Tag: Struggle

A Love Message to All Muslim Ladies

Leave Them Be

People tend to forget that when you wish to cover up for religious purpose, you don’t do it half way. Some women who still struggle, bless them all, sometimes cover up only the hair and not the chest, only the feet and not the ankle, and I have highest respect to all those who still try no matter how difficult it is even in the most supporting environment, let alone a nonsupporting one.

So what is the problem?

The problem is, I am on my way trying to work on covering up every bit of skin that hide so many sin, and while it was never a struggle before when I believe I’m doing it for His sake, even my patience is wearing thin that I was close to snapping at my friends, and this coming from someone who dislike confrontation.

“Ew, why is your socks so long?” or “Ew, freak.”

Those hurt, and I laughed it off nonchalantly while reminding myself they don’t understand, and I can’t hate them for what they have no full comprehension of.

But the feelings crawl and itch right under my skin, to the ugliest side of my heart, and words that I wish I get to truthfully throw left and right feel like acid to my tongue.

In all honesty, I know they make me look like a freak, I know that, but does it ever occur to you that I still slap them on each morning because it’s for He who matters more?

Look how whiny I sound. This is pathetic of me too, to make such a big fuss out of it.

A playful banter is something I can take, knife-sharp words are something I grew to adjust with for the past two years, but I don’t wish this judgment upon anybody else who are still struggling with their Hijrah, and so I beg of you, don’t speak if you don’t have anything nice to say.

Leave people be with what they do, like how they leave you with what you do. Judge behind closed doors, reprimand only if it is something that truly counts as bad. Keep distance if you can’t hurt your image by being with them, and stay if you can’t give an ounce to care. It’s only simple, humane, and it doesn’t cost a thing.

Here’s to the struggle of Hijrah.

The Crown Weighs Heavy

I try and not look into the mirror too much lately.

To be exact, I try and not to see much of my reflection. When I clean up nicely and take a look at her, I see the girl that is far hidden from the world, and I am not talking about fake-face or wearing a mask like in one of those gloomy girl’s diary. My problem is simple.

It’s all physical.

What the world gets to see of me is always the me that is stripped out from my physical appearance. What I wear and how I dress forces people to judge me for who I am, personality and intelligence wise. They don’t see how baby doll dresses look when they hug my tiny figures. They don’t see the way my hair falls into a fair frame around my square jaw that sparks a fair amount of attractiveness.

Sometimes I want the world to see.

At times, I wish the world can see that I have so much more going on for me other than loose tops and long skirt. That I, too, have what the world standardize as ‘beauty’. I hate myself for even letting these thoughts crawl and get underneath my skin, and I hate that I allow myself to feel good when us girls play dress-up and I hear compliments when I wear sleeveless dresses that falls just above the knee.

I am never this self-conscious before. I am always proud with how I can feel good about myself without long locks and short skirts. These thoughts are dangerous place in the corner of my mind. I didn’t need this negativity now of all time, and so  I went into the salon without a second thought to get a drastic haircut.

I wanted to be ugly. Different. Something that makes me not want to show myself into the world.

I didn’t get to do it in the end.

At home, I stared into the reflection in the mirror some more.

Maybe I can post just one photo without Hijab. 

Maybe I can take off my Hijab at school and roll my sleeves for a day and see how people reacts.

Maybe people will see me different then if I dress like everyone else.

These thoughts pass through my mind in a frequent amount that I broke down and right down cried. God must be so upset with me right now. I don’t want to take off my Hijab. I can’t take it off after wearing it for so long.

I am so lucky, I try to tell myself. There are plenty of girls who wish they have the same courage to do what I am considering leaving behind. I am so lucky that I am taught to keep my honor and decency only to those who deserve it, I tell myself each time. Don’t let them get to me, I chant. Why do I have to be pressured to please the world when I can keep things to only those who matters and deserving, who won’t judge, and will see me first for who I am despite my physical appearance?

I am currently not in a good place with myself.

My environment and the people in my social ring don’t make things easier.

I try and tell myself beauty comes in all sort of different ways. If there are people who see bikini as an empowering clothing, then there must be people who see non-revealing clothes empowering as well.

I tell myself  that those whose views of beauty are different from mine are simply taught differently and have different beliefs on beauty.

People are just different that way, I tell myself.

I will believe this one day.

Criteria: Leader

If someone ask me why I’m a Muslim in the first place, my answer would be pretty simple.

It’s just that I simply don’t know how it feels like to not be a Muslim.

My life is pretty simple, you see. If God says no alcohol, then I don’t taste alcohol. If He warns me against adultery, then I’ll avoid it at all cost. If He tells me to cover my skin, then that’s exactly what I’ll do. My dos and don’ts list are pretty simple that way, and so I don’t really understand why it’s hard for some people to see.

But then I suppose it’s the other way round, in which people don’t know how to not be the way they are as well.

You see, there are times when I just want to cry my eyes out and curl while listening to Cold Play’s The Scientist.  Nobody said it was easy, is pretty much how I can define being a Muslim. Now before any of you jump into conclusion and think I feel oppressed, then please just cut the crap. I don’t feel oppressed. You know what make things hard? It’s the judgmental and small minded environment. If I go to a good Islamic school, I probably won’t feel this way at all. But alas, I am where I am, and it’s always so heart-breaking to see young Muslim not care one bit about God.

Maybe if they were given the choice, they’d choose not to embrace Islam at all.

This is the part where it all comes down to a conclusion, and that is I desperately need someone who can convince me to just ignore them and be proud of who I am with my religion. I am the person that I am today because of my religion, and maybe it doesn’t make me the coolest person at school, but at least it makes me me.

Don’t take me wrong, I am a proud Muslim. But I’m sure you all know it’s not the easiest thing in life to obey a being that you can’t see. I guess I’m waiting for my prince charming to make me see and embrace the beauty of Islam. If there’s one thing I’m really looking for from a husband (besides his faith and religious activity), it is most definitely a leader figure. A leader that I follow not because I have to, but because I want to. A leader that can guide me straight to His grace. A leader who can see that I am struggling and makes it his personal mission to make me believe I am making the right choices.

And I can imagine him, sitting right across the room, singing as best as he can,

if you let me
I can help you out
with all of that

let me love you
I know your trouble
don’t be afraid
oh, I can help

And everything will be okay again after that.

So hey, said leader. Your damsel in distress awaits. Do get here quick, it’s a pretty rough life out here.

Me, My Skirt, and I

The world’s a bitch.

Well, not the world. Just its people.

I think I’ve mentioned too many damn times of how hard it is to become an obedient Muslim woman. Now, don’t think I hate being one, don’t think I’m feeling oppressed like how you readers might think, but when I say it’s hard, it ain’t because I don’t want to do what I’m supposed to do.

What makes things hard is the judgement from you, the disrespect, and the way you think it’s okay to bad mouth my decision.

I am living in a place where even the majority of Muslims don’t wear the headscarf, and even when they do, they try to style it accordingly to be accepted by common mindless society. It will still cover the skin, but not the curves, which contradicts what the Prophet said about being clothed but naked.

So that’s a no to the tight jeans or leggings. Those expose too much sin, sin which I’m actually concerned about a long time ago before people start judging my fashion sense.

And hence why these conversation occurs too much:

Mum: Go change into skirt

Me: What for? These pants aren’t that tight.

Mum: They still show your backside and thighs

Me: They’re covered by my shirt

Mum: Well, your shirt isn’t long enough

Me: I’m not wearing skirt.

Mum: You are.

Me: No, I don’t want to be a freak.

That’s one example, here’s another one:

Friend: Why are you wearing skirt?

Friend: You look like a freak.

Friend: Ew.

Me: Yeah, can’t, forbidden from wearing jeans.

Friend: By who?


Me: Mum.

And I blame Mum a lot, because she’s the only reason seem to be accepted by society. If I said it was my own choice, they’d think I’m the freak one, and I just thought that if I blame it on someone else, I wouldn’t have to take the fall for it.

I suppose I can be childish like that.

However, let me tell you the actual truth, there’s never a moment where I don’t feel like a good person covering my sins, but I also walk feeling like a failure because I can’t seem to be understood.

I don’t judge people when they live as they want, so why am I judged when I’m simply following little rules? Why do I have to be the freak one? Because I’m a minority, is that it?

Dude, words are sharp. Careful with those.

Leave people and their skirts alone, just like how they leave your choices alone. You can dislike the lifestyle, but please understand that it becomes so hard being a proud Muslim when people judge too much.

I personally think me wearing what I want to wear effects only my reputation and life, but please do tell if it effects yours as well so I can understand where your hate comes from. You can think it’s weird, you can laugh at it, but I’m begging you to help everyone feel comfortable in what they choose to wear. And please, you’re not at fault, you have every right to say what you need to say, I suppose it’s entirely mine for not being able to be strong enough to stand on my ground and ignore the acid comments.

Here’s to me, my skirt, and I


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With One Last Run

Stepping off
From your throne
Leaving hardships
You’ve always known 

Tears will fall
From us all
Pride will show
With one last bow 

Do walk away
To reach your dreams
We will stay
In your regimes 

Salute, brother
Good luck, sister
Go step further
With one another 

Time ticks by
It’s time to go
With one last run
You shall be known

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