Baby steps

I was going to write a poem instead.  I want to explain myself as a girl trying to improve herself as a Muslim by starting to wear a hijab.  It’s so funny how hijab seems to be the thing that proves you are Muslim even more than saying your prayers and stuff like that.  But then some of my friends at school asked me why I didn’t wear it.

I didn’t have an answer.  My parents encourage me, but don’t not force.  It is kind of an unspoken secret that my mother thinks that wearing the hijab puts me at risk since there is so much negativity surrounding Muslims.  But I wear when we go to the masjid and Muslim events.  I like the hijab – it is soft and womanly to me.

Sometimes when I daydream about wearing hijab I see myself in a dark tower with a winding staircase.  I don’t know why I have this gloomy image, but it is also strangely inviting – like its calling to me or something.  To get to the top seems quite a bit.  But if I think about it after Ramadan, that staircase seems undoable.  After Ramadan I see a light at the top of the staircase and I feel if I can fast – and go to school – then I can climb that staircase.

It’s like a personal metaphor, so I don’t want to use my name in this reflection because I am sharing a private thing.  But I think other Muslim girls like me may feel the same way.  We don’t want our Iman to be judged by strands of black hair peaking from jersey scarves.

I want to be a good Muslim.  When I was younger all of us went to the Sunday weekend Islamic school.  Here we were comfortable with each other, but now that I’m 15, I think some of that time was wasted not taking what the teachers were trying to teach us seriously.  We took it as a social hour.   To my surprise I still got something out of the experience, mainly that I must be sincere in my Islam belief and pious.

When I see the light at the top of the staircase, I think it’s a message, it’s like a reward.  There is darkness and obstacles to get to that reward.  Muslim girls stand out in America and that makes us a target for sick, stupid people who want to hurt Muslims.  That frightens my mom and I think it concerns my dad.  But I’m not worried about being Muslim.

Each year I get better.  I remember when I couldn’t fast the whole day but felt ashamed to tell my parents thinking they would be disappointed.  But I grew in understanding because the Imam says every Ramadan that Quran tells us “Fasting is for Allah.”  So, I grew up some and thought, Allah Knows I want to fast, but get too tired, too hungry, dizzy and even in pain.  But I sincerely wanted to fast back then, so I think Allah blessed me for my intention anyway.

I intend to make it up that staircase.  It will be more than just wearing a hijab and making other people think ‘Oh, she’s a good girl’ and more me doing what I’m supposed to be doing as a good Muslim because I want to please Allah.

That is the thing that is the most important.  Learning that the compelling force urging me to the top of that staircase is not acceptance from family, not approval from the Aunties or the Imam, not awe from non-Muslim friends at school about what I do or even pride in myself for ‘representing’.

Whatever I do, and yeah that means wearing hijab, is for Allah, and no one else.

I didn’t want this to be a hijab narrative, but I guess that is part of the spiral.  I want to focus on all the parts that make up being a Muslim, but because I am a girl, I can’t talk about stuff without focusing somewhat on the hijab.  Spoiler alert, I don’t wear hijab and I think some people may think I am being hypocritical for saying all this nice stuff about how the hijab is pretty and I want to wear it.

But I see it as baby steps.  It’s something that I want to do.  Even writing about it lifts some of the struggle off my chest.  I know I have the strength to do what good Muslims do and I am walking towards doing those things.  I see that what I kind of worried about at 10 years old now seems like nothing – making prayer when I come home from school, turning away from a show I’m looking at when it’s prayer time, reciting the surah silently with my father because I have it memorized.  

When my sister was a baby, she walked like she was always about to fall down.  Maybe that’s a metaphor for my own journey to Islam.  I wobble, but I’m determined.  I know I’m gonna make it up that staircase and that it will come with time and patience.  This is a story about a Muslim girl and that girl is me.

Author bio: Marwa – Marwa choses to use a pen name rather than her own as she wants her message to be read by Muslim teenage girls everywhere.  She is a 15 year old sophomore attending a public high school and a second generation immigrant.  She loves her cat, her little sister and Eid day activities.