Dear CEMB
OP - July 02, 2015, 06:24 PM
Dear CEMB,
I am writing this letter hoping to make a friend. I have worn the veil since I was seven-years-old. I’m quietly unhappy, but I find strength in writing letters. The anonymity of a letter gives me hope. The space of this page lets me be open with myself, with you.
I am a 22 year-old Iraqi-American woman. I was born in a refugee camp in Saudi Arabia. When I was eight months old, my family moved to the United States along with a small community of Iraqi refugees and settled here. To say that they have undergone culture shock is an understatement. Because we are such a small, close knit community, we have formed something akin to a religious cult. All the families keep a tight leash on their children and try to isolate them from American culture. The daughters in particular have it the worst. Some families have conformed, somewhat, to American culture. My parents haven’t changed at all.
Growing up, I was barely allowed to leave the house. I had mainly only other Iraqi children as friends, and I could only hang out with my American friends if they came over to my house. I was never allowed to go anywhere with them. When I was seven, I apparently made a lifelong commitment to the hijab. At the time, I really believed I was doing a good thing, but I was also trying to please my parents and be like other Iraqi girls my age who were donning the hijab. I haven’t taken it off since, but I’ve wanted to take it off for a long time. Every morning, I go through the motions, putting on a long skirt, dress, or trousers. I always wear sleeves up to my wrists. I never leave the house without socks and, of course, the hijab. I show only that which is apparent, according to the rule: my hands and my face.
I was in the fifth grade when I realized I was not allowed to speak to boys. I had borrowed a book from a boy at school and one day he came over to my house and asked for it back. My dad went ballistic and whipped my ass with a towel. I think it wasn’t just because I had been talking to a boy; I think it was because I had been talking to a black boy. I didn’t understand why he was so angry with me until I got older and realized that my father believed I didn’t speak to boys at school. He still believes this.
When I was in community college, my mother saw me walking with a male student and yelled at me. “What if someone had seen you?” By ‘someone’ she had meant another Iraqi who would spread rumors about me having a boyfriend and ruin my reputation.
I am not allowed to have a boyfriend. My family’s worst fear is having their reputation tarnished in this small cult of a community because of me.
My mother tells me I am a good girl for wearing the hijab so well and not talking to boys, but I’m disobedient in other ways and this disappoints her. I take it as a compliment. My mother is a narcissistic parent. She has always viewed me as an extension of herself, rather than as an individual with an identity that is separate from hers. My father believes his maleness gives him rights over my mother and myself. I must obey everything he says and not argue.
I am not allowed to speak to boys. I am not allowed to have sexual thoughts. I must act asexual until I am set up with an Iraqi Muslim to marry.
Every day, my parents try to mold me to their idea of what I should be. I let them see what is on the surface and hone my behaviors according to their expectations. I don’t speak my mind. This is my veil. They are only just satisfied with the image I present to them; they would prefer to erase me completely and draw up a person who is a perfect reflection of themselves. I think I fall short of their impossible standards.
I’ve never let anyone touch me. I don’t want to be understood as oppressed; I believe I have transformed the veil into something else. But there is something I need to make clear:
I am not what I appear to be.
I am not a Muslim.
I have grown up very isolated and sheltered from other people, but I was allowed to read books. This helped me gain critical thinking skills and I was very young when I began having doubts about God and Islam. Novels like 1984, The Scarlet Letter, Frankenstein, The Crucible and Jane Eyre in particular had a profound impact on me. Books with gay protagonists also made me empathetic to gay people because I felt like I was a closeted person. I had just been going through the motions of a religious and obedient daughter without really questioning why I did the things I did. I was unhappy and isolated from everyone. It was when I entered high school that I really began to question the fundamental beliefs my parents were trying to ingrain in me. I questioned things like why was homosexuality a sin, and why it was necessary for me to wear the hijab, and why did a woman have to be obedient to her husband, and why did believing in God even matter? I was always unsatisfied with their answers, but I stayed quiet about my doubts.
I tried to ignore the nagging suspicion that God wasn’t real and that my parents were trying to brainwash me into living a very specific lifestyle - one that would not dishonor them. Over the past few years I have really tried to be a Muslim, but I think I abandoned the concept of Allah a long time ago.
I’ve gotten older and things have slightly improved. I have a car and have essentially graduated with my bachelor’s degree in English and Cultural Studies - I just have one more quarter left. This has helped me form my own identity, but day by day I am coping with my situation, distracting myself from the fact that I’m extremely unhappy. I still live at home and have this psychological fear of disobeying my parents. I’m still not allowed to have a boyfriend or travel to far places by myself, or go out with American friends, and moving out is out of the question. I spend my days reading and writing alone in my room or going to religious lectures just for social activity, and I always question what’s being preached at me.
I know I can physically do all of these things if I wanted to, but I’m afraid of my parents. And I’m afraid of the repercussions of telling them I am an atheist. They always shock me with the ways they manipulate me emotionally, and I don’t know what kind of emotional distress they will inflict on me if I told them the truth.
Shame seems too insufficient a word to express the way I feel about myself under the gaze of my parents. Resentment is a weak description for the way I feel about them. Angry, guilty and sad are my primary states when I’m not writing letters. I am living in a constant state of distraction and suppression.
To tell my parents the truth would break them, break me. Islam is not just a religion. It is a set of absolute morals. It is the only way to live life. To not be a Muslim is unfathomable. To be born into a Muslim family and reject the faith is the ultimate transgression.
I write my transgressions into stories and letters because I know they won’t read them. To them, there is nothing worth reading besides the Quran and other Islamic texts. I create my true self on a page, in a story, in a poem, in a letter to a friend. A page is also my veil. I use the anonymity to my advantage, to protect myself from certain people uncovering who I really am; an infidel among believers.
So, here I am.
I am not a Muslim, and it feels so good to say that. I am struggling to come to terms with this, and this is why I need a friend. I hope you understand.
Sincerely,
“Aqua”
"Nothing lasts forever. Even the stars die."
A for Atheist
A for Apostate
A for Anonymous
A for Aqua
Topic: Dear CEMB