But you don't pray five times a day/eat only halal/etc..."

This is probably the one that gets me the most, probably because more than often not, it comes from brothers and sisters in Islam.

First things first: while my hijab is my crown, it is not a trophy because I've "won at being Muslim," and am perfect at it. It is only a part of my journey closer to God. While I am conscious that as a hijabi people will possibly expect more from me as a visual representation of Islam, and I make an effort to conduct myself accordingly, I am still imperfect, and improving every day (insh'allah). I am far from sinless.

Secondly, not to fall back on a cliche, but everyone is a sinner in some way. Don't point fingers because my sins look different than yours do, and don't point fingers because my definition of "modesty" doesn't directly coincide with yours. This goes back to people and their "rules." Of course, I appreciate any counsel or advice from a concerned brother or sister, but people who say things like "Don't wear a hijab if you're going to wear heels" or "Why bother if you don't pray"? Bye, Felicia.

9.  "So how long are you going to wear it?"

As long as I want to. Not to be glib, but that's the simple truth. I put the hijab on because I wanted to, and if the day comes I want to take it off, I will. From where I sit now, I don't see that happening, but I can't see into the future. I am fortunate that there are no laws in the United States preventing me from wearing my hijab in public (there are countries, like France, where such laws do exist) and I would hope that would never come to pass, but it could. Or, something could simply change in my life down the road where I don't feel like the hijab is part of my journey anymore.  Either way, for the foreseeable future, I'm going to have it on. So, deal.

10. "Will you accept Jesus Christ as your savior?"

Bless their hearts. This surprised me, because I definitely got approached to accept Jesus (PBUH) way more since the hijab.

And really, God bless the evangelists on the streets who see me as a lost sheep; I see the kindness and good intentions behind their inquiry, I do. But what they don't know, and probably would have a hard time accepting as true, is this: one cannot be Muslim without believing in the Gospel of Jesus, and one cannot be Muslim without believing Jesus is going to return to have a mega-Revelations-style showdown with Evil.

Because, again, thanks to the media and bigots talking loudly with little actual knowledge, most people have no clue just how closely tied Christianity and Islam (and Judaism, for what it's worth) are. We are all children of the book, we are all believers. Jesus is the most quoted prophet in the Quran, before even Mohammed.

Allah is God, and God is Allah.

Making moves

Let me start by saying, Alhamdulillah.

The past month has brought two huge changes. We're purchasing a home (well, purchased, provided the inspection comes through) and I found out today I was given a promotion within my company to a department and a role that I really wanted.

And all along, I couldn't think anything other than God wanted it to happen, and so it did. We worked hard, on both endeavors, and have been wonderfully blessed for our efforts.

One of my fears, or reservations, when I began wearing the hijab two months ago was that the perception of me within my company, which is not hugely diverse. My mother had a similar reservation as well, but as I told her: it did not change my abilities, and truly, if a manager would not want me working for them because of it I would not want to work for such a manager. And it turned out that, in this case, it was not a hinderance.

The morning of the initial interview, as I was walking to get coffee in our building, a group of school children from a local parochial school were taking a tour. As I opened the door to the cafe, one of the boys said, loudly, "Terrorist, terrorist, terrorist!"

It actually took me about 10 seconds to realize he was talking about me.

I didn't say a word to the barista, also a hijabi, who I have struck up a casual friendship with. It wasn't until I was back at my desk that I calmly texted my boyfriend and said, "Well, it happened. Someone called me a terrorist."

As much as I knew not to let it bother me, it did. I was off for a while afterwards, shaking inside. After a comment.

But I went to the interview, and as I was walking for the interviewers, I said a small dua, and a calm came over me.

And a week later, I was notifying I got the position. Alhamdulillah.

The house purchase came very smoothly. We did a lot of research, a lot, and had most of our ducks in a row before we even started the process. And, inshAllah, on May 30th we will close and move into our first home. Alhamdulillah.

Not to mention, in just 18 days, we will be traveling to Egypt for two weeks, a trip that will tick a major milestone off our bucket lists and just be a beautiful experience. Again, Alhamdulillah.

2014 thus far has been so blessed. I pray that we will both stay diligent and it will stay that way.

"I have some questions for you."

"Did you become a Muslim?"

"Did someone pass away?"

"Are you cold?"

It's been a little over a week since I donned the hijab, and expectedly, I've faced some questions, particularly from my co-workers of over two years who have never known me to have any kind of identity other than the quiet, competent girl in glasses.

My mom had no questions, only support. I don't know why telling her caused me so much anxiety.

The friends I told had some questions, but again, all support. A friend whose wedding I'll be in in October said it was obviously fine if I wear it at her wedding, "It's part of your religion, it's part of you."

I worry that some people, the ones who wouldn't ask me to my face, are talking. But I don't care.

Not for a millisecond have I reconsidered. If anything I've become more resolute, more confident.

An African American woman who works at the Starbucks in my office building is a hijabi. The first day I saw her, I was with my friend, and she was with her co-worker, and it was busy, but I could feel her eyes on me.

When I went back a few days later alone, the cafe was empty and she was cleaning behind the counter.

"How are you?" she asked. "I'm good," I replied. "How are you?"

"Good," she replied slowly, and then added, "Is that a hijab?"

I replied, "Yes," and in that empty Starbucks two strangers with nothing in common but a headscarf, had a low, heartfelt conversation like we'd known each other for years.

We were both converts. We both had opposition in our extended (luckily) family. We both thought Islam was the most beautiful thing we'd been a part of.

"Don't you feel so much better," she asked, "Being covered?"

I smiled slowly, but widely. "Yes, I do." It was so true.

When another customer eventually came, we shook hands, exchanged names, and parted with a "I'll see you around."

That same day, as I was walking out of the building, I saw an older woman, with large brown eyes, olive skin, and curly chocolate hair staring at me as she came from the opposite direction. As I had resolved myself, I met her eyes and just smiled. No averting my eyes, no nervous fiddling with the folds. Just a smile.

I reached door first, and held it for her.

As I passed through the revolving door, she said, "Are you Muslim?" And pointed to her head.

I responded "Yes," when she cleared the revolving door.

She asked first if I liked it, the simplicity of which made me chuckle a little before I said sincerely, "Yes, I love it. It's beautiful."

She told me I looked so beautiful, so so beautiful in my hijab, and that she was proud of me as a Muslim woman. She was Egyptian, raised Muslim, but didn't "have the strength" to wear the hijab. I felt like saying, "Once you do, you'll never go back," but I didn't.

Because as sad as it is, I have an advantage. A slight one, but one nonetheless. Because even under my hijab, I am unmistakably fair-skinned, blue-eyed, and (based only on my eyebrows at this point) light-haired.

And when I read stories of women persecuted, harassed, or otherwise targeted because of the hijab, they don't very often look like me. Not to say I am immune, but that it's easier. Because even under a hijab, I'm not quite "the other" that these women are perceived to be. People ask me questions. People don't automatically assume I'm doing it because of familial pressure (although some have asked if it was my boyfriend's influence, if I was engaged, etc). But if my boyfriend's sister, dark-haired, dark-eyed, dark-skinned, were to wear a hijab, people would not ask her as many questions. It would be an "of course she is" kind of reaction, and she would much more quickly filed away as "the other" that I am not made to be. She would also become a target that I am not made to be.

So while some people are "proud" of me, or think it's "brave," I feel slightly like I have a cheat code. That I'm protected by my race. Because even if I have "othered" myself with the garnet I choose to wear, we are above all, a very, very racist country.

I hope that line blurs. It has already, undoubtedly. But I hope by the time my daughter, inShallah, chooses to wear a hijab, people won't automatically file her away. I hope, if she choose to do so, people will ask her questions, instead.

Read

Where to begin. I guess from the beginning

Two years and some change ago, I started dating my boyfriend. We had decided to make it official, in part because I was leaving the Washington D.C. area (where we met) and moving to Philadelphia (after two unhappy years--excluding of course meeting him). In January of 2012 I moved, we started dating, and by March he had accepted a promotion in his company that brought him to Philadelphia, too, and we moved in together.

One thing he had told me, from the very beginning, was that his religion was very important to him. He is a Sunni Muslim, the dominant sect of Islam that makes up 75% of the Muslim world population. He practiced the main tenants and observations of the religion: he abstained from pork, fasted during the Holy Month of Ramadan, paid zakat (the equivalent to the Catholic tithe or other Christian offerings), had studied the Quran as a child, and knew how to properly pray. So it was important to him that his children be raised Muslim.

I myself had a complicated relationship with organized religion. I was raised in the Christian faith but had some serious questions that had led me to an agnostic state by the time we met. While I truly, in my soul, could not ever deny the existence of God, I could not reconcile the things I was taught in church and in school. There were holes, which no one from lay to clergy, could fill for me.

And this is important: my boyfriend did not tell me to convert to Islam. Our relationship did not hinge on me converting to Islam. "As long as you believe in God," he said, "And you would be willing to allow me to raise our children Muslim, I don't care if you convert."

Because to force, coerce, or even persuade someone to convert to Islam is a sin for a Muslim. Not just a slap on the wrist, on paper you shouldn't kind of thing. A sin. This is something my boyfriend stresses to me constantly, as does his family. They are not trying to convert me, it would be a terrible, terrible sin for them to take me away from my "deen," another word for my "faith."

This said, I still decided that it would be prudent for me to explore this religion that was so important to the man I loved and his family. I began to slowly, and then more intensely, read the Quran. I fasted for Ramadan. I listened to lectures by people who had converted, and read books by those who were raised in the faith. And most of all, I saw how my boyfriend and his family lived their lives. Good, upstanding people who loved their families deeply, conducted themselves as purely and modestly as possible, and had respect for everyone, regardless of religion.

And somewhere, along the line, I accepted Islam. I couldn't tell you when. It was a slow burn, a warmth that started in my heart and spread to my fingertips.

My boyfriend was worried at first, and would constantly ask, "You are not doing this for me, are you?" To which I would sometimes exasperatedly reply, "NO!" Islam answers those questions I had been asking my childhood, filled the gaps that no other religion I had exposure to had been able to do so. And it is beautiful.

I have not said my "shahada" yet. This is when you go to a Mosque and declare before an Imam (a Muslim clergy member) your belief in one God, and in Mohammed his Messenger (Peace be upon him). I know the "Kalima," which is what you say during this process. And I can't wait to do it. But I made myself a promise I would finish the Quran entirely before doing so. So I wait, for now, for about 100 more pages.

But I am a Muslim. While I haven't said the Kalima before an Imam, I say it to myself every day. I believe it, unquestionably, in my heart. That's what I will often say to my boyfriend. If he could see how purely, how strongly, I felt Islam in my heart, he would never ask again if I was "doing it for him."

For the most part, my mostly Catholic family has been accepting. My mother was relieved, I think, that I wasn't an atheist. Especially after I explained that Islam is not a deviation from how I was raised, it's the completion of the story that has been told since Abraham. It is the "last religion."

A Muslim cannot be a Muslim if they do not believe in the Torah and the Gospel of Jesus.

A Muslim cannot be a Muslim if they do not believe Jesus (PBUH) will return to Earth.

Jesus (PBUH) is the most quoted prophet in the Quran. Mary, Mother of Jesus, has an entire chapter, or "surah," devoted to her life and giving birth as a virgin to Jesus (PBUH). I am not a Quranic scholar, and I won't pretend to be by trying to analyze too deeply the text, but where Islam differs from Christianity is largely with the divinity of Jesus (PBUH), as Muslims see him as a prophet sent by Allah, and not the Son of God. There is no trinity in Islam, there is but one God Allah, who sent to Earth many prophets. There are also differences in the depiction of the crucifixion. Christians see this as the death of Jesus (PBUH), whereas Muslims believe before he was upon the cross God took him up with him. But these differences are not seen as contradictions. The Quran is the completed story, gaps filled.

All this said, there were members of my family vehemently against my conversion. It breaks my heart every day, because I know, and have known for some time, that this is my deen and I will not be strayed from it. I pray every day that I will not lose these people because of it. I put that in Allah's hands.

Besides my conversion, which was life changing enough, I recently made another decision related to how I am going to live my life as a Muslim. I have decided to wear a "hijab," a head covering for Muslim women to wear when they are in public.

I haven't told my family. I haven't fully explained it to my friends. Today was the first day I wore it to work, and none of my coworkers asked and I didn't bring it up.

Even though I haven't spoken of it in depth with anyone other than my boyfriend and his sister just yet, I am so, so excited to do this. I've been thinking of it for a while, and this past week I couldn't not do it anymore.

I had to run some errands in the city by myself. For some reason, as I was leaving, I thought, I'll wear a scarf. I didn't call it a hijab in my head yet. I loved it. I felt beautiful in a way I hadn't before. And I couldn't wait to wear it again.

My boyfriend had no idea I was thinking of this, and when he got back from business and I told him, he was supportive but not persuasive one way or the other. Neither his mother, sister, aunts, or female cousins wear a hijab, and it is not specifically mandated in the Quran. Modesty in dress, speech, and behavior is called for, but the specific garment is not required. Muslim women who do not wear a hijab, or the more covering garments such as niqabs or burkas, are no less Muslim than those who do. I do not pretend the hijab makes up for the other sins I commit, or puts me above anyone, Muslim or not. That kind of thinking would fly right in the face of the whole reason I wear it.

Some people associate the hijab as a symbol of oppression. I know this. I've heard it. But that is far from the truth. Yes, there are some people in the world who obligate women to wear these coverings and will punish them if they do not. This is not Islam. It is a choice on how you want to cover yourself, how you choose to live modestly. The key words are "choice" and "choose." Nothing is Islam is to be forced upon anyone, believer or non-believer.

For me, the hijab in these early stages, is a reminder. A reminder of the better, more modest life I want to live. I don't believe I'm going to be damned if I show my hair to a man not in my family. But I do believe God wants all of us to live modestly and humbly, and when it is on my head, cupping my cheeks, the hijab is a reminder that I should speak well, be kind, and that most of all, that I am a servant to God. Humility. That's what the hijab is for me.

I would dare anyone to say I am oppressed, any way. I have a well-paying job in the financial industry, I own my own car, pay all of my own bills, and live my life according to the choices I make myself.

But I worry. I worry people will not understand that. That they won't want to understand it. That wearing a hijab will hinder me professionally, in a mostly non-Muslim company. That my family will be angry, confused, scared. That my friends will distance themselves. That strangers will be rude or untoward. I will of course do my best to explain whenever possible, but that only goes so far. And even though no one at this point could tell me anything that would turn me from Islam, and that I do believe the hijab is the right choice for me now, I still worry. Because I am not perfect. And I pray for the strength to endure any or all of these things, should they happen.

My biggest worry is my mother. As supportive as she has always been for me, in every way, I still worry that she won't understand. This is why I have put off telling her so far. I want to find the right words so she will understand that I am still her daughter, her baby doll, and not some foreign person she doesn't know anymore. I know I am probably imagining the worst, and my boyfriend tells me this, but still. I worry. She is the last person on this Earth I would ever want to cause unhappiness for.

So that is my story. My genesis.

As-Salaam-Alaikum. Peace be with you.