you know, whenever we do something...we should think of why we are doing it. when i started this blog, it was because i needed to remember and get things that were buried for so long out of my system.
i feel it has helped me do that a lot and but for a few more incidents that i cant forget, i have relayed most of those moments that would haunt me the most. and once they are out - it feels good to know i let them out.
my last few posts have been significantly different from the first few...anyone following this blog can see it. in fact, introducing phase 2 i think paints a different picture...one that shows the extent of succumbing to the relationship i experienced...I believe it is a survival mechanism when u feel u can no longer get out.
and truly - starting this blog was very much about me sharing the story bc i truly feel that its an under-reported and under-discussed reality.
...regardless...i wont lie. sometimes i ask myself why i am writing this. and even if writing helps me, why is this blog online? why am i writing this? what is my intention? are they pure intentions?
i dont know.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
everything happens for a reason.
If we live our life upholding the belief that everything happens for a reason, it can truly offer a deep sense of comfort….it provides solace to know that when things happen, especially things that we might perceive as bad, have a purpose...a positive purpose. That reason is most often not immediately known to us…and sometimes we wont know for years…and sometimes we will never know. But, simply internalizing that there is so much our limited capabilities veil us from understanding, and that God loves us and has our best interests in mind always…we can rest assured that whatever happened was not supposed to happen in any other the way than the way it did.
In Islam, there is a prayer known as Salatal Isthikhara. In that prayer, a person facing some kind of decision in life prays to God for guidance, and to make whatever course of action that is the best for that individual, blessed…and if it is bad, then you are asking God to move you away from it. During my final year in high school I believe, I was going through major major questioning of this relationship. I prayed salatal ishikhara for guidance on whether I should pull myself out of the relationship, or remain within it. I remember one day that I prayed it….I was in my mom’s room…I prayed it with so much conviction and so many tears. And, as soon as I finished, a significant sense of calm overtook me. For some reason, at that moment I felt that God wanted me to be in that relationship…and that it was better for me. This was the start of phase 2. I finally thought that yes, God knows what is best for me…and this is what I should be in.
Thereafter, I asked him to take me to an imam (a spiritual leader) so that we may become married in God’s presence ….I wanted nothing more than to stop feeling that I was doing something wrong…and if this was what was best for me, then I wanted to make it as legitimate as possible. He never took me to an imam…we went to a couple of mosques but he always said that the imam was not there. Then he introduced the idea of muta’a…a temporary marriage contract that certain shia’a sects believe in. I was not convinced...but it sounded like the lesser of two evils. Soon enough we did muta’a…and as with a normal marriage, he provided me with a dowry and I laid stipulations of marriage terms…one of which was that the ‘marriage’ would never be consummated. This is what caused me to feel less guilty and allowed me to lower my guard. It is what caused me to forget the stress I experienced for the first five years of the relationship while in high school. I still felt guilty deep inside…but I managed to convince myself otherwise. We would renew this contract year after year…until one day I decided I wanted it no more.
Now...if everything happens for a reason…then everything happens for a reason. I will never be able to understand truly…but there are many things I can think of. Post high school, I was going to be living away from home for the first time….who knows who I would have met during that time, and what could have happened if circumstances were different. Having him meant that my life was busy and any free time I did have I devoted to him rather than to anyone or anything else. He taught me a lot…about religion and life. And, ever since the beginning…it was my struggles with this relationship and the internal battles that I experienced which brought me closer to God. Never once, during all the pain, did I ever get mad at God. I went to Him for solace and comfort…I was mad at myself…and knowing God was there for me made me truly love Him and my faith. And now that I am able to look at this relationship in retrospect, I am drawn even more closer to God as I seek forgiveness and seek understanding of what occurred. And, given the anger and sadness I feel when I remember how it all started….I feel a sense of wanting to serve…to do what I can to open the eyes of people that need to have their eyes opened, and whose eyes I can open. I want to serve my mother. I want to serve myself by being the best person I can be to make up for the lost time.
But why am I rationalizing? There is no need to rationalize. Everything that happened was meant for me to experience exactly the way it did. Sometimes I spend hours rereading the posts I have written on this blog…and for some reason, I keep on doing that every once in a while. I always remember Khalil Gibran’s quote that ‘pain is self-chosen’ - reading them often puts me at a different level…most often feelings of hurt and sorrow surface….sometimes anger…but I can’t help myself. And I suppose one day I will understand better why I keep on reminding myself and why I put myself through those feelings. Who knows what the future has in store…perhaps the training in life that he gave me will be the best of lessons learned…maybe I will face a situation in the future which I will be able to overcome…especially emotionally…because I have been through it before and I know what to expect and how to control it. Who knows? All I know is that Allah loves me. And He knows my heart.
A friend of mine told me once that humans are meant to sin because it causes us to return to Him stronger so long as we manage things in the right way. And lessons we learn from our sins are applied throughout our entire life…and applied too, when we interact with others and advise them. They never leave us because they shape us. And, when we experience pain, God is the most compassionate…and through it, is trying to ease our entry to heaven. We just need to have more foresight...we need to remember this life is transitory and that there is an eternity that is to be faced by us. And, we would rather it be blissful….and if pain means rahma (mercy)…if after every isr there is yusr (after every hardship comes ease)…then we must be grateful for the wisdom behind the understanding that everything happens for a reason.
No child should experience such pain and confusion…but who am I kidding? How many children experience mountains worse than what I did on a daily basis. It is life…and God is perfect…there are just imperfect people in this world. Vile too. But this is life. Its about what we do about it that matters. How do we take control?
A few posts before I wrote about how ironic it is that the one leading to light can be the same as the one paving one's way to hell...perhaps vice versa is better...that there is nothing more ironic than the one paving the way to hell also being the one leading the way to light. I do believe that a lot of bad can lead to good…sometimes it’s meant to happen that way.
Sometimes when I reread my posts, I have a smile in my heart. I remember those feelings, and look at my life and myself right now...and just smile. I made it :) It was meant to be. God is Greater.
In Islam, there is a prayer known as Salatal Isthikhara. In that prayer, a person facing some kind of decision in life prays to God for guidance, and to make whatever course of action that is the best for that individual, blessed…and if it is bad, then you are asking God to move you away from it. During my final year in high school I believe, I was going through major major questioning of this relationship. I prayed salatal ishikhara for guidance on whether I should pull myself out of the relationship, or remain within it. I remember one day that I prayed it….I was in my mom’s room…I prayed it with so much conviction and so many tears. And, as soon as I finished, a significant sense of calm overtook me. For some reason, at that moment I felt that God wanted me to be in that relationship…and that it was better for me. This was the start of phase 2. I finally thought that yes, God knows what is best for me…and this is what I should be in.
Thereafter, I asked him to take me to an imam (a spiritual leader) so that we may become married in God’s presence ….I wanted nothing more than to stop feeling that I was doing something wrong…and if this was what was best for me, then I wanted to make it as legitimate as possible. He never took me to an imam…we went to a couple of mosques but he always said that the imam was not there. Then he introduced the idea of muta’a…a temporary marriage contract that certain shia’a sects believe in. I was not convinced...but it sounded like the lesser of two evils. Soon enough we did muta’a…and as with a normal marriage, he provided me with a dowry and I laid stipulations of marriage terms…one of which was that the ‘marriage’ would never be consummated. This is what caused me to feel less guilty and allowed me to lower my guard. It is what caused me to forget the stress I experienced for the first five years of the relationship while in high school. I still felt guilty deep inside…but I managed to convince myself otherwise. We would renew this contract year after year…until one day I decided I wanted it no more.
Now...if everything happens for a reason…then everything happens for a reason. I will never be able to understand truly…but there are many things I can think of. Post high school, I was going to be living away from home for the first time….who knows who I would have met during that time, and what could have happened if circumstances were different. Having him meant that my life was busy and any free time I did have I devoted to him rather than to anyone or anything else. He taught me a lot…about religion and life. And, ever since the beginning…it was my struggles with this relationship and the internal battles that I experienced which brought me closer to God. Never once, during all the pain, did I ever get mad at God. I went to Him for solace and comfort…I was mad at myself…and knowing God was there for me made me truly love Him and my faith. And now that I am able to look at this relationship in retrospect, I am drawn even more closer to God as I seek forgiveness and seek understanding of what occurred. And, given the anger and sadness I feel when I remember how it all started….I feel a sense of wanting to serve…to do what I can to open the eyes of people that need to have their eyes opened, and whose eyes I can open. I want to serve my mother. I want to serve myself by being the best person I can be to make up for the lost time.
But why am I rationalizing? There is no need to rationalize. Everything that happened was meant for me to experience exactly the way it did. Sometimes I spend hours rereading the posts I have written on this blog…and for some reason, I keep on doing that every once in a while. I always remember Khalil Gibran’s quote that ‘pain is self-chosen’ - reading them often puts me at a different level…most often feelings of hurt and sorrow surface….sometimes anger…but I can’t help myself. And I suppose one day I will understand better why I keep on reminding myself and why I put myself through those feelings. Who knows what the future has in store…perhaps the training in life that he gave me will be the best of lessons learned…maybe I will face a situation in the future which I will be able to overcome…especially emotionally…because I have been through it before and I know what to expect and how to control it. Who knows? All I know is that Allah loves me. And He knows my heart.
A friend of mine told me once that humans are meant to sin because it causes us to return to Him stronger so long as we manage things in the right way. And lessons we learn from our sins are applied throughout our entire life…and applied too, when we interact with others and advise them. They never leave us because they shape us. And, when we experience pain, God is the most compassionate…and through it, is trying to ease our entry to heaven. We just need to have more foresight...we need to remember this life is transitory and that there is an eternity that is to be faced by us. And, we would rather it be blissful….and if pain means rahma (mercy)…if after every isr there is yusr (after every hardship comes ease)…then we must be grateful for the wisdom behind the understanding that everything happens for a reason.
No child should experience such pain and confusion…but who am I kidding? How many children experience mountains worse than what I did on a daily basis. It is life…and God is perfect…there are just imperfect people in this world. Vile too. But this is life. Its about what we do about it that matters. How do we take control?
A few posts before I wrote about how ironic it is that the one leading to light can be the same as the one paving one's way to hell...perhaps vice versa is better...that there is nothing more ironic than the one paving the way to hell also being the one leading the way to light. I do believe that a lot of bad can lead to good…sometimes it’s meant to happen that way.
Sometimes when I reread my posts, I have a smile in my heart. I remember those feelings, and look at my life and myself right now...and just smile. I made it :) It was meant to be. God is Greater.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Perspective
When I think of how I approach everything in life...whether it is my studies, my faith, my growth, my passions, my hobbies...for me, it is all about proving something to myself. I envision a brick wall that I am breaking with a chisel with my own hand. Everything for me is about proving to myself that I can do it by labouring at it...even traveling or my new found karate passion is about me facing a brick wall that I must break. I view my life as a set of internal challenges that I must overcome for myself. It is about proving to myself that I am strong enough. I have adopted this perspective because of him. For so many years of my life I was fighting an internal battle with myself. Everything was about me fighting myself. And till today, I approach life thinking of one battle after the next. I hope that this perspective will change...I think it may very well be changing already. Life shouldn't be about fighting all the time...everything that is meant to be will be. I wish sometimes I could just sit back and watch life just unfold. Perhaps one day I will reach this stage.
Having said that, I want to put things into perspective. I suppose there are two ways that people go through hardship in their life. For some, it encapsulates them and defines their entire existence. For others, it is part of their life...a major one...but in reflection it is recognized that it just one portion of their life. I fall into this latter category.
By Allah, I have had mountains and mountains of blessings in my life and I recognize them. I have had an amazing life Alhamdulillah...I have a supportive family and I feel I have been able to accomplish a lot. Allah has opened doors of opportunity and ease for me that a lifetime of prostration is inadequate to give Him thanks for what I have been granted. Beautiful people have entered into my life, and I am ever grateful for this.
This relationship did define things for me...but it defined things for me on the inside. Inside I was angry, guilty, and hurting. Inside I hated myself and could not supplicate for myself because I felt dirty and unworthy. But outside, and truly, I was not in a state of depression. On the contrary, and I have mentioned this before, I have been, and am, a very happy person Alhamdulillah. There was just this huge secret I was hiding and my struggles were purely internal...a battle with myself. Other than that, my life outside was a perfect life Alhamdulillah...this relationship did not inhibit me from developing a zest for living and having multitudes of moments of genuine happiness. My life was and is amazing. My battle, the battle that I share with you, was my own struggle in my heart.
When I recount these stories, it helps ease the suffering I experienced inside. But this relationship did not inhibit me for loving life and living in comfort. I am grateful that this was the extent of my trial...it is by God's grace that it did not infiltrate into my external affairs. I know for some, their experiences do take over all aspects of their life. May God grant them strength...I do not know how I would have handled things if it was like that for me.
I think it is important that I make this distinction apparent...I do not want to seem ungrateful for the life I have had. It is important for me to make sure I keep things in perspective. Have I been able to articulate this distinction? Am I making sense?
Having said that, I want to put things into perspective. I suppose there are two ways that people go through hardship in their life. For some, it encapsulates them and defines their entire existence. For others, it is part of their life...a major one...but in reflection it is recognized that it just one portion of their life. I fall into this latter category.
By Allah, I have had mountains and mountains of blessings in my life and I recognize them. I have had an amazing life Alhamdulillah...I have a supportive family and I feel I have been able to accomplish a lot. Allah has opened doors of opportunity and ease for me that a lifetime of prostration is inadequate to give Him thanks for what I have been granted. Beautiful people have entered into my life, and I am ever grateful for this.
This relationship did define things for me...but it defined things for me on the inside. Inside I was angry, guilty, and hurting. Inside I hated myself and could not supplicate for myself because I felt dirty and unworthy. But outside, and truly, I was not in a state of depression. On the contrary, and I have mentioned this before, I have been, and am, a very happy person Alhamdulillah. There was just this huge secret I was hiding and my struggles were purely internal...a battle with myself. Other than that, my life outside was a perfect life Alhamdulillah...this relationship did not inhibit me from developing a zest for living and having multitudes of moments of genuine happiness. My life was and is amazing. My battle, the battle that I share with you, was my own struggle in my heart.
When I recount these stories, it helps ease the suffering I experienced inside. But this relationship did not inhibit me for loving life and living in comfort. I am grateful that this was the extent of my trial...it is by God's grace that it did not infiltrate into my external affairs. I know for some, their experiences do take over all aspects of their life. May God grant them strength...I do not know how I would have handled things if it was like that for me.
I think it is important that I make this distinction apparent...I do not want to seem ungrateful for the life I have had. It is important for me to make sure I keep things in perspective. Have I been able to articulate this distinction? Am I making sense?
his words.
"it is Allah's will i know. my hurting heart will never show the eerie sadness that will loom it. my prayers will be from now on that inshallah with Allah's will, somewhere sometime our paths cross. One thing i promise u my sweetheart i will always try to wear a smile on my face. will truly miss ur shining face. it will be the hardest test of my life. maybe a blessing in disguise, allah's test on me. pray for me always. its ur time now to pray".
These were his last words to me on an sms message after I had decided to end the relationship and moved overseas. At that time, I truly believed that he was a forsaken love and that our love was our blessing - because it was so special - but also our curse - because we could not be. Now I realize it was just wrong. All wrong. Overtime I grew blinded and brainwashed...and it is now that Allah has truly opened my heart and put the whole entire relationship into perspective. Alhamdulillah for this.
But, lets look at his words to me. It's 'the hardest test of [his] life'...'Allah's test on [him]'. This is what he sees my absence from his life as - or at least that is what he saw it then. Maybe he was not well? I do not understand...maybe he was just as blinded as I was in post high school phase? Did he really see nothing wrong with the relationship? Does he see anything wrong with it now?
I wonder if one day, if ever the circumstances permit, how he would reply if I ask him 'Why?...why?...why especially when I was so young?' I was honestly robbed off my childhood. I grew up very fast...unnecessarily. And, it was unnecessary because I grew up in adult ways when I should have been growing up in progression instead.
I remember once, a couple of years into the relationship while I was still in high school, that I had made another one of my attempts to leave him. I must have written him a letter. The next time I saw him, his hand was wrapped. He told me that he had taken a knife and cut his hand - I believe his left. The cut was on his palm, from the corner where the thumb meets the index, to his wrist - diagonally. He told me that he was mad at himself for feeling this way about me but he can't help it. His sorry eyes melted my heart...his cut palm made me believe he was helpless. And so, I remained in the relationship. Again.
I do not understand. Did he or did he not see anything wrong with our relationship? Does he think it was wrong now?
These were his last words to me on an sms message after I had decided to end the relationship and moved overseas. At that time, I truly believed that he was a forsaken love and that our love was our blessing - because it was so special - but also our curse - because we could not be. Now I realize it was just wrong. All wrong. Overtime I grew blinded and brainwashed...and it is now that Allah has truly opened my heart and put the whole entire relationship into perspective. Alhamdulillah for this.
But, lets look at his words to me. It's 'the hardest test of [his] life'...'Allah's test on [him]'. This is what he sees my absence from his life as - or at least that is what he saw it then. Maybe he was not well? I do not understand...maybe he was just as blinded as I was in post high school phase? Did he really see nothing wrong with the relationship? Does he see anything wrong with it now?
I wonder if one day, if ever the circumstances permit, how he would reply if I ask him 'Why?...why?...why especially when I was so young?' I was honestly robbed off my childhood. I grew up very fast...unnecessarily. And, it was unnecessary because I grew up in adult ways when I should have been growing up in progression instead.
I remember once, a couple of years into the relationship while I was still in high school, that I had made another one of my attempts to leave him. I must have written him a letter. The next time I saw him, his hand was wrapped. He told me that he had taken a knife and cut his hand - I believe his left. The cut was on his palm, from the corner where the thumb meets the index, to his wrist - diagonally. He told me that he was mad at himself for feeling this way about me but he can't help it. His sorry eyes melted my heart...his cut palm made me believe he was helpless. And so, I remained in the relationship. Again.
I do not understand. Did he or did he not see anything wrong with our relationship? Does he think it was wrong now?
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Dodge-Mom
I had it again…the same type of dream. I have not been getting a lot of sleep these past few days. You know…one of the worst dreams for me to have is a ‘feeling dream’. They are the dreams where you replay feelings that you once felt…negative feelings. They come out while you are sleeping and you feel them to be so real…you feel the same anxiety that you once felt years ago. It is very exhausting.
One of the worst feelings for me throughout this whole relationship was the fear that my mother would find out. My nightmares during high school or when I was at home from university during the summers, would be of him being in my bedroom or in the basement, while my mom is asleep in her room…she would then wake up and somehow even though she senses something…nothing happens. Either she doesn’t see him because he runs away and I cover the tracks, or he makes up a lie and she buys it, or, circumstances make it so that things were not able to be apparent to her.
Today, when I hear any lecture or anyone speak about parents…especially mothers…I am brought to a state of weakness instantly. I wasted so many years. Instead of loving my mother…I resented her. I was hurt by her. I was afraid of her. I was running away from her. And he would say things that would make me believe she is a bad mother to me. He would fill my head with stories about how my mother loved my siblings more than I….that I had a purer heart than my mother…that she was evil. He would say that I was more mature than my own mother - that my mom controlled me to the extent that I was mothering my own mother. Yes…for the duration of the relationship, this is what he would say. And I suppose he would go through moments of guilt for filling my mind with these stories because every once in a while he would ask ‘who loves you most in the world?’…when I said him, he would say ‘No, its your mother’. A contradiction. So many contradictions.
In today’s dream, the same thing happened. I was in my home doing some work. He then comes over and asks me to go to the next room. He has made sure no one is at home and wants to get intimate. I am disgusted. I do not want to do this again. He is weak and needy…I told him…”enjoy this because this is the last time you will see me like this. I’m done. This, you won’t see again,” as I pointed to my body…and it looked the way it does now. “I’m done” I told him. “I’m done”.
Before anything happens we hear a sound – I go out of the room and subhnallah my mom is on the couch. She apparently came back home and acted like she was napping for a while. She says I heard his voice..I said, “Who? Mom, you’re hearing things” – and while I am talking to my mom he slips out of the room and runs away. I am burdened by the fact that I was so close to being caught, but even more in pain that my mom buys my story. Each time she bought my story.
Alas, though….in my dream I told him “I’m done”…and I truly believe I am done Alhamdulillah. That’s it. I am not afraid of him anymore…and I only recount these memories to get them off my chest forever, and to help whoever is reading if possible. God has opened a new path for me...and I can have a future without feeling the burden of guilt towards Him because of this relationship, Inshallah.
I am hoping that somehow I serve my mother in ways she cannot imagine…so that I may be internally cleansed from the years of hate he made me feel towards her; for my anger towards her for not noticing; and, for all those years and years of lies…deception…running away…I was a fugitive…the best of con-artists. I played dodge-mom for almost ten years of my life. Its time for her now. She is my door to heaven. It was not her fault…I was a good liar, as was he…and she just couldn’t see. It’s not her fault.
Sometimes we look to others to blame for our problems. But, quite frankly, sometimes things just happen. Either way everything happens for a reason. Maybe the reason why my mother didn’t notice was because she was not supposed to. What am I going to do with my life now that I am stronger, and now that I can look back as an observer? Who needs to hear this story and who do I need to touch through the lessons it gave me?
One of the worst feelings for me throughout this whole relationship was the fear that my mother would find out. My nightmares during high school or when I was at home from university during the summers, would be of him being in my bedroom or in the basement, while my mom is asleep in her room…she would then wake up and somehow even though she senses something…nothing happens. Either she doesn’t see him because he runs away and I cover the tracks, or he makes up a lie and she buys it, or, circumstances make it so that things were not able to be apparent to her.
Today, when I hear any lecture or anyone speak about parents…especially mothers…I am brought to a state of weakness instantly. I wasted so many years. Instead of loving my mother…I resented her. I was hurt by her. I was afraid of her. I was running away from her. And he would say things that would make me believe she is a bad mother to me. He would fill my head with stories about how my mother loved my siblings more than I….that I had a purer heart than my mother…that she was evil. He would say that I was more mature than my own mother - that my mom controlled me to the extent that I was mothering my own mother. Yes…for the duration of the relationship, this is what he would say. And I suppose he would go through moments of guilt for filling my mind with these stories because every once in a while he would ask ‘who loves you most in the world?’…when I said him, he would say ‘No, its your mother’. A contradiction. So many contradictions.
In today’s dream, the same thing happened. I was in my home doing some work. He then comes over and asks me to go to the next room. He has made sure no one is at home and wants to get intimate. I am disgusted. I do not want to do this again. He is weak and needy…I told him…”enjoy this because this is the last time you will see me like this. I’m done. This, you won’t see again,” as I pointed to my body…and it looked the way it does now. “I’m done” I told him. “I’m done”.
Before anything happens we hear a sound – I go out of the room and subhnallah my mom is on the couch. She apparently came back home and acted like she was napping for a while. She says I heard his voice..I said, “Who? Mom, you’re hearing things” – and while I am talking to my mom he slips out of the room and runs away. I am burdened by the fact that I was so close to being caught, but even more in pain that my mom buys my story. Each time she bought my story.
Alas, though….in my dream I told him “I’m done”…and I truly believe I am done Alhamdulillah. That’s it. I am not afraid of him anymore…and I only recount these memories to get them off my chest forever, and to help whoever is reading if possible. God has opened a new path for me...and I can have a future without feeling the burden of guilt towards Him because of this relationship, Inshallah.
I am hoping that somehow I serve my mother in ways she cannot imagine…so that I may be internally cleansed from the years of hate he made me feel towards her; for my anger towards her for not noticing; and, for all those years and years of lies…deception…running away…I was a fugitive…the best of con-artists. I played dodge-mom for almost ten years of my life. Its time for her now. She is my door to heaven. It was not her fault…I was a good liar, as was he…and she just couldn’t see. It’s not her fault.
Sometimes we look to others to blame for our problems. But, quite frankly, sometimes things just happen. Either way everything happens for a reason. Maybe the reason why my mother didn’t notice was because she was not supposed to. What am I going to do with my life now that I am stronger, and now that I can look back as an observer? Who needs to hear this story and who do I need to touch through the lessons it gave me?
Monday, December 6, 2010
Double Faced.
When I was in high school, I had not yet taken on the hijab. However, I was active in the Muslim community. I used to teach at the local mosque, was an avid volunteer, and lobbied for prayer space in my high school during Ramadan. When I joined university, I immediately become a member of the Muslim Students Association - the best years of my life. I attended regular lectures, study circles and numerous spiritual development programs.
I always knew that I was going to take on the hijab, but he was certainly integral in encouraging me to do so. His method was amazing – never forced me, but would mention the numerous university educated women that took on the hijab over and over. He asked me why it was that so many of them put it on if it was not important…he told me that it was because they were educated and studied Islam, and therefore understood its virtue.
I put on the hijab during my first year of university. It was a blessing and continues to be one, and one of the best things I did for myself and my faith.
As we know – hijab is more than just a piece of cloth over one’s head…and, when the desire to put it on is not forced upon you, there is nothing more comforting. It is a complete way of life…u grow closer to God; you feel Him in your life ever time you step out of the door; you are in an ever ready state for worship…whenever and wherever you can just get down to pray; and you feel uplifted. Hijab was not easy when I first put it on because I wanted to make sure I was doing it right. I stopped bobbing to music when in public and began walking with a lowered gaze. I changed my whole wardrobe….I was one of the long skirt and baggy blouse wearing “hijabis”. I never second guessed my decision. But, I did know I was being double faced.
You see, no one knew. Anyone who saw me could have made the false assumption that I did nothing ‘wrong’. I was active in the community, appeared pious in my actions and didn’t engage in wrong for them to see it. How wrong were they? I knew I was a walking contradiction because my private life was anything but modest. I had my hijab on to everyone in the world, but him. I was in university at that point so I had managed to make myself feel less guilty about the whole relationship than earlier, but I was well aware that I was different from all my friends. They would have never believed me…and I’m sure will be shocked if I reveal it to them now...I don't think they could ever imagine the life I was leading behind their eyes.
I was part of a religious circle for girls….one of our tasks was to memorize a portion of the Quran. I had such a difficult time doing that…it was very difficult for me to memorize even one verse, and I was in owe of my friends who seemed to get through it with such ease. Once I was at an Islamic lecture and the speaker made reference to this…he said, ‘if you are having trouble memorizing the Quran, then you must look at your life and see where you need to improve….what sins you are committing’. I sunk in my seat and lowered my head in shame…I knew why I was not able to memorize….I was double faced.
When I think of how people must have viewed me versus what was happening in my private life, I internalized (and continue to hold strong) the understanding that you should never judge a book by its cover. Everyone has a story. There is no saint. I was not only engaged in the relationship, but I would lie to my friends and family about my whereabouts, and I would make sure there was no way anyone could find out...deception. a lot of deception.
Despite the wrong that he initiated, I wonder how much reward he will get for actually encouraging me to put on the hijab. What is more ironic than the guider towards light, also being the leader towards hell?
I always knew that I was going to take on the hijab, but he was certainly integral in encouraging me to do so. His method was amazing – never forced me, but would mention the numerous university educated women that took on the hijab over and over. He asked me why it was that so many of them put it on if it was not important…he told me that it was because they were educated and studied Islam, and therefore understood its virtue.
I put on the hijab during my first year of university. It was a blessing and continues to be one, and one of the best things I did for myself and my faith.
As we know – hijab is more than just a piece of cloth over one’s head…and, when the desire to put it on is not forced upon you, there is nothing more comforting. It is a complete way of life…u grow closer to God; you feel Him in your life ever time you step out of the door; you are in an ever ready state for worship…whenever and wherever you can just get down to pray; and you feel uplifted. Hijab was not easy when I first put it on because I wanted to make sure I was doing it right. I stopped bobbing to music when in public and began walking with a lowered gaze. I changed my whole wardrobe….I was one of the long skirt and baggy blouse wearing “hijabis”. I never second guessed my decision. But, I did know I was being double faced.
You see, no one knew. Anyone who saw me could have made the false assumption that I did nothing ‘wrong’. I was active in the community, appeared pious in my actions and didn’t engage in wrong for them to see it. How wrong were they? I knew I was a walking contradiction because my private life was anything but modest. I had my hijab on to everyone in the world, but him. I was in university at that point so I had managed to make myself feel less guilty about the whole relationship than earlier, but I was well aware that I was different from all my friends. They would have never believed me…and I’m sure will be shocked if I reveal it to them now...I don't think they could ever imagine the life I was leading behind their eyes.
I was part of a religious circle for girls….one of our tasks was to memorize a portion of the Quran. I had such a difficult time doing that…it was very difficult for me to memorize even one verse, and I was in owe of my friends who seemed to get through it with such ease. Once I was at an Islamic lecture and the speaker made reference to this…he said, ‘if you are having trouble memorizing the Quran, then you must look at your life and see where you need to improve….what sins you are committing’. I sunk in my seat and lowered my head in shame…I knew why I was not able to memorize….I was double faced.
When I think of how people must have viewed me versus what was happening in my private life, I internalized (and continue to hold strong) the understanding that you should never judge a book by its cover. Everyone has a story. There is no saint. I was not only engaged in the relationship, but I would lie to my friends and family about my whereabouts, and I would make sure there was no way anyone could find out...deception. a lot of deception.
Despite the wrong that he initiated, I wonder how much reward he will get for actually encouraging me to put on the hijab. What is more ironic than the guider towards light, also being the leader towards hell?
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Murderer
"I don't want to be...a murderer"
I used to sing that line with so much passion when Rihanna came out with Unfaithful...I was obsessed with the song. I would watch the video and especially the last scene where she gives her boyfriend a hug and looks at the camera with those eyes - showing her guilt...I used to feel like that. I would go to my friends and sing "I ammmm a murdererrrr" and no one knew what I was talking about. They knew the song - that she is saying she is a murderer because she is playing her boyfriend and he loves her terribly...but they didn't know why I was saying the same thing.
These past few weeks I'm going through so many realizations. I had another night of sleeplessness last night. I have never had insomnia like I did yesterday. And the crux of the issue is about my role in the relationship.
You see, even in those moments as a young girl when I knew the relationship should stop, I wouldn't be able to pull myself out completely because I always felt guilty. 'He loves me', I would think to myself...'he does so much...how can I just leave him? Betray him'. I felt responsible. So, as I grew up and was in university, the same feeling of guilt was what kept me holding on even when I wanted to let go.
But, I knew that one day I'd have to let go. I knew that I wanted a family. I didn't want to have to anger my parents. I didn't want to run away. I knew that one day my heart would change...that I would fall out of whatever I was in. I knew that one day I would get tired of the feeling of displeasing God. That feeling in itself made me feel like a murderer. I envisioned that when I did move away, when I finally decided to let go, that he would become a zombie. He would have no joy in his life. I would have murdered him while he was still alive. And, I only said this because that is what he would repeat to me over and over. He made me feel like I was his lifeline. Without me, he would be dead.
But now that I look back - whether it was intentional on his part or not - I find it ironic. Here, a man that was taking advantage of me had actually managed to make me feel like the predator and him the victim. And so I would sing...'I don't want to be a murdererrrr'...while not knowing that he was holding the weapon, not I. And although I would sing that song, I never played him. For almost ten years of my life...there was no man but him. I didn't even have real crushes. But still, I felt I was killing him just by thinking that one day I'd leave him.
I realize now that much of why this relationship dragged on for so long was because of the concept of loving oneself. I think at that time I didn't love myself...rather, I loved him for loving me...I 'needed' him for that love. Do I love myself now? I think so...I think I'm finally trying to sit in the drivers' seat of my own life.
If the victim feels like the enemy, does it mean that they do not love themselves? Is this what causes them to put another's needs before their own?
I used to sing that line with so much passion when Rihanna came out with Unfaithful...I was obsessed with the song. I would watch the video and especially the last scene where she gives her boyfriend a hug and looks at the camera with those eyes - showing her guilt...I used to feel like that. I would go to my friends and sing "I ammmm a murdererrrr" and no one knew what I was talking about. They knew the song - that she is saying she is a murderer because she is playing her boyfriend and he loves her terribly...but they didn't know why I was saying the same thing.
These past few weeks I'm going through so many realizations. I had another night of sleeplessness last night. I have never had insomnia like I did yesterday. And the crux of the issue is about my role in the relationship.
You see, even in those moments as a young girl when I knew the relationship should stop, I wouldn't be able to pull myself out completely because I always felt guilty. 'He loves me', I would think to myself...'he does so much...how can I just leave him? Betray him'. I felt responsible. So, as I grew up and was in university, the same feeling of guilt was what kept me holding on even when I wanted to let go.
But, I knew that one day I'd have to let go. I knew that I wanted a family. I didn't want to have to anger my parents. I didn't want to run away. I knew that one day my heart would change...that I would fall out of whatever I was in. I knew that one day I would get tired of the feeling of displeasing God. That feeling in itself made me feel like a murderer. I envisioned that when I did move away, when I finally decided to let go, that he would become a zombie. He would have no joy in his life. I would have murdered him while he was still alive. And, I only said this because that is what he would repeat to me over and over. He made me feel like I was his lifeline. Without me, he would be dead.
But now that I look back - whether it was intentional on his part or not - I find it ironic. Here, a man that was taking advantage of me had actually managed to make me feel like the predator and him the victim. And so I would sing...'I don't want to be a murdererrrr'...while not knowing that he was holding the weapon, not I. And although I would sing that song, I never played him. For almost ten years of my life...there was no man but him. I didn't even have real crushes. But still, I felt I was killing him just by thinking that one day I'd leave him.
I realize now that much of why this relationship dragged on for so long was because of the concept of loving oneself. I think at that time I didn't love myself...rather, I loved him for loving me...I 'needed' him for that love. Do I love myself now? I think so...I think I'm finally trying to sit in the drivers' seat of my own life.
If the victim feels like the enemy, does it mean that they do not love themselves? Is this what causes them to put another's needs before their own?
Friday, November 19, 2010
Eighteen, the Phases and the Friend.
After about 9 years of being in a relationship with him, I made a decision to relocate. We had a mutual understanding that if we were meant to be together forever, our paths would cross again somehow. Despite the amount of love I had for him when I moved - as will be understood by the time you finish reading this post - I had reached a point where I realized that him and I would never be. I wanted to settle down and start a family one day, and I knew that because it would not be him, I had to settle for someone other than him. It was the most difficult decision of my life, but it was mutual. It was during this move that I met my friend.
Every once in a while, you meet someone in your life whom you just have an immediate affinity towards. After spending just a few occasions together – or even from the first one – you automatically know that you want this person to be part of your life. And, for some reason you feel like you want to talk to them about your life. You find comfort in their listening ears.
A few years ago I met someone like that. She has grown to be an important part of my life and I suppose she doesn’t really understand how much I do need her and value her presence. Only a few weeks into our relationship, I decided to tell her about him. I was 23 as I spoke of this story to her.
I am not sure whether or not if someone would replay the initial conversation that I had with her about him, they would think that I am the same person, or that I am discussing the same story. I often see this relationship, and my journey through it, in two phases. One during high school and one post high school. My outlook on my relationship with him while living these two stages in my life were so completely different. Polar opposites.
By the time I turned 18, I didn’t question the relationship at all. I was totally convinced that he was the man of my dreams, and that our biggest test in life was that societal norms and family pressure would mean that our love would be forsaken and we would never be able to be together. If we were to end up together, it would mean that we would have to be ex-communicated and leave our families. I knew that I wasn’t strong enough to go through that. He was ever ready.
During my first year living in residence, a couple of hours away from where he was, I found comfort in him coming to visit me almost every week. I was old enough to feel like he was my man and if people saw us together I would introduce him as my fiancé. I longed for him to come over, and for us to eat out and spend time together…to reflect on life together. He would shower me with love, and I in turn would shower him with the same. He would help me brainstorm my essays, and I would teach him what I was learning at university. I made sure he knew my every step during the day. Our phone bills would reach far into the hundreds. But, it didn’t matter. We were in love. ‘True love’, I convinced myself.
By the time I was 18, I had no doubt about the relationship. I had no anger. No confusion. Only love. I would thank God for his presence in my life, and my tears would not be ones from a heavy heart about why he was doing what he was to me, but rather why we wouldn’t be able to be together like a normal couple for the rest of our lives. I truly felt that he was a God send – a divine gift. Our love was paralleled with my spiritual journey towards Allah.
How did I reach this stage? I believe that after years of push and pull (from 13-18 for me), we humans honestly reach a stage where despite the pressure, we finally convince ourselves that it’s not as bad as we make it out to be. Each moment I prolonged during the first five years, my body’s and my heart’s defense mechanisms only grew weaker. I lowered my guard – because I realized that having my guard up and resisting did not change anything – it simply exhausted me. And so, overtime, I become blinded from the bad – I forgot about the pressure. In fact, once I entered university, if ever he would talk about the start of the relationship, I would tell him to stop. I did not want to remember. I feel that I experienced a phase of selective amnesia – the relationship was only good, and about good.
And so, from the age of 18, I thought I was Juliet and he Romeo. Honestly. As I sat with my friend and recounted, I told her the story of a man in love with a girl so many years his junior, and a girl in love with a man, so many years her senior. I described how despite how much they loved each other, society would not understand because of the age difference, and because my family would never approve of the marriage. I am sure her heart softened up to him as I described his romance with me, his constant praise and support and the amount of spoiling he would offer me. ‘This is from him, and this and this and this….’ I would say as I proudly revealed his gifts to me.
At that time, when I would recount my story I would be moved to tears as I reflected on why we weren’t together and why I had to taste the sweetness of his love in the first place if it would not be eternal. You see, I was living post high school phase. I remembered nothing of the beginnings of the relationship…nothing of the disgust I feel now when I think of things retrospectively.
Meeting my friend was a very important thing in my life. She opened my eyes and I honestly feel that God brought her into my life when I truly needed her strength. She came into my life at the moment I had made a decision to move away from him, and if it wasn’t for how she helped open my eyes and put life into perspective, I wonder if I would still be experiencing the selective amnesia that I mentioned – perhaps I would have already taken the leap and been with him by now. As our relationship grew, I would tell her more and more about my relationship, and it was during my reflections with her that I began recalling my feelings during high school.
I wonder what she thinks about my journey. I wonder what you, my readers think about the polar opposite phases I experienced. Why do you think I forgot about the pressure I felt during high school once I moved away for university? What was it about turning 18 that blinded me from the negative feelings that existed at the start, but that I remember now?
Every once in a while, you meet someone in your life whom you just have an immediate affinity towards. After spending just a few occasions together – or even from the first one – you automatically know that you want this person to be part of your life. And, for some reason you feel like you want to talk to them about your life. You find comfort in their listening ears.
A few years ago I met someone like that. She has grown to be an important part of my life and I suppose she doesn’t really understand how much I do need her and value her presence. Only a few weeks into our relationship, I decided to tell her about him. I was 23 as I spoke of this story to her.
I am not sure whether or not if someone would replay the initial conversation that I had with her about him, they would think that I am the same person, or that I am discussing the same story. I often see this relationship, and my journey through it, in two phases. One during high school and one post high school. My outlook on my relationship with him while living these two stages in my life were so completely different. Polar opposites.
By the time I turned 18, I didn’t question the relationship at all. I was totally convinced that he was the man of my dreams, and that our biggest test in life was that societal norms and family pressure would mean that our love would be forsaken and we would never be able to be together. If we were to end up together, it would mean that we would have to be ex-communicated and leave our families. I knew that I wasn’t strong enough to go through that. He was ever ready.
During my first year living in residence, a couple of hours away from where he was, I found comfort in him coming to visit me almost every week. I was old enough to feel like he was my man and if people saw us together I would introduce him as my fiancé. I longed for him to come over, and for us to eat out and spend time together…to reflect on life together. He would shower me with love, and I in turn would shower him with the same. He would help me brainstorm my essays, and I would teach him what I was learning at university. I made sure he knew my every step during the day. Our phone bills would reach far into the hundreds. But, it didn’t matter. We were in love. ‘True love’, I convinced myself.
By the time I was 18, I had no doubt about the relationship. I had no anger. No confusion. Only love. I would thank God for his presence in my life, and my tears would not be ones from a heavy heart about why he was doing what he was to me, but rather why we wouldn’t be able to be together like a normal couple for the rest of our lives. I truly felt that he was a God send – a divine gift. Our love was paralleled with my spiritual journey towards Allah.
How did I reach this stage? I believe that after years of push and pull (from 13-18 for me), we humans honestly reach a stage where despite the pressure, we finally convince ourselves that it’s not as bad as we make it out to be. Each moment I prolonged during the first five years, my body’s and my heart’s defense mechanisms only grew weaker. I lowered my guard – because I realized that having my guard up and resisting did not change anything – it simply exhausted me. And so, overtime, I become blinded from the bad – I forgot about the pressure. In fact, once I entered university, if ever he would talk about the start of the relationship, I would tell him to stop. I did not want to remember. I feel that I experienced a phase of selective amnesia – the relationship was only good, and about good.
And so, from the age of 18, I thought I was Juliet and he Romeo. Honestly. As I sat with my friend and recounted, I told her the story of a man in love with a girl so many years his junior, and a girl in love with a man, so many years her senior. I described how despite how much they loved each other, society would not understand because of the age difference, and because my family would never approve of the marriage. I am sure her heart softened up to him as I described his romance with me, his constant praise and support and the amount of spoiling he would offer me. ‘This is from him, and this and this and this….’ I would say as I proudly revealed his gifts to me.
At that time, when I would recount my story I would be moved to tears as I reflected on why we weren’t together and why I had to taste the sweetness of his love in the first place if it would not be eternal. You see, I was living post high school phase. I remembered nothing of the beginnings of the relationship…nothing of the disgust I feel now when I think of things retrospectively.
Meeting my friend was a very important thing in my life. She opened my eyes and I honestly feel that God brought her into my life when I truly needed her strength. She came into my life at the moment I had made a decision to move away from him, and if it wasn’t for how she helped open my eyes and put life into perspective, I wonder if I would still be experiencing the selective amnesia that I mentioned – perhaps I would have already taken the leap and been with him by now. As our relationship grew, I would tell her more and more about my relationship, and it was during my reflections with her that I began recalling my feelings during high school.
I wonder what she thinks about my journey. I wonder what you, my readers think about the polar opposite phases I experienced. Why do you think I forgot about the pressure I felt during high school once I moved away for university? What was it about turning 18 that blinded me from the negative feelings that existed at the start, but that I remember now?
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Karate Release.
I'm laying in bed and am on my smart phone. While I feel full from the inside...a part of me is empty. I get like this once a month when I miss God. I'm not ready to fall asleep yet. So let me write.
I'm under the blanket and the room is dark. A familiar scene. As a girl growing up, the most powerful lyrics for me were this: "Don't you know my tears will burn the pillow..set this place on fire cause Im tired of your lies" (from All Cried Out by En Vouge). I spent a lot of nights...a lot...crying myself to sleep. Its like a battle in your insides. Your heart is hurt, your mind is confused, your body is unsure...you are just fighting a war inside you. I sleep with my face into the pillow...its just the way sleep...but I think it began to stop myself from feeling the tears roll down my face...if they fall right into the pillow, the reality of their existence is truncated.
I recently joined karate. It has been a moving experience. The first day, I put so much passion into each kick, each punch, that I felt as if memories that we buried down for so long just resurfaced. It was tiring....exhausting. The trainer even commented that I was fierce..he asked 'you sure this isn't a therapy session?' I didn't think it was...but that night and for two nights after I couldn't sleep. Too much pain was coming out...too much anger...I was awaken every few hours from body-jerks. All I wanted to do was wake up the next morning to kick and punch some more.
But who is this anger directed towards? Is it to him? Yes of course...but its not that I imagine his face being punched in and his nose bleeding. No. Rather, I imagine fighting all my internal battles. Punching them till I come out victorious. Showing myself that I am stronger than who I thought I was. Proving to him that he had no right to corner me the way he did. Karate has surely become therapeutic.
I no longer think of him when I'm at the club, but I do know why I have so much passion for the art. No one should ever make you feel so weak, so vulnerable that you don't know what to do to fix your situation... or worse, how to get out of it. No one has that right. I often wonder whether if I was physically strong I would have been able to pull out a lot sooner than I did. If whether I was stronger outside, I would have found the strength inside to calm my confusion and ask myself what I really wanted.
They are both connected...your internal and external strength. One without the other renders both suboptimal. Would I have left if I felt stronger? I think so. I just regret not having realized that till now.
I'm under the blanket and the room is dark. A familiar scene. As a girl growing up, the most powerful lyrics for me were this: "Don't you know my tears will burn the pillow..set this place on fire cause Im tired of your lies" (from All Cried Out by En Vouge). I spent a lot of nights...a lot...crying myself to sleep. Its like a battle in your insides. Your heart is hurt, your mind is confused, your body is unsure...you are just fighting a war inside you. I sleep with my face into the pillow...its just the way sleep...but I think it began to stop myself from feeling the tears roll down my face...if they fall right into the pillow, the reality of their existence is truncated.
I recently joined karate. It has been a moving experience. The first day, I put so much passion into each kick, each punch, that I felt as if memories that we buried down for so long just resurfaced. It was tiring....exhausting. The trainer even commented that I was fierce..he asked 'you sure this isn't a therapy session?' I didn't think it was...but that night and for two nights after I couldn't sleep. Too much pain was coming out...too much anger...I was awaken every few hours from body-jerks. All I wanted to do was wake up the next morning to kick and punch some more.
But who is this anger directed towards? Is it to him? Yes of course...but its not that I imagine his face being punched in and his nose bleeding. No. Rather, I imagine fighting all my internal battles. Punching them till I come out victorious. Showing myself that I am stronger than who I thought I was. Proving to him that he had no right to corner me the way he did. Karate has surely become therapeutic.
I no longer think of him when I'm at the club, but I do know why I have so much passion for the art. No one should ever make you feel so weak, so vulnerable that you don't know what to do to fix your situation... or worse, how to get out of it. No one has that right. I often wonder whether if I was physically strong I would have been able to pull out a lot sooner than I did. If whether I was stronger outside, I would have found the strength inside to calm my confusion and ask myself what I really wanted.
They are both connected...your internal and external strength. One without the other renders both suboptimal. Would I have left if I felt stronger? I think so. I just regret not having realized that till now.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Hands Clean.
These are the lyrics to Alanis Morissette’s ‘Hands Clean’
If it weren't for your maturity none of this would have happened
If you weren't so wise beyond your years I would've been able to control myself
If it weren't for my attention you wouldn't have been successful and
If it weren't for me you would never have amounted to very much
Ooh this could be messy and
Ooh I don't seem to mind
Ooh don't go telling everybody
And overlook this supposed crime
We'll fast forward to a few years later
And no one knows except the both of us
And I have honored your request for silence
And you've washed your hands clean of this
You're essentially an employee and I like you having to depend on me
You're kind of my protégé and one day you'll say you learned all you know from me
I know you depend on me like a young thing would to a guardian
I know you sexualize me like a young thing would and I think I like it
Just make sure you don't tell on me especially to members of your family
We best keep this to ourselves and not tell any members of our inner posse
I wish I could tell the world cuz you're such a pretty thing when you're done up properly
I might want to marry you one day if you watch that weight and keep your firm body
My friend and I were talking about this song and I told her that I think it’s about abuse. She replied saying that she thinks it’s about a woman who knows what she is getting out of a relationship, and despite its negativity at times, she has decided to put up with it because that is what she wants. “You always see things differently – as if the woman is always the victim and innocent” she told me.
It is interesting how our life experiences shape how we view the world. It’s true…I am an advocate for women's right, and I always lean in favour of the woman’s innocence. It is what I have come to know.
When I first heard this song, it spoke to me.
It is him singing to me.
He always told me how mature I was, and how we should keep our relationship a secret. He would imply it being ‘messy’ because of the age difference and proximity, but he continued to ‘overlook this supposed crime’.
Once he asked me what I would do if I would become pregnant by mistake. First, I figured it was impossible. How could we get pregnant if we never penetrated? But, I worried why he would ask me that. I thought about it and told him that I would never tell my parents it was him. He immediately jumped on the idea, “yes you should tell them you met some boy and this happened…a one-off thing”. He praised me for my reply. I explained that if I were ever to get pregnant out of marriage, my parents would already be upset by that… “there is no reason to make things worse by telling them by whom”.
I am always sympathetic to young girls who get pregnant before marriage. There are those girls that are overtly promiscuous and well aware of the risks that they expose themselves to on a regular basis. But there are others who somehow find themselves caught up in a mess. They do not know how things evolved, nor what to do about it.
On about two or three separate occasions my period was late. The stress and worry was unbearable. We both panicked and he bought me pregnancy tests each time. I couldn’t believe myself when I first tried it – I must have been in Grade 10 or 11. As I read the instructions and proceeded to use the test, it hit me how grave of an act I was involved in and how my life would change drastically if I did get pregnant.
Abortion in Islam is prohibited, but permitted if the mother’s life is put into danger by the pregnancy and, under some interpretations, if pregnancy has come about due to rape. I would wonder what God would think if I decided to get an abortion if I ever got pregnant. It’s a touchy subject for me - abortion for teenagers who get pregnant ‘by mistake’. Allahu A’alam. But God is Love and He knows hearts. If indeed what I was experiencing was abuse, I wonder how I would be judged by Him for having an abortion. I knew where the abortion clinic was. I did my research. If I did get pregnant, I certainly knew what I was going to do.
Writing this though, I think of how my friend interpreted this song. For her, it’s about a woman in a relationship who knows exactly what she wants. Maybe I knew all along. Maybe as I grew older it became less of abuse and more of a desire. Perhaps I did have more options and just chose to stay. May Allah forgive us. Am I trying to wash my hands clean by labeling this as abuse?
If it weren't for your maturity none of this would have happened
If you weren't so wise beyond your years I would've been able to control myself
If it weren't for my attention you wouldn't have been successful and
If it weren't for me you would never have amounted to very much
Ooh this could be messy and
Ooh I don't seem to mind
Ooh don't go telling everybody
And overlook this supposed crime
We'll fast forward to a few years later
And no one knows except the both of us
And I have honored your request for silence
And you've washed your hands clean of this
You're essentially an employee and I like you having to depend on me
You're kind of my protégé and one day you'll say you learned all you know from me
I know you depend on me like a young thing would to a guardian
I know you sexualize me like a young thing would and I think I like it
Just make sure you don't tell on me especially to members of your family
We best keep this to ourselves and not tell any members of our inner posse
I wish I could tell the world cuz you're such a pretty thing when you're done up properly
I might want to marry you one day if you watch that weight and keep your firm body
My friend and I were talking about this song and I told her that I think it’s about abuse. She replied saying that she thinks it’s about a woman who knows what she is getting out of a relationship, and despite its negativity at times, she has decided to put up with it because that is what she wants. “You always see things differently – as if the woman is always the victim and innocent” she told me.
It is interesting how our life experiences shape how we view the world. It’s true…I am an advocate for women's right, and I always lean in favour of the woman’s innocence. It is what I have come to know.
When I first heard this song, it spoke to me.
It is him singing to me.
He always told me how mature I was, and how we should keep our relationship a secret. He would imply it being ‘messy’ because of the age difference and proximity, but he continued to ‘overlook this supposed crime’.
Once he asked me what I would do if I would become pregnant by mistake. First, I figured it was impossible. How could we get pregnant if we never penetrated? But, I worried why he would ask me that. I thought about it and told him that I would never tell my parents it was him. He immediately jumped on the idea, “yes you should tell them you met some boy and this happened…a one-off thing”. He praised me for my reply. I explained that if I were ever to get pregnant out of marriage, my parents would already be upset by that… “there is no reason to make things worse by telling them by whom”.
I am always sympathetic to young girls who get pregnant before marriage. There are those girls that are overtly promiscuous and well aware of the risks that they expose themselves to on a regular basis. But there are others who somehow find themselves caught up in a mess. They do not know how things evolved, nor what to do about it.
On about two or three separate occasions my period was late. The stress and worry was unbearable. We both panicked and he bought me pregnancy tests each time. I couldn’t believe myself when I first tried it – I must have been in Grade 10 or 11. As I read the instructions and proceeded to use the test, it hit me how grave of an act I was involved in and how my life would change drastically if I did get pregnant.
Abortion in Islam is prohibited, but permitted if the mother’s life is put into danger by the pregnancy and, under some interpretations, if pregnancy has come about due to rape. I would wonder what God would think if I decided to get an abortion if I ever got pregnant. It’s a touchy subject for me - abortion for teenagers who get pregnant ‘by mistake’. Allahu A’alam. But God is Love and He knows hearts. If indeed what I was experiencing was abuse, I wonder how I would be judged by Him for having an abortion. I knew where the abortion clinic was. I did my research. If I did get pregnant, I certainly knew what I was going to do.
Writing this though, I think of how my friend interpreted this song. For her, it’s about a woman in a relationship who knows exactly what she wants. Maybe I knew all along. Maybe as I grew older it became less of abuse and more of a desire. Perhaps I did have more options and just chose to stay. May Allah forgive us. Am I trying to wash my hands clean by labeling this as abuse?
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Unnoticed.
I’d like to think that I only need to write in this blog when something is on my mind about my relationship. But today, I just feel like writing. From my heart. Even as I write this, I do not know what I want to say. Today I begin writing without a title already ready in my mind.
I went to inquire about laser hair removal right now – someone there was asking about hair growth around a woman’s nipple. The lady at the reception said it is normal and everyone has it, “women just shouldn’t pluck them once they get it because that will only stimulate growth”. The young lady replied “how come there are no campaigns about this? I wouldn’t have removed them if I knew any better.” The lady replied, “well, your mother should have told you”.
I guess one thing on my mind whenever I remember this relationship is why my mother didn’t notice. I received my first gold diamond ring from him when I was about 17. When I first wore it, I told my mom that it was a fake accessory I bought from Walmart. That one ring turned to about eighteen different rings, two sets of diamond studs, two pendants, a necklace and a whole bunch of electronics. Really? My mother didn’t notice that I was getting all this stuff and that there was no way I could possibly afford it on my own? Sometimes I find that really surprising. Why didn’t she notice? And, will I notice when I have a daughter if she is in the same position.
Once my mom suspected something. We were at a community gathering – friends and family all together playing games and eating. I was sitting at a table with some of my cousins, and him, playing Scrabble I believe. During the game, he started playing footsies with me. My mother, who was at the end of the room, spotted his foot on mine. As soon as she saw this, we both realized she saw, and I played it normal - as if I didn’t know his foot was on mine in the first place…we continued playing. When the game was over, my mother took me to the next room. I knew what was coming.
“Why was his foot on yours?” she said. I told her I didn’t know what she was talking about. She said she saw it and when she noticed, he moved his foot away. “I even see that he stares at you through the reflection in the window”. I told her I wasn’t aware of this, and even if he did it must have been a nudge because one of us made a good move during the game and it was a friendly show-off type of gesture – like ‘in your face’. From me, she bought it.
When we got home, I called him and told him what had happened. I told him to fix the situation. ‘You must’ I said. He told me not to worry and that he will deal with it. When I came back from school, he told me what he did to fix the situation – my mom never made mention of this to me. He actually went to the house, told my mom that I had told him what she had said, and he swore on the Quran that there was nothing to worry about and that he was surprised she thought that. That’s it.
Part of me never ever wanted my mother to know, but part of me also wanted her to find out because it would mean that we would have no choice but to stop this. It never happened. My parents have never been one to spy, and never made me feel judged or that I was doing something wrong - but sometimes turning a blind eye is not good. All those times I dodged her car as I snuck out of my co-op placement or school; all the times I snuck out of the house at night; all my late night phone calls…none of it – she caught none of it.
I always tell my friends that I’m the best liar. A sad reality, but it’s true. When your own mother can’t notice the biggest story that you’re living, you have to be good.
So, did she know the rings were fake? Or did she know I had someone but thought it was harmless? 'At least I was getting spoiled dirty out of it'. I have the perfect title for this post.
I went to inquire about laser hair removal right now – someone there was asking about hair growth around a woman’s nipple. The lady at the reception said it is normal and everyone has it, “women just shouldn’t pluck them once they get it because that will only stimulate growth”. The young lady replied “how come there are no campaigns about this? I wouldn’t have removed them if I knew any better.” The lady replied, “well, your mother should have told you”.
I guess one thing on my mind whenever I remember this relationship is why my mother didn’t notice. I received my first gold diamond ring from him when I was about 17. When I first wore it, I told my mom that it was a fake accessory I bought from Walmart. That one ring turned to about eighteen different rings, two sets of diamond studs, two pendants, a necklace and a whole bunch of electronics. Really? My mother didn’t notice that I was getting all this stuff and that there was no way I could possibly afford it on my own? Sometimes I find that really surprising. Why didn’t she notice? And, will I notice when I have a daughter if she is in the same position.
Once my mom suspected something. We were at a community gathering – friends and family all together playing games and eating. I was sitting at a table with some of my cousins, and him, playing Scrabble I believe. During the game, he started playing footsies with me. My mother, who was at the end of the room, spotted his foot on mine. As soon as she saw this, we both realized she saw, and I played it normal - as if I didn’t know his foot was on mine in the first place…we continued playing. When the game was over, my mother took me to the next room. I knew what was coming.
“Why was his foot on yours?” she said. I told her I didn’t know what she was talking about. She said she saw it and when she noticed, he moved his foot away. “I even see that he stares at you through the reflection in the window”. I told her I wasn’t aware of this, and even if he did it must have been a nudge because one of us made a good move during the game and it was a friendly show-off type of gesture – like ‘in your face’. From me, she bought it.
When we got home, I called him and told him what had happened. I told him to fix the situation. ‘You must’ I said. He told me not to worry and that he will deal with it. When I came back from school, he told me what he did to fix the situation – my mom never made mention of this to me. He actually went to the house, told my mom that I had told him what she had said, and he swore on the Quran that there was nothing to worry about and that he was surprised she thought that. That’s it.
Part of me never ever wanted my mother to know, but part of me also wanted her to find out because it would mean that we would have no choice but to stop this. It never happened. My parents have never been one to spy, and never made me feel judged or that I was doing something wrong - but sometimes turning a blind eye is not good. All those times I dodged her car as I snuck out of my co-op placement or school; all the times I snuck out of the house at night; all my late night phone calls…none of it – she caught none of it.
I always tell my friends that I’m the best liar. A sad reality, but it’s true. When your own mother can’t notice the biggest story that you’re living, you have to be good.
So, did she know the rings were fake? Or did she know I had someone but thought it was harmless? 'At least I was getting spoiled dirty out of it'. I have the perfect title for this post.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
tell me you love me.
When you say love is a simple chemical reaction, can't say I agree, cause my chemicals have left me a beautiful disaster*
I just came from watching the movie Eat Pray Love. I liked it - it was interesting, honest, and full of constant reminders...there was a point where I wished I could just pause the movie to write down some of the lines.
One scene made me kick the chair in front of me though.
Near the end of the movie, Julia Roberts' boyfriend confesses his love for her, and then asks her whether she loves him. He raises his voice and gets upset when she doesn't say anything. He wants to hear those words from her. Regardless of whether or not she did love him at that point - or that moment - what he did by raising his voice, and looking at her with hurting eyes, was put pressure on her. She walks away without saying anything.
One day, he had called me. I was in the kitchen. We had not talked for a few days at that point - he was upset...I was being a bit distant with my text messages. I would be tardy with my replies, and perhaps emotionless when I did write. I must have been questioning the relationship again at that time. Regardless, on the phone, he told me he loved me. He was exceptionally emotional that day. In the midst of his complaints, he asked me..."do you love me?" I did not reply. "Tell me you love me, tell me you love me. I love you". I felt warm tears roll down my face.
At that point I didn't love him - at that moment at least. I resented him. But there, on the other side of the phone was a grown man that just confessed his love for me, and was crying, frustrated and upset that I wasn't telling him I love him back. I could feel a knot in my throat. All I wanted to do was just hang up the phone. I didn't want to have to answer. But alas...my questioning self got thinking.
'If I do not answer, he will be upset. If I do not answer, everything might change. If I do not answer, he might stop loving me. If do not answer, I might end up alone'.
"TELL ME YOU LOVE ME". I swallowed my honesty, my pride, and my youth at that moment. I wiped the tears from my face as if he could see them. I cleared my throat. "Of course I love you". I buried my nails into my hands and clenched my teeth. Those three words have never felt as heavy as they did during that phone call. I remember it all too vividly.
He calmed down. And then we ended the conversation. I had confessed my love...now he was under the impression that I'll go back to normal. I would no longer be distant. And since I had told him I loved him, I made a mental note that I had to make more of an effort. 'You love him...just do what people who are in love are supposed to do'.
Women are often made to feel pressure. I hate that feeling with a passion. I vowed to myself that I would never EVER tell a man that I loved him just because he expected to hear it. I promised myself that I would not tell a man that I love him just because he demands that the feeling is 'mutual'. I promised myself that I would only tell a man that I love him if I truly feel like I love him. I will only say those three words when I am ready.
Its not right. Men should not manipulate our hearts...our hearts, by nature, are soft. When they force emotional responses, they are simply taking advantage. Why do we give in? Why is it so hard to just walk away?
Still love is all I see*
*Lyrics by Anna Nalick - Catalyst
I just came from watching the movie Eat Pray Love. I liked it - it was interesting, honest, and full of constant reminders...there was a point where I wished I could just pause the movie to write down some of the lines.
One scene made me kick the chair in front of me though.
Near the end of the movie, Julia Roberts' boyfriend confesses his love for her, and then asks her whether she loves him. He raises his voice and gets upset when she doesn't say anything. He wants to hear those words from her. Regardless of whether or not she did love him at that point - or that moment - what he did by raising his voice, and looking at her with hurting eyes, was put pressure on her. She walks away without saying anything.
One day, he had called me. I was in the kitchen. We had not talked for a few days at that point - he was upset...I was being a bit distant with my text messages. I would be tardy with my replies, and perhaps emotionless when I did write. I must have been questioning the relationship again at that time. Regardless, on the phone, he told me he loved me. He was exceptionally emotional that day. In the midst of his complaints, he asked me..."do you love me?" I did not reply. "Tell me you love me, tell me you love me. I love you". I felt warm tears roll down my face.
At that point I didn't love him - at that moment at least. I resented him. But there, on the other side of the phone was a grown man that just confessed his love for me, and was crying, frustrated and upset that I wasn't telling him I love him back. I could feel a knot in my throat. All I wanted to do was just hang up the phone. I didn't want to have to answer. But alas...my questioning self got thinking.
'If I do not answer, he will be upset. If I do not answer, everything might change. If I do not answer, he might stop loving me. If do not answer, I might end up alone'.
"TELL ME YOU LOVE ME". I swallowed my honesty, my pride, and my youth at that moment. I wiped the tears from my face as if he could see them. I cleared my throat. "Of course I love you". I buried my nails into my hands and clenched my teeth. Those three words have never felt as heavy as they did during that phone call. I remember it all too vividly.
He calmed down. And then we ended the conversation. I had confessed my love...now he was under the impression that I'll go back to normal. I would no longer be distant. And since I had told him I loved him, I made a mental note that I had to make more of an effort. 'You love him...just do what people who are in love are supposed to do'.
Women are often made to feel pressure. I hate that feeling with a passion. I vowed to myself that I would never EVER tell a man that I loved him just because he expected to hear it. I promised myself that I would not tell a man that I love him just because he demands that the feeling is 'mutual'. I promised myself that I would only tell a man that I love him if I truly feel like I love him. I will only say those three words when I am ready.
Its not right. Men should not manipulate our hearts...our hearts, by nature, are soft. When they force emotional responses, they are simply taking advantage. Why do we give in? Why is it so hard to just walk away?
Still love is all I see*
*Lyrics by Anna Nalick - Catalyst
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Forever Confused
I was in a relationship with a man that I liked, then I grew to hate, then I convinced myself that I loved, then I briefly cut out of my life, realized I couldn’t so went back, then I resented, and now I don’t want to cut him off completely. I question whether what I went through was abuse, but at the same time I want his presence alive in my life. There is no linearity in my emotions whatsoever. On a regular day, I can hate the one I think I loved while at the same time question his love for me but still know deep down inside that he is a good person. More criss-crosses than a spider web.
As I consider the current man in my life for marriage, I am plagued by the same confusion. I have no stability in my emotions towards him. And I beat myself up for the sporadic feelings always. So why am I like this?
Looking at things from this perspective, perhaps the reason why I am so confused about my potential fiancé is because I do not trust my feelings. I realize that my emotions are easily molded, that I’m generally a woman whose emotions are dependent on a man, and that while my emotions fluctuate, they always lean on the side of giving the male the benefit of the doubt. I am veiled from truly being able to assess what is best for me. Am I doomed to being forever confused?
As I consider the current man in my life for marriage, I am plagued by the same confusion. I have no stability in my emotions towards him. And I beat myself up for the sporadic feelings always. So why am I like this?
Looking at things from this perspective, perhaps the reason why I am so confused about my potential fiancé is because I do not trust my feelings. I realize that my emotions are easily molded, that I’m generally a woman whose emotions are dependent on a man, and that while my emotions fluctuate, they always lean on the side of giving the male the benefit of the doubt. I am veiled from truly being able to assess what is best for me. Am I doomed to being forever confused?
Friday, September 17, 2010
Cycle
Months - or perhaps even a year or two - after we began the relationship, he told me about how when he was younger, he was approached by two older women. One was a relative whom he had a long term relationship with, the other was with an experienced older woman who taught him things he hadn’t known. As he recounted this, I saw a pattern – he went through it, now he is doing the same to me. We learned in school that children who have had abusive parents are more likely to grow to become abusive parents themselves; that children with obese parents often become obese; that children with alcoholic parents are prone to also growing to be alcoholics. I immediately recognized that the same must be true for him – that he entered into the relationship with me because he went through things as a child. Instead of serving as a light-bulb to let me run – realizing that this was simply a pattern and not ‘divine’ love – I felt sorry for him. The sadness that I felt for myself, I immediately transferred to him…’its not his fault’ I would think to myself…he was a victim. 'Miskeen…he still has the affects'.
I battled in my head with this idea for a bit. I wondered if I would be able to ‘lure’ a boy decades younger than me the way I was being lured - the way he was once lured. The thought didn’t sit well for me at all. And somehow, I just stopped thinking about things as a cycle.
Years into the relationship he told me that another older lady was in love with him - obsessively in fact - and that he had to go through regular measures to put her in her place and fight away her seductive attempts. I never put all these links together – but now that I think about it, he does seem to have had some pretty random experiences and love affairs. Even if he was a victim as a child, as a grown adult he has no right to replicate what he experienced…especially given the fact that he knows how it feels to be so young and so confused…so lost as to where to turn. And, the fact that another older lady was attracted to him as well – while we were together – something must not be right with him. May Allah bless him and forgive us all for our mistakes and wrong judgments. Do things working in a cycle make him less wrong?
I battled in my head with this idea for a bit. I wondered if I would be able to ‘lure’ a boy decades younger than me the way I was being lured - the way he was once lured. The thought didn’t sit well for me at all. And somehow, I just stopped thinking about things as a cycle.
Years into the relationship he told me that another older lady was in love with him - obsessively in fact - and that he had to go through regular measures to put her in her place and fight away her seductive attempts. I never put all these links together – but now that I think about it, he does seem to have had some pretty random experiences and love affairs. Even if he was a victim as a child, as a grown adult he has no right to replicate what he experienced…especially given the fact that he knows how it feels to be so young and so confused…so lost as to where to turn. And, the fact that another older lady was attracted to him as well – while we were together – something must not be right with him. May Allah bless him and forgive us all for our mistakes and wrong judgments. Do things working in a cycle make him less wrong?
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Cut the Cord
I am unable to cut the cord. Just yesterday I sent him an Eid Mubarak message. We are no longer in touch save the random message he sends once every few months. I usually reply. But even if my reply may come out very cold as compared to his, I am never rude. And, I always put some form of affection in the message - whether it is calling him by the nickname I gave him when we were together or sending an internet heart. Yesterday I wrote ‘i love u’.
Do I really love him? Well, I love the parts of him that made me grow and the good that he did bring into my life; the fact that he shaped me for who I am. Having him in my life for so long also meant that there was no room for anyone else –I truly believe that our relationship protected me from worse. But, when I remember the past sometimes, my blood pressure rises in anger, in self-loathing and in empathy. I never let him see that side however. If he was to read this blog ever I think he would faint because I am sure he never would imagine that I would be evaluating the relationship the way that I am. For some reason, I do not want him to know that I get upset when I remember.
But why? What good does keeping that cord strong do for me? Nothing. But, I cannot seem to stop myself. I was so dependent on him for so long...perhaps I fear what it would mean for me if I cut him off completely. Will I be strong? Will I ever have anyone else? I would hate for things to go back as they were, but at the same time, I get comfort when I hear that he makes dua for me everyday, that he still believes in me, and that he continues to love me.
I cringe as I write this. It’s disgusting when I think of how I still want his presence despite the way things unraveled…despite the fact that I wonder if he is doing the same thing today with some other younger girl. It makes me feel dirty. Why can’t I cut the cord? And, why don’t I want to cut the cord?
Do I really love him? Well, I love the parts of him that made me grow and the good that he did bring into my life; the fact that he shaped me for who I am. Having him in my life for so long also meant that there was no room for anyone else –I truly believe that our relationship protected me from worse. But, when I remember the past sometimes, my blood pressure rises in anger, in self-loathing and in empathy. I never let him see that side however. If he was to read this blog ever I think he would faint because I am sure he never would imagine that I would be evaluating the relationship the way that I am. For some reason, I do not want him to know that I get upset when I remember.
But why? What good does keeping that cord strong do for me? Nothing. But, I cannot seem to stop myself. I was so dependent on him for so long...perhaps I fear what it would mean for me if I cut him off completely. Will I be strong? Will I ever have anyone else? I would hate for things to go back as they were, but at the same time, I get comfort when I hear that he makes dua for me everyday, that he still believes in me, and that he continues to love me.
I cringe as I write this. It’s disgusting when I think of how I still want his presence despite the way things unraveled…despite the fact that I wonder if he is doing the same thing today with some other younger girl. It makes me feel dirty. Why can’t I cut the cord? And, why don’t I want to cut the cord?
Monday, September 13, 2010
Unworthy
Sometimes I wonder why I don’t feel as guilty as perhaps I should feel when it comes to all the physical that went on in the relationship. Of course I ask for forgiveness, but is it the type of forgiveness that people ask for with conviction? To be honest, I don’t feel that I ask for forgiveness sincerely. Not only for my relationship with him, but for anything wrong. The words come out and I ask for my neck to be saved from the hell fire, but is the forgiveness that I seek one that suffocates me – a yearning for forgiveness that makes me uncomfortable in my own skin – one that makes me tremble in fear? No. It’s a sad reality. I wish I would tear when I make tawba…but I don’t (usually). Sometimes I wonder if it’s because I was so young when we started…and that from such a young age I was conditioned to swallow the guilt of all wrong that I do and to somehow put the bulk of the blame elsewhere. When I speak to friends and they have physical encounters – a hug or a kiss…or more – they are overwhelmed with guilt…some stop praying because they are so embarrassed to face God as a result of how bad they feel. Most of them have had their first encounter after turning 25. Why am I so different?
How can Allah wash away my sins when it’s hard for me to acknowledge them as sins? On the one hand I blame him more because he was older and was able to ‘manipulate’ me...somehow making myself a victim. On the other hand, I always make excuses for myself and believe that Allah understands my heart even more than myself…that even when I do wrong, God knows that I do not mean to. Is that an excuse? Is that acceptable behaviour?
Ever since we happened, any relationship with a man that I have had after him (I have had one) doesn’t feel as wrong as it should. Sadly. I just go into shut-off mode where I go through the motions without any emotion. It’s as if I’m no longer my strong me – I become the vulnerable me. The dependent me. The one that needs a man to stop me from going astray me. Convoluted thinking. How then can I turn back the hands of time in order to reach a stage where I recognize wrongs as wrongs?
Although I have never stopped praying…for the longest time I was unable to make dua for myself. I would ask God to protect and make better the lives of others…to bring them closer to Him….to forgive their sins…I would cry in my prayers doing that…but, I never remembered me. It was not because I considered myself infallible. It was because over the years, and through my guilt, I had became a black box in my dua. Non-existent. Not worthy. I believed there were far more deserving people out there...what good was I anyway?
How can Allah wash away my sins when it’s hard for me to acknowledge them as sins? On the one hand I blame him more because he was older and was able to ‘manipulate’ me...somehow making myself a victim. On the other hand, I always make excuses for myself and believe that Allah understands my heart even more than myself…that even when I do wrong, God knows that I do not mean to. Is that an excuse? Is that acceptable behaviour?
Ever since we happened, any relationship with a man that I have had after him (I have had one) doesn’t feel as wrong as it should. Sadly. I just go into shut-off mode where I go through the motions without any emotion. It’s as if I’m no longer my strong me – I become the vulnerable me. The dependent me. The one that needs a man to stop me from going astray me. Convoluted thinking. How then can I turn back the hands of time in order to reach a stage where I recognize wrongs as wrongs?
Although I have never stopped praying…for the longest time I was unable to make dua for myself. I would ask God to protect and make better the lives of others…to bring them closer to Him….to forgive their sins…I would cry in my prayers doing that…but, I never remembered me. It was not because I considered myself infallible. It was because over the years, and through my guilt, I had became a black box in my dua. Non-existent. Not worthy. I believed there were far more deserving people out there...what good was I anyway?
Therapeutic
Writing these posts has certainly been therapeutic. I'm hoping that some kind of dialogue emerges, but I have not done enough yet to spread my blog around. I haven't had much time.
Its not easy to write these posts, and I can't imagine them to be any easier to read. But, sometimes just knowing someone else knows lifts the burden. And, by Allah, I launched this blog in Ramadan after a late night epiphany. I thought to myself that perhaps my experience was my test. I want to make sure that when I'm asked about what I did about it, I can say that I tried to speak to girls somehow: those who have not experienced something like this but can now keep a watchful eye; those who have gone through the same thing and have never had an opportunity to talk about it; and, those that may be going through something similar as they read this and don't yet quite know the extent of disbelief that will hit them when they reflect back years, even decades, later. I often feel a knot in my throat when I see young teenage girls. I want to go to them and ask them if they have experienced anything like this. I want to tell them to read the signs and to stop themselves before its too late. Its like a hurricane..the longer you allow it to go on, the more you become engulfed. I just want them to know that they have a choice.
Shoveling at these memories and revealing them are not easy...especially when I remember how young I was and when I begin to recall the amount of pressure I was under. After experiencing this for so many years I had eventually learned to mask all my pain...I became numb internally. Ironically, however, I am the most positive person that most people have met (from what they tell me). I realize now that especially in the beginning, my positivity and happiness was my coping mechanism. And, I did in fact convince myself at one point of the relationship that this was a divine relationship...a God send. He kept on telling me how the love he has for me can be from no one but Allah. Believing that was the only way to prevent me from dying from guilt.
Its not easy to write these posts, and I can't imagine them to be any easier to read. But, sometimes just knowing someone else knows lifts the burden. And, by Allah, I launched this blog in Ramadan after a late night epiphany. I thought to myself that perhaps my experience was my test. I want to make sure that when I'm asked about what I did about it, I can say that I tried to speak to girls somehow: those who have not experienced something like this but can now keep a watchful eye; those who have gone through the same thing and have never had an opportunity to talk about it; and, those that may be going through something similar as they read this and don't yet quite know the extent of disbelief that will hit them when they reflect back years, even decades, later. I often feel a knot in my throat when I see young teenage girls. I want to go to them and ask them if they have experienced anything like this. I want to tell them to read the signs and to stop themselves before its too late. Its like a hurricane..the longer you allow it to go on, the more you become engulfed. I just want them to know that they have a choice.
Shoveling at these memories and revealing them are not easy...especially when I remember how young I was and when I begin to recall the amount of pressure I was under. After experiencing this for so many years I had eventually learned to mask all my pain...I became numb internally. Ironically, however, I am the most positive person that most people have met (from what they tell me). I realize now that especially in the beginning, my positivity and happiness was my coping mechanism. And, I did in fact convince myself at one point of the relationship that this was a divine relationship...a God send. He kept on telling me how the love he has for me can be from no one but Allah. Believing that was the only way to prevent me from dying from guilt.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Desensitization
He turned on the computer and said he wants to show me something. The internet was slow back then, and we waited as an image slowly loaded, row by row. When I could figure out what it was, I shut my eyes tight, turned my face away, and started coughing from disgust. "Why would you show me that!!?"
It was an image of a man, dressed in business attire sitting at the edge of a table...but as each row of the image uploaded, I realized that the lady beside him was doing something I had never even fathomed people did. Today kids joke about it all the time...but that was my first exposure. Nothing followed...but what had happened was I was now exposed to an act that I had not known about before. An image never leaves you.
Once he told me to turn on the television to a channel that I knew we didn't have access to at home. And we didn't...the screen was speckled, hazy and the sound was muffled. I told him I can't see anything. He said, "No, just watch and listen closely". I did...and when I realized what it was I turned it off immediately. It was an adult movie. Again, I was disgusted. To this day I can not bring myself to watch any form of intimacy. It felt animalistic and I hate that feeling.
Another time he asked me whether I wanted to see an ejaculation. I said no. I thought if I said no whatever intimacy that was to follow would just have been the regular hug and hold. But instead, a few minutes later he ejaculated. He did fulfill my wish though...I didn't see it. I just felt it on my stomach. I remember he made a remark about how I can do well in my Health Class now. "You don't have to just rely on what your teacher tells you," he said..."you can see it for yourself".
I was innocent. Before him I knew only of hugging and kissing. I had learned about sex when I was in grade seven but it never ever crossed my mind - to me it was just something adults had to do to have children. What his sporadic and seconds of exposure to different ideas and images did do, however, was desensitize me. He was slow and smooth...never forced me to do anything...but as days, weeks, months progressed, I was more willing and more free.
I grew to hate the physical however. I never resisted but neither did I enjoy it. I liked it when he spoiled me and wrote me poems. I liked it when he would glance at me with mesmerizing eyes. I liked it when he told me how special I was and how much he cared. But I hated the physical. The more explicit it became, the more I lost any pleasurable sensation. There was a time where I would give him the middle finger behind his back each time we were intimate. I even remember spitting at him. I hated him. I hated every moment.
Why did I allow this to progress?
It was an image of a man, dressed in business attire sitting at the edge of a table...but as each row of the image uploaded, I realized that the lady beside him was doing something I had never even fathomed people did. Today kids joke about it all the time...but that was my first exposure. Nothing followed...but what had happened was I was now exposed to an act that I had not known about before. An image never leaves you.
Once he told me to turn on the television to a channel that I knew we didn't have access to at home. And we didn't...the screen was speckled, hazy and the sound was muffled. I told him I can't see anything. He said, "No, just watch and listen closely". I did...and when I realized what it was I turned it off immediately. It was an adult movie. Again, I was disgusted. To this day I can not bring myself to watch any form of intimacy. It felt animalistic and I hate that feeling.
Another time he asked me whether I wanted to see an ejaculation. I said no. I thought if I said no whatever intimacy that was to follow would just have been the regular hug and hold. But instead, a few minutes later he ejaculated. He did fulfill my wish though...I didn't see it. I just felt it on my stomach. I remember he made a remark about how I can do well in my Health Class now. "You don't have to just rely on what your teacher tells you," he said..."you can see it for yourself".
I was innocent. Before him I knew only of hugging and kissing. I had learned about sex when I was in grade seven but it never ever crossed my mind - to me it was just something adults had to do to have children. What his sporadic and seconds of exposure to different ideas and images did do, however, was desensitize me. He was slow and smooth...never forced me to do anything...but as days, weeks, months progressed, I was more willing and more free.
I grew to hate the physical however. I never resisted but neither did I enjoy it. I liked it when he spoiled me and wrote me poems. I liked it when he would glance at me with mesmerizing eyes. I liked it when he told me how special I was and how much he cared. But I hated the physical. The more explicit it became, the more I lost any pleasurable sensation. There was a time where I would give him the middle finger behind his back each time we were intimate. I even remember spitting at him. I hated him. I hated every moment.
Why did I allow this to progress?
Why didn't it stop?
My time-lines and chronology will invariably be a bit off...but, I'm trying to recall events exactly in the order I remember them occurring.
I had a diary with me...a few years into the relationship...and I remember writing about the beginning. In it, I recounted honestly that for the first three times we met (as a 'couple' that is) - from that first hug, to a hug and a peck, to a more intimate five-minute holding session - I enjoyed the idea of the relationship. I was experiencing what being an 'adult' was all about..and I was with a man that cared for me. Plus, my rationale for it being okay was that my clothes were always on.
But, sooner than later...and in ways I can not recall...the physical part of the relationship escalated. I battled internally. I knew this wasn't right, but I didn't understand why he didn't think it was wrong. I felt upset that I couldn't tell my friends about it, but felt special at the same time because being with him felt good...I felt mature. I often cried myself to sleep in confusion.
Part of the confusion was that our relationship was not dominated by the physical. He was also a mentor, a teacher, a friend to hang out with..he would engage in long discussions with me about politics, Islam and the empowerment of women. He also spent money on me and bought me my favorite things. When people were around, he was still his jolly friendly self; everyone knew we got along, just not how much we got along. There was no chance for anyone to suspect that there was a bigger story behind our very obvious good relationship.
In my prayer I would turn to God and cry about how confused I was. I would weep sometimes. But, no matter how much I knew something was not right, I didn't know how to stop it...but, I also did not know whether I wanted it to stop. Till one day.
He told me about something he wanted to try someday. At first I was intrigued by the idea. But then, my guilt overwhelmed me and I decided to write him a letter.
"I appreciate that you care," I wrote, "I appreciate all that you have done for me, but this can not go on any longer. It is not right. We are doing something haraam. And we have to stop". As I wrote those words, weights seemed to be lifted of my young thirteen year old shoulders. I was proud of myself, and I knew I was doing the right thing.
A few days after I gave the letter to him, I saw him again. He was visibly upset. He explained that he does not understand why he feels this way about me and he feels disgusted when he thinks of how young I am and what has become of our relationship...but, he explained that he doesn't understand why he cannot stop himself from feeling the way he does about me. The feeling is too strong, and too genuine, he explained to me. I might be thirteen in numbers, but my mind was that of a thirty year old.
We can stop this, he told me, but that means I will not be able to see you anymore. No more phone calls and no more rendezvous. We must entirely be cut off...and if ever we were to cross paths somehow, we would not be able to talk, and he would leave. "And don't be surprised when you see me quiet and not talking. I am respecting your wishes and it will not be easy for me. It is going to be very hard. I will be walking but dead," he said.
Rather than an acceptance for my appeal to end the relationship, I was made to feel as if I was being unreasonable, too uptight, and unfair...and that if I pushed for things to really stop, my whole world would change. He would excommunicate me out of his life. I was torn.
But the subtle coercion got to me and like three times to follow before the final mutual decision to end the relationship years later, I decided that things should not change. This time, I rationalized my decision to stay with him by asking myself an innocent question, "if he is out of the picture, who is going to buy me all the packs of gum?".
Yes. Chewing gum. That was all it took. So, was it abuse?
I had a diary with me...a few years into the relationship...and I remember writing about the beginning. In it, I recounted honestly that for the first three times we met (as a 'couple' that is) - from that first hug, to a hug and a peck, to a more intimate five-minute holding session - I enjoyed the idea of the relationship. I was experiencing what being an 'adult' was all about..and I was with a man that cared for me. Plus, my rationale for it being okay was that my clothes were always on.
But, sooner than later...and in ways I can not recall...the physical part of the relationship escalated. I battled internally. I knew this wasn't right, but I didn't understand why he didn't think it was wrong. I felt upset that I couldn't tell my friends about it, but felt special at the same time because being with him felt good...I felt mature. I often cried myself to sleep in confusion.
Part of the confusion was that our relationship was not dominated by the physical. He was also a mentor, a teacher, a friend to hang out with..he would engage in long discussions with me about politics, Islam and the empowerment of women. He also spent money on me and bought me my favorite things. When people were around, he was still his jolly friendly self; everyone knew we got along, just not how much we got along. There was no chance for anyone to suspect that there was a bigger story behind our very obvious good relationship.
In my prayer I would turn to God and cry about how confused I was. I would weep sometimes. But, no matter how much I knew something was not right, I didn't know how to stop it...but, I also did not know whether I wanted it to stop. Till one day.
He told me about something he wanted to try someday. At first I was intrigued by the idea. But then, my guilt overwhelmed me and I decided to write him a letter.
"I appreciate that you care," I wrote, "I appreciate all that you have done for me, but this can not go on any longer. It is not right. We are doing something haraam. And we have to stop". As I wrote those words, weights seemed to be lifted of my young thirteen year old shoulders. I was proud of myself, and I knew I was doing the right thing.
A few days after I gave the letter to him, I saw him again. He was visibly upset. He explained that he does not understand why he feels this way about me and he feels disgusted when he thinks of how young I am and what has become of our relationship...but, he explained that he doesn't understand why he cannot stop himself from feeling the way he does about me. The feeling is too strong, and too genuine, he explained to me. I might be thirteen in numbers, but my mind was that of a thirty year old.
We can stop this, he told me, but that means I will not be able to see you anymore. No more phone calls and no more rendezvous. We must entirely be cut off...and if ever we were to cross paths somehow, we would not be able to talk, and he would leave. "And don't be surprised when you see me quiet and not talking. I am respecting your wishes and it will not be easy for me. It is going to be very hard. I will be walking but dead," he said.
Rather than an acceptance for my appeal to end the relationship, I was made to feel as if I was being unreasonable, too uptight, and unfair...and that if I pushed for things to really stop, my whole world would change. He would excommunicate me out of his life. I was torn.
But the subtle coercion got to me and like three times to follow before the final mutual decision to end the relationship years later, I decided that things should not change. This time, I rationalized my decision to stay with him by asking myself an innocent question, "if he is out of the picture, who is going to buy me all the packs of gum?".
Yes. Chewing gum. That was all it took. So, was it abuse?
Sunday, August 22, 2010
The first time.
One day I was in a casual discussion with him. He asked me what my deepest dream was...after listing all my goals and aspirations, I told him that I wish I was in a long-term relationship with someone special. I told him about how I once slow-danced with a boy (I was very proud of that accomplishment). That discussion happened months before anything even started.
The first time he approached me, he reminded me of our talk. He then told me about how I was so special and how he had never met anyone as mature as me at my age...in fact, he told me I was even more mature than some adults he knew. He told me I was different from everyone else and that Allah had blessed me. He then asked me if he could give me a hug.
...this was my thought process at that time: a) I've done this before; b) I don't want him to be embarrassed if I say no; and c) I don't want to say no in case he becomes upset. I like his company.
And so it happened. A hug that must have lasted no more than 15 seconds. It felt like an eternity.
Over the next while he continued to tell me that he envisions me to be a leader for Muslim women around the world one day. That I was unique and that Allah gifted me with special things. Hearing these words made me feel special. I loved Allah and I loved Islam and I wanted to be doing good for the religion somehow. I also grew more attached to him - his faith in me amazed me.
He planted a seed..and I am ever grateful for that. But what about that hug?
The first time he approached me, he reminded me of our talk. He then told me about how I was so special and how he had never met anyone as mature as me at my age...in fact, he told me I was even more mature than some adults he knew. He told me I was different from everyone else and that Allah had blessed me. He then asked me if he could give me a hug.
...this was my thought process at that time: a) I've done this before; b) I don't want him to be embarrassed if I say no; and c) I don't want to say no in case he becomes upset. I like his company.
And so it happened. A hug that must have lasted no more than 15 seconds. It felt like an eternity.
Over the next while he continued to tell me that he envisions me to be a leader for Muslim women around the world one day. That I was unique and that Allah gifted me with special things. Hearing these words made me feel special. I loved Allah and I loved Islam and I wanted to be doing good for the religion somehow. I also grew more attached to him - his faith in me amazed me.
He planted a seed..and I am ever grateful for that. But what about that hug?
Is it abuse?
I was in grade nine. It was sex-ed class and all us girls were sitting in a circle. The topic for that day's discussion was sexual abuse and sexual harassment. At the end of our talk, a short quiz was distributed. When we finished, we proceeded to mark our own papers.
True or False: A victim of sexual abuse may feel pleasure.
I answered True.
The teacher repeated the question as we marked: "A victim of sexual abuse may feel pleasure. True?" While I was slowly raising my hand, in unison the class said "FALSE!"...as if to imply that the answer to that was so obvious. The friend sitting beside me grabbed my hand and put it down. She looked at me with curious eyes. In my heart, I was confused. But, I told her I did not understand the question.
And, I guess I still don't. Legally, having a sexual relationship with a minor is unlawful - a heinous crime. But, what if I was a minor, and we never ever had sex? And, what if I was a minor, and we were physical...but without any form of penetration...and it was 'consensual'? What if he treated me very well...and I believed in him...Is that abuse?
I only ask now, more than a decade later, because while I no longer communicate with him, and while I once felt that I had truly been in love with him and that age was just a number (that age was my enemy, in fact, because the world would not understand), something in my deepest core knows that this was not right. It shouldn't have happened. A young child...of thirteen...or fifteen...even an eighteen year old...does not always know what they are doing. Today, I feel that I was a victim to the most subtle coercion. But it was coercion. I didn't know any better at that time. And no one even noticed that I was living this big secret. I was happy, excelled at school and was popular and loved. At that time, my moments of confusion were masked...sometimes even to myself.
Was it abuse?
True or False: A victim of sexual abuse may feel pleasure.
I answered True.
The teacher repeated the question as we marked: "A victim of sexual abuse may feel pleasure. True?" While I was slowly raising my hand, in unison the class said "FALSE!"...as if to imply that the answer to that was so obvious. The friend sitting beside me grabbed my hand and put it down. She looked at me with curious eyes. In my heart, I was confused. But, I told her I did not understand the question.
And, I guess I still don't. Legally, having a sexual relationship with a minor is unlawful - a heinous crime. But, what if I was a minor, and we never ever had sex? And, what if I was a minor, and we were physical...but without any form of penetration...and it was 'consensual'? What if he treated me very well...and I believed in him...Is that abuse?
I only ask now, more than a decade later, because while I no longer communicate with him, and while I once felt that I had truly been in love with him and that age was just a number (that age was my enemy, in fact, because the world would not understand), something in my deepest core knows that this was not right. It shouldn't have happened. A young child...of thirteen...or fifteen...even an eighteen year old...does not always know what they are doing. Today, I feel that I was a victim to the most subtle coercion. But it was coercion. I didn't know any better at that time. And no one even noticed that I was living this big secret. I was happy, excelled at school and was popular and loved. At that time, my moments of confusion were masked...sometimes even to myself.
Was it abuse?
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