oddly enough, I get the weirdest burst of uncontrollable motivation randomly in the late hours of the night when it’s just me alone with my thoughts and here i am on my laptop writing. the past couple of weeks have been riddled with insecurity for me. I’ve been having an increasingly difficult time with my hijab, and for some reason that insecurity is lingering in me for much longer than id like.
I always think of myself as a semi-confident person, I like certain things about myself, and I have fun in my own company. I think I’m a little all over the place sometimes, and as much as I hate to admit it, I do struggle with my appearance sometimes, but, it’s going to get better.
I started wearing the hijab in the early days of September twenty twenty-five. why’d I start? the answer to that question has changed a couple times, and I think it needs a separate article of its own, but, in layman’s terms, I started for myself because it felt right. Now, the story I have to tell today is one that I’ve thought of quite a few times because it was truly just weird. on January 24th, my friend Josh and I spent the day together in celebration of his 22nd birthday coming up on the 25th. the night was young, we grabbed a dinner that stuffed us beyond belief and then began to walk to our next destination. a jazz lounge.
upon entering, I was met with dim lights, a mixed crowd, some young, some old and not a single hijabi in sight. at first, it didn’t feel that weird, and I wasn’t thinking too much about my hijab sticking out like a sore thumb because, well, I just wasn’t. the jazz band started playing, and Josh found a cozy little nook to stand in in the corner of the stage with a little leaning post that we could lean on. the band began playing, and it was such a wonderful atmosphere. everyone was smiling, and I have the fondest memory of this groovy man standing right up front of the band dancing, with the most amazing footwork.
some time passed, and I was met with many warm smiles, and suddenly, I encountered another warm smile. a lady, around 45 years of age roughly, came up to me and gave me a big smile. I remember her starting a conversation with me, asking me what my name was and saying I looked beautiful with hijab, and she was really happy to see me. I was a little taken aback because I had never met this woman in my life, but I was still appreciative of her kindness. She began telling me about her life, her work in journalism and radio, how she was here with her husband.
then she began talking about her relationship with religion.
look, I get it. a hijab is a very outward sign of being a part of the Muslim faith, and I’ve now learned that it is also a very popular topic of conversation when you are its wearer. but the way the conversation was conducted confused me. She started sharing how she is no longer a practising Muslim due to her upbringing and that she finds Islam suffocating and constricting. I nodded my head with a strained smile, starting to get a bit uncomfortable because I didn’t understand why I, a Muslim hijabi, was the outbox for these feelings. she applauded me, congratulated me, and complimented me for being this symbol of breaking barriers within the Muslim community. I remember her saying, “It’s so amazing that you are here,” almost as if someone like me didn’t belong there. Followed by, “You can always have a little drink, too; don’t be pressured not to!”. She left, then came back again to repeat a similar conversation, and then left again for the night.
I have thought about this encounter quite a few times over the past few months, trying to make sense of what that was and how I felt about it. And to say I have a few thoughts, it’s a blatant understatement. I didn’t like it at all, I didn’t like that I was spoken to about those things and that she felt that she had any right whatsoever to use me as an emotional dumpster for her trauma. When she made the comment about drinking, I remember thinking that I was a bad Muslim. I was a bad Muslim to be in that environment. I was a bad Muslim for letting someone think that I wanted to drink and my faith was “holding me back.” I was a bad Muslim because I was there.
I had to really sit with those thoughts, understand my relationship with religion, and realize that no one truly knows my intent and what’s in my heart except me. Navigating your belief system is difficult, and it’s especially hard when you have no clue how to start but are just jumping in headfirst. Wearing the hijab, to me, is many things. It’s hard sometimes, but it’s a part of me now. every day, slowly, I am trying to take steps to better and live according to what feels right, not good, but right, and I trust myself because “myself” is the thing that brought me to the hijab in the first place. and putting on the hijab has been one of the best decisions I’ve made in my little life.
theres more to this post, but thats all for tonight.
goodnight my friends!
asma halai's blog 