Confessions of a Convert

 "Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise."

- Maya Angelou -

The link below takes you to a recently published article called "Nine Lessons for New Converts/Reverts to Islam," written by Olivia Kompier. When a friend shared this with me via social media, I was amazed by its relevance. As a convert myself, I am fortunate in that I have never experienced cruelty, disdain, or threats from family members in response to my religious change - making Kompier's first lesson less significant for me. The remaining eight, however, are poignant descriptions of personal experiences I have had during my first three years as a Muslimah in the United States. I encourage Muslims and non-Muslims alike to read this short work for its immense insight into the complexities related to a unique life transition with which many are unfamiliar.

http://www.patheos.com/blogs/altmuslim/2013/06/nine-lessons-for-new-convertsreverts-to-islam/

The words on the webpage felt so real, so tangible, so close in proximity to my own subjective experiences. They inspired me to reflect on my spiritual struggles, as well as the everyday challenges I have encountered as a Muslim American with Western European roots, raised in a liberal and eclectic Roman Catholic family in Metro Detroit. These are some of my thoughts.

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Confessions of a Convert

:::Sometimes I feel like I'm in a constant state of negotiation
when it comes to my cultural identity. 

When I spend time with Muslims, I love the religious connection. I don't have to explain why I need to stop my current activity to pray, why I don't just wear a t-shirt out in public if I'm "really, really hot," and why I didn't go to the bars to celebrate my 21st birthday last summer. It's nice to be able to share rituals like prayer and fasting and to have an unspoken understanding of the One God.

But I will forever be White. I may love Desi food (which I do) and admire vibrant ethnic clothing of all variations (that, too), but at the end of the day, I'm not Desi, nor Arab, nor African. I'm a 4th-generation American with an Irish-German-Welsh-English heritage that I think is cool, though not particularly significant to my day-to-day life. My family doesn't wear special outfits or cook special meals. I'm American through and through, and like America itself, I'm just a mish-mash of traditions all in one. I didn't grow up in a large community with monthly dinners and social events, and I didn't refer to neighbors and family friends as "uncles" and "aunties." The events that I did attend, such as family weddings, were never segregated by gender. The social customs to which I was exposed were simply different from many of my Muslim peers.

When I spend time with non-Muslims, I feel a certain familiarity and nostalgia when it comes to hobbies and childhood memories. I grew up dancing, running track, playing a bit of volleyball here and there, playing the piano, and writing & editing for my high school newspaper. It's true that I know Muslims who have participated in similar activities at their schools, but I had a different experience. I donned the dance costumes and track uniforms without hesitation and without worrying about my skin showing. I wore two-piece swimsuits in the summertime. I attended some of my school's dances, including Prom. I adored a musical instrument, and I didn't have to endure comments from people in the community who believe that musical instruments should not be played nor heard. I exchanged gifts at Christmas and admired the beautiful lights as they shone against the fresh snowfall. No, I didn't drink, party, or rebel the way some of my peers did; still, I had what was and is considered a relatively ordinary "American" childhood and adolescence. These are stories and memories I can share and relate to with many of my non-Muslim friends.

But I will forever be Muslim, God Willing. It can be awkward when groups of friends go out drinking, while I stay home on a Saturday night. I don't envy those who drink, but it can make one feel like a social hermit on a large college campus. It can also become tiresome trying to explain the "whys" and "hows" of my lifestyle. People forget, and that's okay. They order pizza with pepperoni, forgetting that I can't eat it. They plan a trip to the casino, forgetting that I don't gamble. They decide to go to the beach to tan and forget that I'll be the only one not wearing a bikini.

The truth is, it can feel like I'm straddling a fence between two expansive yards. The grass is always greener on the other side - whichever side I feel distant from in that moment. My reality is a nuanced and multidimensional one. I don't fit perfectly into any single mold. I'm learning to embrace that and take pride in it.

:::Membership in local Muslim communities can appear
exclusive and invitation-only.

I'll be the first to admit that I don't always experience the community spirit at the masjid (mosque). It can be difficult for Muslim converts who don't yet have a family of their own to feel like they truly belong in a local and already well-established community. I've definitely made some amazing friends whom I wouldn't trade for the world, and I've been active in MSAs and involved in a variety of projects, but there are times when I still feel like an outsider looking in. 

I'm a friendly and talkative person, but as an introvert, I don't thrive in large group settings - especially when there are few people there that I know. I'll smile or offer a salaam, but I'm not that bubbly and outgoing sister who approaches anyone and everyone and strikes up a conversation instantly. There are many times at Jumu'ah (Friday congregational prayer) or Taraweeh (special nightly prayers during the month of Ramadan) when I am surrounded by a sea of unfamiliar faces. As a convert, I didn't grow up with family ties to a particular masjid. Now add in my introversion, the fact that there is no masjid in my city of residence, and the general cultural differences that exist between these communities and the ones in which I was raised. The result is a kind of awkwardness regarding where I fit in.

:::Labels are useful for quick references, but not for authentic
understandings of who people are.

I admit that I am guilty of categorizing Muslims as being more or less conservative, more or less liberal. But it's hard to neatly define these terms. I'm more liberal regarding certain aspects of Islam and slightly more conservative regarding others. Does that make me moderate? Who knows? Whose right is it to determine that, anyway?

Yep, I wear hijab and cover most of my body. But I also wear jeans and enjoy experimenting with the style of my scarf. You don't have to sacrifice fashion and personal expression as a Muslimah. It was difficult for me when a middle-aged Arab woman told my colleague at the time that I should start wearing skirts and looser-fitting clothing now that I was Muslim. Her excitement upon learning that I was a convert was quickly swept aside and traded in for criticism of my style of dress. (That day, I was wearing business casual pants, a long-sleeve cardigan sweater, and my scarf.) Although I'm sure she had nothing but good intentions, I couldn't help feeling annoyed. After all, I had just begun wearing the hijab a year earlier and had only been Muslim for two. I was proud of myself for already wearing the headscarf and for being at a strong and positive place along my spiritual journey. I didn't appreciate being put down just because I chose to wear pants instead of a skirt to my internship.

I'm a hijab-wearing, music-playing, poetry-writing, non-vegetarian, gay-rights advocate and practicing Muslim.

People hold certain expectations, good and bad. Non-Muslims are intimidated by what they view as a long list of restrictions and prohibitions in Islam. They worry that I'll discard my interests and my personality in the process of growing in my faith. At the same time, some Muslims may be worried that I'm influenced too much by the infamous "WEST." My values are my values. They're guided by formal religion, by informal spirituality and self-reflection, by cultural background, and by life experiences. I pray daily and strive to fulfill the five pillars of Islam, I avoid pork and alcohol, and I try to dress modestly while simultaneously watching The Bachelorette (it became my TV guilty pleasure a couple summers ago), supporting equality and social justice, and enjoying music as an art form and a hobby. I don't claim to be superior or inferior.

I believe in the importance of context and circumstance. I believe in the beautiful, eternal, and all-encompassing message of Islam which touches all lives, without boundaries in time and space. Allah and His teachings are always relevant and forever accessible. But I also believe that, when applying teachings in a given society today, it's important to understand the historical tradition of Islam and the context in which certain verses in the Qur'an were revealed and in which the Prophet (peace be upon him) lived. These two ideas are not opposites of one another. It's a puzzle we'll work on completing for the rest of our lives.

:::Proficiency in Arabic is not a criterion for being Muslim.

One of the most common questions I am asked by random (Muslim) strangers is whether or not I know Arabic. Sometimes it is the second or third question following, "Are you Muslim/Are you a convert?" This inquiry is innocent enough and likely the product of curiosity, but I find it to be pointless nonetheless. Knowledge of Arabic is a wonderful and helpful thing in Islam. Becoming fluent in the language can help with tajweed (recitation of the Qur'an), tafsir (commentary on the Qur'an to help one comprehend meaning), and everyday communication with Muslims (including religious scholars and teachers) whose native tongue is Arabic. There are obvious benefits, and I deeply admire those who strive to learn the language - especially those who go on to memorize the Qur'an in its entirety. (Note: Such a person is called a hafiz.) But I am not proficient in Arabic, and I probably never will be. Does that make me less of a true Muslim? I don't think so, yet this has occasionally given me an inferiority complex.

Don't get me wrong; I hope to improve my Arabic skills, and I will always be supportive of friends and family who have goals related to fluency. But so far, I haven't had many resources or opportunities to learn Arabic. I am still wholly dependent on the Roman transliteration in my Qur'an. I've been using free online tutorials to improve my recitation, and I've attempted to teach myself some of the characters... the latter without much success. The whole use-it-or-lose-it philosophy is a pretty valid one. A few months of learning followed by many months of failing to re-visit said information is not a procedure conducive to mastering a language. I remember a lot of the French I learned in middle school, high school, and college, but a lot has also faded over time. I love learning languages, but I don't see fluency in Arabic as being a feasible and realistic goal for me. Despite this, I am doing the best that I can, and I hope that those around me are able to appreciate that.

:::I am not a representative for the global Muslim community
Nor is some Muslim person or governing body in the Middle East a representative.

As I've said time and time again, Islam is not a monolith. I love Islam, but I don't always love or endorse what Muslims do at home or abroad. If you read my previous post, you'll know my feelings on such customs as honor killings, gender violence, and punishing women who have survived rape. There are Muslims who commit horrible acts of violence and oppression, and I hate the idea that Fox News viewers sit around their living rooms assuming that my religious identity implies that I condone this behavior. I don't like corrupt government officials who massacre their own people any more than you do, nor do I like the poor treatment of women in the United States, Asia, or anywhere else. I should not be placed on a pedestal for being a convert, seen as superior by those who were raised Muslim, but I should also not be viewed as a terrorist-enabler or a victim of oppression just because I decided Islam was right for me. I don't care to be treated as a trophy - borrowing the words of Kompier - or an affiliate. I'm just me, and I happen to be Muslim. 

Maybe, someday, those words will suffice.

Embrace.