Lost and Found
By: Neena Zk
Tags: Life, Growth, Identity, Religion, Spirituality

No one ever told me about the constant battle that would come with being an in-betweener, the medium connecting my heritage and the western world I was born into. The thing is, they couldn’t have known to tell me, because I was the first generation to experience a birth into two worlds, a child of immigrants. I was brought onto the Earth by my Indo-Fijian-Muslim parents, who’s was a world dictated by religion, tradition, and less forgiving ways of life. The one I was born into was a world that seemed galaxies away and spoke of freedom, logic, and an open mind. The two did not seem like they were made to coexist in harmony.

Much of my short life thus far has been a struggle with identity. It began with my father imposing the hijab - the Islamic head covering - on me at the age of seven, and truth be told, I absolutely hated him for it. Naturally, I wanted to be like all the other girls and at such a young age, I didn’t have the confidence or understanding to stand out and be proud of it. My parents had divorced when I was four, and my mother, despite her very traditional mindset, didn’t wear the hijab and left it up to me. So back and forth I went between their homes, one week a seemingly devout Muslim child, the other, a little girl who loved being complimented on her long, dark tresses.

I was given a very thorough Islamic education, which gave me the foundation my parents felt I needed to succeed as a good human, but more importantly, as a pious Muslim. I won’t deny that this groundwork has helped shape me into who I am today; the core values of Islam are much like those of most religions and ideologies. Do good unto others, strive to be a better human every day, connect yourself with the Higher Power...my problem was not with the fundamentals, it was with the way they were presented to me. You see, I found that generations prior to mine were taught to do things out of fear of God, but I fervently wanted to believe that God was love. I found myself questioning everything I was taught, focusing on the negatives, and overlooking the essence of what was trying to be conveyed.

I was always cautious about the way I tread this path of uncertainty, for fear that my thoughts were blasphemous and that I would be disowned if I didn’t believe without question. I tried to force myself to accept that I loved my hijab, that I wanted this with my whole heart. And for a while, I had myself convinced. It’s a funny thing, lying to yourself…it evokes a sense of chaos and confusion inside you that you don’t quite understand until you confront that lie and begin living your truth. I thought my hijab would serve as a barrier from the temptations of the world, as I’d been told. It is to preserve modesty, to keep you pure, to shield you from the gaze of men, to be a protection for you, they said. I don’t doubt that these things can be true, but for me, simply and honestly, they were not.

An old colleague of mine took this photo of me around the same time I made my final decision.

Despite my hijab, I gravitated towards doing things I “wasn’t allowed” to do being a Muslim teenager, and just started selectively taking my hijab off while I was doing them. I received attention from boys and talked to them secretly, I took a puff of a cigarette, I had my first sip of alcohol, and snuck out at three in the morning with my cousin to try smoking weed for the first time…you get the gist. I felt like I was living a double life, painting a picture of myself that looked nothing like me.

I was living with my mother at a certain point, so I had a choice to make. I took my hijab off completely and I felt the pressure lift. Hijab comes with a responsibility to uphold the Islamic pillars within society, to be an example and inspiration for other Muslim women, because you are visibly Muslim. I guess I didn’t want to feel obliged to do or not do because of what people would think, I just wanted to be. I was no longer being judged as someone apparently religious doing unholy things, I was just another person that was making some mistakes and learning life lessons. I also came to an understanding that doing those things did not make me “bad”, they were merely part of my own journey as a human. People make different choices, and as long as none of mine were hurting anyone else, I was okay with that and willing to take up the rest with my Creator if I ever got the chance.

It took me 12 years to realize and admit that I did not believe I could only be a good person if I wore a scarf on my head, or that the Muslim community’s approval was synonymous with God’s acceptance of me.

I started on my own spiritual journey, taking what resonated with me and leaving the things that contradicted my heart. I combined the knowledge from my past with the growth mindset I had adapted and created my own version of an Islam and a way of life that allowed me to flourish, instead of suffocating my colorful existence. I found the balance between the worlds I was looking for, even if I had to create it for myself. I believe that religions are meant to be a guide, a moral compass of sorts, and the flaw is in the human beings that taint it, muddle up the message, and dictate how others should live. It can be and has been a tool used for both good and evil. Religion is not the enemy, the enemy is one who wields it as a weapon.

I do want to make clear that I am in no way against the hijab…in fact, I have the utmost respect for females who choose to empower themselves by wearing it loud and proud. They found strength in something I felt was not for me, which beautifully illustrates how our individual life experiences result in different perspectives on a single matter. I choose to lead with love and respect for other’s personal choices. My journey with hijab and religion is just that, my own. Although I don’t look back at that time in my life very fondly, in hindsight, I always find myself using unfortunate situations as an opportunity for growth. My parents taught me the only way they knew how, and it wasn’t in their capacity to think outside the box at the time. I know this now, and it has watered down most of the resentment that roared inside me for all those years.

I now understand that perhaps, my purpose is to be a bridge between what has been taught and all that there is to know. I am certainly not the poster Muslim that my parents envisioned and prayed for, but for all my struggles, I hope I am a better person than they ever dreamed.