I think I’m the only person who celebrates something called a “hijab anniversary.” So be it: Happy 9th Hijab Anniversary me! 😀 Incidentally, I woke up with this song in my head this morning, quite fittingly.
*Dedicated to Rana who wore it the same day I did– Happy 9th Hijab Anniversary, Rana!
It’s so interesting to hear people’s hijab stories. Unfortunately, mine is not particularly exciting, but time and time again, I am asked to tell it anyways- and what better timing to relieve those memories than today? So here it is.
One Monday morning, April 5, 2004, I had a truly inspiring dream. It was simple really- I was merely wrapping a hijab around my head, and it felt as natural and normal as putting on a pair of socks- like, there wasn’t anything strikingly bizarre in that dream– but when I woke up, the sudden surge of inexplicable confidence and determination to do something I wasn’t thinking of doing until a decade later was overwhelming.
I went to the kitchen, found my mother, and casually told her I wanted to wear hijab.
“That’s great to hear! When?” she asked.
“Today,” I replied.
She was completely taken aback– she hadn’t seen that coming. I didn’t either.
“Um,” she said hesitantly. “Don’t you think you’re a bit young?” (I looked younger, too.) “This isn’t something you rush, Aya. It’s a serious decision and not something you do on impulse. You don’t want to regret it. Think it through, you have plenty of time. Maybe wait until you hit CEGEP at least?”
Hmm. Maybe I should wait… *slightly relieved*
In an odd secret way, I felt a small guilty pleasure that I didn’t have to wear it after all right then and there. Although I meticulously plan out the details of my life, I also have a fondness for spontaneity– but I decided that maybe, just maybe, today wasn’t the day for it.
Was I even ready to face the world as I knew it through completely new eyes? I wasn’t sure about that. I wasn’t sure if I ever could be.
You see, I KNOW it’s just a piece of material. I KNOW it’s not a suit of armor, nor is it a bed of nails I’m about to tread upon. I KNOW it’s not the ultimate sacrifice and I KNOW it’s not the defining factor of a Muslim woman’s identity.
But I also knew that to the outside world, it’s not just a piece of material. It’s not just a fashionable scarf creatively wrapped around a head. Instead, it comes with a whole bunch of symbolism and uncharacteristic character traits that are somehow supposed to automatically label any Muslim woman. Thus, a new hijabi not only has to modify her lifestyle in terms of clothing and what not, but she also has to deal with people treating her like a different species under a microscope, with trying to find a balance between disproving the negative connotations of oppression and pitying conclusions associated with her actually freely-worn attire, between trying to demonstrate just what it really does stand for, and simply being herself and being accepted for it.
So on Monday, April 5 (coincidentally my dad’s birthday), nothing particularly special happened. I put on one of my typical humongous earrings, fixed my hair, added the eyeliner and had a normal day of classes.
But I couldn’t really focus. The compliments that came my way for the earrings didn’t bring me the tinge of satisfaction they usually did.
It’s just not right, I thought. I knew that I was mentally ready to wear the hijab. Some women do it earlier, some later, some not at all, and each has her own personal reasons for doing so; none has a reason to judge the other. No hijabi can judge a non-hijabi, and no non-hijabi can judge a hijabi. Besides God’s ultimate judgment, each woman can only judge herself.
Looking into myself, I realized my reasons for postponing again and again really came down to one thing:
I was choosing to conform to society’s values over God’s command in the Qur’an; even though in a different context, in a different country or with different people, I wouldn’t have hesitated in a heartbeat. My current feelings of powerlessness to determine something as simple as choosing to move the scarf from the neck to the hair made me realize that indeed, I was a slave to the wrong idol. I felt a sudden loathing to my weakness, and I couldn’t bring myself to respect myself.
I knew I needed purification and improvement on myself in a whole bunch of areas, but they were all internal things, soul-deep things, between me and God– and I figured that
if I couldn’t conquer the external tangible VISIBLE distractions that were preventing me from worshipping Him to the fullest,
there was no way, in a million years, I could conquer the invisible beast within me called the ego, or conquer the evil my nafs whispers.
I recently heard this outstanding quote from Tariq Ramadan, and I completely fell in love with it because it completely applies to this situation:
“I don’t want to be accepted. I would rather respect myself.”
My 14-year old self didn’t know how to eloquently and briefly think it like that, though– she instead thought,
Oh, what the heck. Screw what people might think, do or say. I’ve had enough of caring about other people who are never satisfied with you anyways. You will never please everybody– in fact, you will never please even one person entirely. The only Being you can please is God, because even when you’re short of fulfilling your obligations, He at least knows your efforts and takes every little detail into account, from the invisible in your heart and mind to the visible of your limbs– He knows all. And that suffices for me.
I seriously needed guts. It was no wonder I couldn’t respect myself, and my self-esteem was dependent on what other people thought of me…
So I got home Monday afternoon and told my mother I was going to wear it the next day after all. She was both pleased but still hesitant- she wasn’t sure what our experience would be like. She suggested I speak to my father about it.
(I still smile to this day at his reaction… and my non-Muslim friends find it incredible he didn’t force me to wear it, nor did he even request it. He certainly did not fit the typical father-forcing-his-daughter-or-he-will-murder-her-or-at-least-throw-acid-on-her-face propaganda that had ludicrously been circulating around at that time.)
So I told him I wanted to wear hijab. (And you ain’t gonna stop me, I’d added silently.) He merely looked from me to my older sister Rana (who decided she would wear it when I did, it would be fun exchanging stories), and then shrugged and said, “If they want, they can go ahead. But you do have a lot of time– you’re still quite young. And you realize this is a lifelong decision, right?” he asked us.
“Yes yes,” we both nodded.
He was silent for a moment as he looked at our eager faces, then gave a reassuring grin to my mother, who still looked a bit uncertain. “Let them,” he said simply. “They can handle it.”
And so it began.
Tuesday morning, April 6, 2004, smack in the middle of the year and smack in the middle of a totally random week, I picked out my favorite hijab at the time, which was sky-blue with white hazy swirls that actually looked like blurry clouds. It was a perfect match to the sunny day it was.
I am amazed how accurate my dream was. Indeed I got looks and stares and some perplexed reactions, but that was all expected and done mostly by strangers whom I never cared about anyways. But my friends! They continued interacting with me like nothing different happened. Instead of the compliments that used to come for my many exotic earrings, I was getting them for the many exotic hijabs instead, so even that aspect didn’t change.
What I found most intriguing was that, for my closest friends, it took them almost five minutes of speaking with me before they realized there was something different about me. We’d be talking casually before she’d give a small jump and say, “Oh my God– you’re wearing the hijab!” or “Oh my, I just noticed– you’re wearing the headscarf! I didn’t notice!”
(Normal and natural – hijab? Oh, you betcha. Dreams aren’t always just dreams.)
I think it’s been from that day on I’ve been seeing the world from a different lens, a different perspective. And in doing so, I’ve been having a different and healthier relationship with my own being. I can’t explain it exactly– I know it’s just a scarf– but for me, that scarf was self-empowering in every way I thought it might disempower me due to society’s standards. It, too, also came with a whole bunch of (positive) symbolism and expectations to me, and with a sweet responsibility that I have yet to properly fulfill.
It hasn’t all been flowery. I can’t say what my intentions were back then, crystal-clear definite, because my intentions have changed and fluctuated over the years. It’s out of His mercy He allows one to fix intentions even after starting the journey of purification.
Did I become the perfect Muslim woman 9 years ago? Definitely not. But I can honestly and truly say that
9 years ago, I decided to stop caring about people that don’t care about you
9 years ago, I learned the difference between want and need
9 years ago, I learned to properly prioritize
9 years ago, I made the first long-term decision of my life
Never. Regretted it. Not for a single second.
For 9 years, I’ve been in constant struggle with myself, with trying to be better and better and sometimes acknowledging to myself that I’m really really bad despite it all, but I’m trying my best and God, does He know it! Contrary to what some might perceive it to be, hijab is not the ‘icing’ on the cake; it is not a mark of having perfected faith. It is just the beginning of a long, difficult journey– as all journeys to worthy destinations inevitably are.
May your journeys be ever so smooth as you get closer and closer to His loving Presence. Amen!
Wishing you all sweet dreams that one day become a reality 🙂