I want to start this by clarifying that I still don’t identify as a feminist. I don’t agree with so many aspects of modern feminism. I believe a woman can cover up and that it is NOT oppression. In some cases, however, it is. I’m drawing attention to that.
Before I wore the abaya, and even the hijab, someone once tried to convince me that women must cover up because we must be responsible for attracting men. That men and women are inherently different, and that men are more likely to be attracted to physical aspects of a woman than vice versa. Because men are dogs.
The only part of that I agreed to was the fact that we are inherently different, to an extent. And that has largely been the basis for me urging women to continue to be modest for their own sake; men, however, piss me off. Really, I don’t think all men are dogs. I think many men are respectful, particularly in light of how many men support the right of a woman to do whatever the heck she wants. It’s only the mentality of Muslim men that made me think ‘yep. Dogs’. Nonetheless, I agreed to that explanation and kept quiet. Because what could I say? Well today is the day I step up and say that this is fucking bullshit.
I mean, I’m not qualified enough to talk about what it’s like being in your twenties, as I’ve only just about existed for over two decades. Two whole decades. Wow.
But life doesn’t change that much between 21 and 25 right? [It does]. I’m not a teenager anymore and, though I still live with my parents and have yet to finish my degree and start adulting, I feel ready for adulthood. In my mind, I am a fully grown 27 year old woman. Where are my children.
Basically, your early 20s are great. Because you’re an adult [yeah, you still can’t sit with the adults when you’re 18], BUT you’re not adult enough to do the adult things required of a 25 year old. Like have a stable career and 65 children. You’re an adult but you’re still forgiven for being a child. Amazing. Let’s begin. Read more
Don’t you just love the way ice cold coke burns the back of your throat? I’m taking a break from this brain-frying revision, I’ve eaten half a tub of honey greek yoghurt, had four glasses of coke, half a pack of share-pouch m&ms and I’m ready to go.
So. When I was younger, I used to dream about having a big, extravagant wedding, bigger and better than any of the ones I had already been to.
No, that’s a lie. When I was younger I didn’t care about marriage. I didn’t care whether I found someone to marry or not. I definitely didn’t care about a wedding and I never spared a single thought for it; Asians do it big and weddings just gave me headaches – most of the time I didn’t even know who’s wedding I was at and I never understood why I was there (except for the food, which doesn’t really make up for spending £100 on an outfit). It was always family, and I had known most of the people there except the bride and groom. How? I know not.
But once I hit adolescence and the prospect of marriage became a very real thing, my thoughts started to wander. What if Imma let you finish, but I could have the best wedding of all time? What if it was the kind of wedding that EVERYONE would be talking about for years to come? What if there was Nandos or a kebab station? What if the best day of my life was truly the best day of my life in each corner of a massive hall or in each grain of sand that my guests would be flown out to dance on? Before I knew it, I was sighing in the face of those Berta bridal dresses, listening to a playlist I made up and knowing exactly when each song was going to be played, ensuring my guests can stuff their faces without the domineering presence of a cameraman zooming into their face. And no, there wouldn’t be daal hanging off their chin either.
Over a year ago, when I heard that an old friend (she wasn’t a friend) was married, pregnant and abroad, I was overcome with shock. How? We’re the same age? How is she married and I’m not? But as time went by, more and more people in my year were getting married and having children, and I think it’s beautiful. But for some, it’s threatening and pressurising. I see my future as bright as the sun, so close, yet so far, but I know of some people who are worrying about their blank vision like there’s no tomorrow.
“What if I never find someone? You’re supposed to find someone at uni, but I’ve finished uni, WHAT WILL I DO“
“What am I even going to do with my degree? Why did I choose this. I’m never going to have a stable career“
“I HAVEN’T FOUND ANYONE YET“
“Whoever kills a believer intentionally – his recompense is Hell, wherein he will abide eternally, and Allah has become angry with him and has cursed him and has prepared for him a great punishment.” [Quran; 4:93]
1. the unlawful premeditated killing of one human being by another.
I’ve been so MIA, for various reasons, and a new one is because my nails are too long to type comfortably. One is also broken and I’m too scared to rip it off the nail bed. Anyway. This is a long one.
So I don’t know about anywhere else in the world, but over here, people are finally
getting a glimpse into honour based violence/murder, thanks to a show called Murdered by my Father, which you can watch on BBC iPlayer here.
I don’t remember the last time I was so thankful for a drama, and this has opened a lot of eyes to the disgusting traditions that a lot of women are subject to. Too many people are oblivious to this horrible crime performed in the name of culture, reputation or warped religious interpretations. Imagine a woman is KILLED for having sex before marriage? Tortured for having a boyfriend? Beaten for wanting permission to marry someone she chooses, rather than someone she despises? MURDERED BY HER FAMILY FOR BEING A VICTIM OF RAPE BECAUSE IT BRINGS SHAME ON THE FUCKING FAMILY? For the average woman in the UK, such a thing is unthinkable and doesn’t sound real.
This is NOT just limited to Muslim families. It is VERY widespread and happens all over the world, to people of different religions. At best, this is in the form is disownment. At worst, it’s murder.