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Theme Changer

 Topic: Iceman's Journey

 (Read 6580 times)
  • 1« Previous thread | Next thread »
  • Iceman's Journey
     OP - September 01, 2013, 03:08 AM

    I'm not entirely sure why I'm compelled to start a topic in this section of the forum. I haven't had a difficult life. I haven't had to overcome seemingly insurmountable adversity. I was born and raised in an ostensibly secular country--the US of A--which, although religious as far as polls and surveys go, was a safe place where I never had to worry about persecution. My family, though devoutly Islamic, were not horrible people. In fact, they were incredibly supportive and loving. Progressive, even, as far as Muslims go (which, I suppose, is not saying much, because Islam doesn't really allow for "progress." But it still means something, as I've read enough horror stories on this forum by members whose families were incredibly strict/conservative, and I'm thankful I wasn't raised in such an environment). I'm male, which means I never had to put up with the sexist and unfair restrictions Islam places on women.

    In other words, not all that difficult or, consequently, interesting to read about. So why am I creating this thread if I feel it won't be terribly interesting to read? Perhaps the Scotch I've been sipping on all evening has sufficiently loosened my fingers. Perhaps it's because I feel I have the occasional interesting thing to say. Perhaps it's because, whether anybody else reads this or not, whether anybody else cares about it or not, my journey has been significant to me personally, and writing about it is cathartic for me. Perhaps it's because I haven't ever truly been able to express this to anybody who understands what it's like to be Muslim--what it's like to have been Muslim, and this is the only place where I've felt any validation for the decision I made seven years ago--the decision to apostasize.

    I was originally going to start at the beginning (a very good place to start!) with my childhood, religious upbringing, and my apostasy, but I don't feel like writing about that at the moment. Maybe I'll go into it in a later post. Besides, I discussed most of that in my introduction thread.

    Instead, maybe I'll briefly touch on what I think prompted me to start this thread: loneliness. Not loneliness in the strict sense; I've got plenty of friends, a handful of very close friends, a healthy social life, and no problem meeting new people. But they are all non-Muslims; some of them are religious, most of them are not, but none of them quite understands what it's like to escape the gravitational pull of Islam. And tonight I've been thinking about my family. My little sister, my younger cousins, and how we all understand both our family and our culture/religion, and how much I'd love to be able to knock back a few drinks with them and talk about how awful Islam is. The only problem is, of course, that I am the only person in my family that is an atheist, as far as I can tell. I have planted and encouraged subtle seeds of doubt in their (my sister's and cousins') minds, and I continue to water the seeds whenever possible. But ultimately, it's out of my hands. I love them and I'm very close to them, but I hate being unable to tell them about my apostasy. Unbelief is a state of mind at which a person must arrive on their own.

    And, in my experience, belief/religion is like quicksand. A sudden shock causes acute struggle, and acute struggle only makes it harder to escape. The quicksand sucks you in harder. To escape it, one must use gradual and delicate strokes. The problem is, believers don't realize they're in quicksand. So as much as I'd like to call up my little sis and say, "listen, I don't believe in god or Islam anymore. I haven't believed since I was your age, and you shouldn't believe either because of reasons x, y and z," I can't do that. It would shock her, make her react strongly, perhaps even violently, and it would be counterproductive. The quicksand would only strengthen its hold on her. It would make her more religious, and make her try to bring me back to the "right path." Therefore, I must instead be patient. Encourage her to slowly and delicately climb her way out of the quagmire that is Islam. Only when she escapes it will she realize that she was even in it to begin with. At least, that's the way it was with me.

    I know I have to be patient. But sometimes, it can be so hard to sit around doing nothing. Waiting, feeling helpless. I can only hope it'll pay off someday.
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #1 - September 01, 2013, 08:54 AM

    Interesting post.

    `But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked.
     `Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat: `we're all mad here. I'm mad.  You're mad.'
     `How do you know I'm mad?' said Alice.
     `You must be,' said the Cat, `or you wouldn't have come here.'
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #2 - September 01, 2013, 09:06 AM

    I liked the metaphorical analogy of the quicksand, I can relate to it.

    "Make anyone believe their own knowledge and logic is insufficient and you'll have a puppet susceptible to manipulation."
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #3 - September 01, 2013, 01:28 PM

    Quote
    Not loneliness in the strict sense; I've got plenty of friends, a handful of very close friends, a healthy social life, and no problem meeting new people. But they are all non-Muslims; some of them are religious, most of them are not, but none of them quite understands what it's like to escape the gravitational pull of Islam.


    Totally
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #4 - September 02, 2013, 12:45 AM

    Yay! Another American!  dance Cool username by the way.

    fuck you
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #5 - September 02, 2013, 07:16 AM

    I liked the metaphorical analogy of the quicksand, I can relate to it.


    Yes it's a great analogy.

    And it is very true that only once you have escaped a religious ideology, do you realise you were trapped in the first place.

    Thanks for sharing Smiley

  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #6 - September 04, 2013, 01:29 AM

    Thanks for the responses!

    I recently started graduate school in a new city I'm not very familiar with, and yesterday I saw a flier on campus about a "non-theists" organization. Apparently the first meeting of the year is tomorrow. I'm going to check it out, and maybe see if I can do something about that loneliness business I mentioned.
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #7 - September 04, 2013, 01:41 AM

    It isn't in New England is it?  Tongue

    fuck you
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #8 - September 04, 2013, 02:18 AM

    Nope, it's in the Midwest... although I grew up in New England (not that that's relevant, lol).
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #9 - September 04, 2013, 02:32 AM

    Oh really? What part? I live in New England now and have lived a few diff places in this region at diff times. Miss Philly though :( Mid-Atlantic > New England

    fuck you
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #10 - July 09, 2014, 12:43 AM

    When I was in high school, almost ten years ago, I had this acquaintance, a fellow student--let's call him Ryan. Ryan, like 96% of my high school's population, was white and had been raised Christian. He was unique, however, in that instead of growing indifferent to religion at an early age like most of my fellow students, he began to question his parents' faith and look at the alternatives. Islam, in particular, intrigued him. At this stage in life, I was still a devout Muslim; it would be another three years before I cast off the chains of Islam. And since there were very few Muslims in my school--like I said above, 96% of students were some variation of white and most likely Catholic or Protestant, and you could count the number of Muslims on one hand--it was no coincidence that Ryan approached me in his pursuit to learn about Islam. Ryan was a film and moviemaking enthusiast, and he was enrolled in a class that required him to complete some kind of project. For his project, he chose to make a documentary on Islam. As part of his documentary, he interviewed me, and I introduced him to the owner of the local masjid where he interviewed more folks and obtained some literature about Islam.

    Ryan and I were, like I said, mostly just acquaintances, and we didn't really keep in touch after graduating high school. Still, I learned that a couple years later he had converted to Islam. Just as I was freeing myself and taking my first sips of alcohol, he was submitting to Allah and drinking the Islamic Kool-Aid. A few more years passed, and what I had assumed would be a phase turned out to be permanent--Ryan was still Muslim, complete with beard and Quranic posts on his Facebook page. Several years later still, he became engaged to a hijaabi. There were times when I felt guilty, as I had long since concluded that Islam was a load of nonsense, and I felt as if I'd reached out to Ryan from my perch on a sinking ship and helped him up onto the deck, only to realize the vessel was sinking and abandon the ship some time later. But I assuaged my guilt by telling myself that he was already set to join the ranks of Islam when I met him, that the things I'd told him had been informative and not persuasive, that he would have become a Muslim regardless of whether or not he'd met me. Anyway, I had not been the only Muslim he spoke to before his conversion; there were many others.

    Fast forward to present day. While speaking to my mother on the phone, she informed me that she'd met Ryan at the masjid during Iftar a few days ago. Ryan and I have not met or spoken in nearly a decade, but according to my mother, he credits me to this day for his conversion, saying that of all the Muslims he'd consulted, my words stuck with him the most.

    I tell myself that my own apostasy was a sort of atonement for the sin of giving Allah one more follower, but I still feel bad for having sent someone down that awful path, even if it was unknowingly. Alas.  whistling2
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #11 - July 09, 2014, 04:28 AM

    Everyone takes their own path through life. I don't think it's fair to blame yourself for Ryan's conversion when he ultimately made that decision himself. You may have exposed him to more information on Islam but he wouldn't have taken that path if he didn't have the initial interest.

    So chill and have another, preferably a peaty Islay single malt Wink

    I wonder why converts to Islam are sometimes much more vigorous (and rigorous) practitioners compared to those born into Muslim families. All that intellectual effort to justify entering Islam could have convinced them that it's just another manmade construct but it led them the other way. Maybe, once inside, they felt they had to do more to prove their faith compare to born Muslims? I don't know... my own effort to justify Islam while being a Muslim ended with me leaving the faith.
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #12 - July 09, 2014, 04:59 AM

    Yay, update! dance

    `But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked.
     `Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat: `we're all mad here. I'm mad.  You're mad.'
     `How do you know I'm mad?' said Alice.
     `You must be,' said the Cat, `or you wouldn't have come here.'
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #13 - August 18, 2014, 02:53 AM

    Everyone takes their own path through life. I don't think it's fair to blame yourself for Ryan's conversion when he ultimately made that decision himself. You may have exposed him to more information on Islam but he wouldn't have taken that path if he didn't have the initial interest.

    So chill and have another, preferably a peaty Islay single malt Wink

    I wonder why converts to Islam are sometimes much more vigorous (and rigorous) practitioners compared to those born into Muslim families. All that intellectual effort to justify entering Islam could have convinced them that it's just another manmade construct but it led them the other way. Maybe, once inside, they felt they had to do more to prove their faith compare to born Muslims? I don't know... my own effort to justify Islam while being a Muslim ended with me leaving the faith.

    Oh my, I read your response but forgot to respond! After reading your post and reflecting on it, I decided you're right. Ultimately, a person's decision is their own. It's up to them to weigh everything they've read or been told or experienced, it's up to them to do their own sufficient research, and it's up to them to come to the right conclusion about all of it. If they come to the wrong conclusion, it's on them and noone else.

    Your comment on converts being stronger practitioners than born-ins is also interesting, because I've noticed it in my own (former) Muslim community. There aren't a lot of converts, but the few there are tend to go all-out. I think some of it definitely has to do with proving themselves, especially since most immigrant Muslims are older and conservative, and while I've certainly heard them boast fondly about their masjid's latest white convert, I still get the sense that deep down, they subconsciously view these converts as novelties, like a child or a pet who can do an impressive trick; behind the "mashallah, mashallah," there's a sense of "yes, but he's not a real born and bred Muslim like me." And subconsciously, maybe those converts sense it too and feel the need to prove that they're real Muslims. I don't know, at least this is how I feel about the older Muslims in the masjid I grew up around. Subsequent generations might not have this bias.

    Also, funny you should mention Islay single malt... I love me some peaty single malts. My favorites from Isla are probably Kilchoman (even though it's new!) and Bowmore. However, currently I'm chilling with some Jura 10 year, which is nice but not as good.

    Yay, update! dance

    Haha, thanks. I figured the only person who cared about this was me.

    Oh really? What part? I live in New England now and have lived a few diff places in this region at diff times. Miss Philly though :( Mid-Atlantic > New England

    Sorry, realized I never responded to this either! I might be a year late, but Connecticut.
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #14 - August 18, 2014, 02:58 AM

    I recently returned from a visit back home. Going home is strange, especially for a whole two weeks. The fact that I caught the last week of Ramadan didn't help. I feel that many of us ex-Muslims are individuals who, like some reptiles, occasionally shed their skin. We slough off old personality traits and beliefs to make room for new ones; some of us discard the old skin--a creepy, hollow exoskeleton of our former selves--permanently, while some of us keep it tucked away in case we need to use it again. Whenever I go back home, I feel like I have to disguise myself in my old skin (which makes for a disturbing Hannibal Lecter image if you take it too literally...). My old skin is uncomfortable. It's stifling.

    I remember reading a post somewhat recently on this forum about how many ex-Muslims have a hard time moving on from their apostasy because they define themselves by it. I don't remember who made that post, but it rang very true for me. So much of my identity is tied up with the fact that I'm ex-Muslim instead of other things, like my views on social issues, my tastes in music and whisky and literature, my hobbies, etc. In my daily life, the ex-Muslim part generally takes a back seat because Islam is not shoved in my face, so I don't feel the need to constantly think about it. But when I visit home, it's there 24/7, constantly staring me in the eye. When I'm at home, confronted with my father who asks why I didn't go to jumma, or my mother who asks me if I've prayed Zuhr, who tells me she's going to read Quran, who tells me about the latest event at the masjid. Sometimes, it's simply because I want a sip of beer since I haven't had any in weeks. My mind is near constantly filled with critical thoughts of Islam. It's hard not to think about it, and all I can think about is my apostasy, my ex-Muslimness. When I'm at home, it comes to the forefront. It defines me more than ever, and I have to (choose to) hide it.

    While I was home, my mother surprised me by asking me during a conversation about life whether or not I'd ever tasted beer or alcohol. Her tone was one of genuine curiosity, not judgment. I told her matter-of-factly I had, during college. I strongly implied that it was a one time thing, a phase (which was a lie). She said she suspected as much--again, not judgmental--because it's hard to grow up in Western society and not be exposed to these things. Then she went on to talk about one of our relatives, a cousin of mine who'd gone through a heavy drinking phase in high school and college and gotten into all sorts of trouble over it (school suspensions, run-ins with police, etc.). She said she was happy and proud that I was not the type of person who would let something like that happen to me. I guess she's right--I mean, I love alcohol, I love whisky and vodka and brandy and craft beers. I certainly drink more than the average person around me, but I don't drink to excess. I don't drink to the point where it causes problems in other aspects of my life. But how could I tell her that I, her youngest beloved son, still drink alcohol and would probably (in her view) go to hell for it? How could I tell her I disregard Islam's most important tenets without breaking her heart?

    My mother wants very much to be close to me, wants me to be able to confide in her. She is an amazing, caring human being, and I credit her for my becoming the person I am today. Sometimes she laments that I don't make as much of an effort as she does, that I am closed-off and uncommunicative and even cold. The truth is, I really do want to talk to her about my life, tell her about some of these things, but I can't. Not without causing her immense grief and heartache. So I don't.

    She also talked about another relative of ours who has developed some Islamically questionable beliefs because he's been reading various websites that "led him astray." She says that these websites distort the true Islam. Only she knows the true Islam, I guess, or at least the murshads and maulanas she follows do--not some websites on the internet. If I ever confronted her with all the things we discuss here on the CEMB forums, she would just say that they're manipulations and distortions by people who are not real Muslims, or who are anti-Muslim. Wouldn't matter how logical the arguments were--she is an emotional person, not a logical one. I inherited my emotional side from her, and my logical temperament from my father (though he never carried his logical side as far as we do, and the idea of disbelieving in god would be ludicrous to him). She loves her Allah. She needs her Allah. Without Him, she'd probably be lost and sink into a deep depression.

    And I realized that I think that's where most of my identity issues stem from. I want to be open with my family about my beliefs, but I can't do that without causing them huge amounts of anguish. I don't think they would ever accept it, and quite frankly I don't want to test it. It's great being able to open up to fellow non-religionists, atheists, and ex-Muslims like you guys. It genuinely is, and I am extremely grateful for this community. It has saved me from feeling alone as an ex-Muslim and going insane. But how do I move on and stop defining myself by my apostasy without addressing the root of the problem--my family?
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #15 - August 18, 2014, 02:59 AM

    Interesting thoughts on white converts.

    `But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked.
     `Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat: `we're all mad here. I'm mad.  You're mad.'
     `How do you know I'm mad?' said Alice.
     `You must be,' said the Cat, `or you wouldn't have come here.'
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #16 - August 18, 2014, 03:48 AM


     It has saved me from feeling alone as an ex-Muslim and going insane. But how do I move on and stop defining myself by my apostasy without addressing the root of the problem--my family?


    I do not know, truly, how to do move on at all and not see murtad as my primary identity. Most of the time I think of myself still as Muslim, without even meaning to. I cannot seem to shake it.
    So I do not know. But you do have my sympathies, and I think this self-awareness is a good thing, you can get somewhere with it. Keep working on it. I hope someone else has decent advice.

    Don't let Hitler have the street.
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #17 - August 18, 2014, 08:22 AM

    Me too, still see myself as "ex muslim" although this feeling is gradually fading into a nothingness, a kind of lost identity, all that coming from a convert who spent a majority of her life as a catholic.  The only thing you can do is view the "murtad" label in a positive light, accept what you are, don't allow it to define you as a person, i have no good advice either, just the obvious stuff..  :/

    From my experience white converts were generally never accepted by the community as a real muslim, many believed one should have muslim heritage, as a result converts bend over backwards to prove themselves worthy and become fundamentalists, salafis only to burn themselves out completely and apostacize eventually, the ones that do decide to stay in islam are either content with their lifestyle, trapped in a marriage or are too afraid to step out of it because they have lost their identity as a real person.  I'd give a convert a couple of years to realise islam is fake, eventually they come to their senses, you'd have to be born into islam, conditioned from birth to mindlessly accept it as truth.
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #18 - August 18, 2014, 09:22 AM

    I do not know, truly, how to do move on at all and not see murtad as my primary identity. Most of the time I think of myself still as Muslim, without even meaning to. I cannot seem to shake it.
    So I do not know. But you do have my sympathies, and I think this self-awareness is a good thing, you can get somewhere with it. Keep working on it. I hope someone else has decent advice.

    I honestly understand what you mean, I still sometimes find myself saying Bismillah ir-Rahman ir-Rahim before I eat food.

    Build a man a fire, and he'll be warm for a day. Set a man on fire, and he'll be warm for the rest of his life. - Terry Pratchett
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #19 - August 18, 2014, 12:50 PM

    I recently returned from a visit back home. Going home is strange, especially for a whole two weeks. The fact that I caught the last week of Ramadan didn't help. I feel that many of us ex-Muslims are individuals who, like some reptiles, occasionally shed their skin. We slough off old personality traits and beliefs to make room for new ones; some of us discard the old skin--a creepy, hollow exoskeleton of our former selves--permanently, while some of us keep it tucked away in case we need to use it again. Whenever I go back home, I feel like I have to disguise myself in my old skin (which makes for a disturbing Hannibal Lecter image if you take it too literally...). My old skin is uncomfortable. It's stifling.

    I remember reading a post somewhat recently on this forum about how many ex-Muslims have a hard time moving on from their apostasy because they define themselves by it. I don't remember who made that post, but it rang very true for me. So much of my identity is tied up with the fact that I'm ex-Muslim instead of other things, like my views on social issues, my tastes in music and whisky and literature, my hobbies, etc. In my daily life, the ex-Muslim part generally takes a back seat because Islam is not shoved in my face, so I don't feel the need to constantly think about it. But when I visit home, it's there 24/7, constantly staring me in the eye. When I'm at home, confronted with my father who asks why I didn't go to jumma, or my mother who asks me if I've prayed Zuhr, who tells me she's going to read Quran, who tells me about the latest event at the masjid. Sometimes, it's simply because I want a sip of beer since I haven't had any in weeks. My mind is near constantly filled with critical thoughts of Islam. It's hard not to think about it, and all I can think about is my apostasy, my ex-Muslimness. When I'm at home, it comes to the forefront. It defines me more than ever, and I have to (choose to) hide it.

    While I was home, my mother surprised me by asking me during a conversation about life whether or not I'd ever tasted beer or alcohol. Her tone was one of genuine curiosity, not judgment. I told her matter-of-factly I had, during college. I strongly implied that it was a one time thing, a phase (which was a lie). She said she suspected as much--again, not judgmental--because it's hard to grow up in Western society and not be exposed to these things. Then she went on to talk about one of our relatives, a cousin of mine who'd gone through a heavy drinking phase in high school and college and gotten into all sorts of trouble over it (school suspensions, run-ins with police, etc.). She said she was happy and proud that I was not the type of person who would let something like that happen to me. I guess she's right--I mean, I love alcohol, I love whisky and vodka and brandy and craft beers. I certainly drink more than the average person around me, but I don't drink to excess. I don't drink to the point where it causes problems in other aspects of my life. But how could I tell her that I, her youngest beloved son, still drink alcohol and would probably (in her view) go to hell for it? How could I tell her I disregard Islam's most important tenets without breaking her heart?

    My mother wants very much to be close to me, wants me to be able to confide in her. She is an amazing, caring human being, and I credit her for my becoming the person I am today. Sometimes she laments that I don't make as much of an effort as she does, that I am closed-off and uncommunicative and even cold. The truth is, I really do want to talk to her about my life, tell her about some of these things, but I can't. Not without causing her immense grief and heartache. So I don't.

    She also talked about another relative of ours who has developed some Islamically questionable beliefs because he's been reading various websites that "led him astray." She says that these websites distort the true Islam. Only she knows the true Islam, I guess, or at least the murshads and maulanas she follows do--not some websites on the internet. If I ever confronted her with all the things we discuss here on the CEMB forums, she would just say that they're manipulations and distortions by people who are not real Muslims, or who are anti-Muslim. Wouldn't matter how logical the arguments were--she is an emotional person, not a logical one. I inherited my emotional side from her, and my logical temperament from my father (though he never carried his logical side as far as we do, and the idea of disbelieving in god would be ludicrous to him). She loves her Allah. She needs her Allah. Without Him, she'd probably be lost and sink into a deep depression.

    And I realized that I think that's where most of my identity issues stem from. I want to be open with my family about my beliefs, but I can't do that without causing them huge amounts of anguish. I don't think they would ever accept it, and quite frankly I don't want to test it. It's great being able to open up to fellow non-religionists, atheists, and ex-Muslims like you guys. It genuinely is, and I am extremely grateful for this community. It has saved me from feeling alone as an ex-Muslim and going insane. But how do I move on and stop defining myself by my apostasy without addressing the root of the problem--my family?


    Weird. Part about mum really hits home.

    Identity is a weird thing. Currently I identify as a student, and a footballer. Not too permanent these things, but hey.

    And the part about being estranged from family is also so true. Feel like that's likely to be the path I go down too. Not much we can do about it though, other than start our own families maybe.  Tongue

    how fuck works without shit??


    Let's Play Chess!

    harakaat, friend, RIP
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #20 - September 10, 2016, 02:05 AM

    Oh, wow, it has been over 2 years since I posted in this thread, and probably many months since I last posted on CEMB at all. It's amazing how much I value this community, yet have found myself coming around to it so little lately. Maybe that's a good sign. Maybe that means I think of myself less as an ex-Muslim and more as just a regular person.

    I've had a few interesting experiences since my last message. From the beginning, family has been one of the hardest aspects of being an ex-Muslim--specifically, the feeling of being alone, unable to talk to them about my unbelief. Last year, I visited some of my cousins during a trip. I've always been very close to these particular cousins; they've always felt more like sisters to me than cousins. During one particular night of this trip, I found myself hanging out with a couple of them late at night, chatting about all sorts of random things when, after the conversation had strayed to the topic of religion, all of a sudden, one of them checked the door to make sure it was closed and that some of our other family members (sleeping in various other rooms) couldn't hear us. Then she confided that she had a lot of issues with the Quran and with Islam and its numerous rules and rituals, and that, though she still believed in a god/creator, she no longer believed Islam to be true. She asked me what I thought about this, what my opinions, were, and I basically agreed. Then, sensing I was holding back, she straight up asked me if I thought there was a god. I caved but tried to maintain a sort of agnostic position, saying "I think it's irrelevant whether or not there's a god. We should strive to be good people regardless of whether or not there is a god, regardless of whether or not there's a reward." And she knew, then, at that moment, that I didn't believe in god.

    And she didn't care. Not one bit. No judgment, no nothing. We just went on talking. I've had conversations before with some cousins about my issues with Islam, but I'd never told any of them I flat out didn't believe any of it or that I didn't believe in god. Until then. And she didn't care at all. We're still just as close, or even closer, now. It is incredibly liberating to know that others in my family have arrived at some of the same conclusions as me, and that the love between us really is unconditional.

    More recently, I found myself with yet another cousin--one whom I was close to when younger, but from whom I've drifted apart in recent years because he's grown to be ultra-religious. Once upon a time, he was, in many ways, a slightly younger version of myself, and I'd thought he would follow in my footsteps and begin to doubt (and ultimately leave) Islam. Instead, he swung the other direction and has continuously sought to increase his deen. I've never even considered sharing my views with him because I felt he would simply find them to be shocking. Well, a couple weeks ago, I found myself sharing a 5 hour car ride with him. I was driving, and he was the only passenger. Naturally, we conversed about all sorts of things, but, unexpectedly, during the last hour or so, we began talking about religion, and he flat out asked me, "What about you? I've noticed that you've gotten less religious over the last several years."

    My first instinct in such a situation is to lie and say something like, "Maybe I'm less outwardly religious, but I still believe."

    However, I've found it harder and harder to do that as time has gone on. I think I'm simply starting to get tired of lying about believing in Islam, or in god. So, instead, I went for a more noncommittal "Yeah, well, I don't care so much for all the details and rituals now," trying to maintain the illusion that I still believed in the core of Islam but not the periphery. He said that he's met others like me, some of whom have outright left Islam, and that he finds it interesting, and that he doesn't care--the important thing is whether or not they're a good person.

    "Do you believe in the Quran?" he asked, pressing further.

    "There are a lot of things I don't agree with," I said.

    "Would you still consider yourself Muslim?" he asked.

    I pretended to think about it, then said, "No. I guess not."

    And, even though he's a staunch believer, he didn't seem to care. He found it interesting--albeit, in the same way Westerners once found (and sometimes still find) Eastern cultures exotic and interesting, being fascinated by yet not really understanding them--but interesting nonetheless. I told him we'd have to discuss it in more detail sometime. Maybe next time, I'll bring up some of the many issues present in Islam and in the Quran. Maybe he's more reasonable than I once thought.


    Anyway, I don't think I'll ever be able to talk to my parents about this stuff. But it appears I may not always have to hide from my relatives and other family members. Maybe someday, I'll be able to simply be myself, without any forethought or pretense.
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #21 - September 10, 2016, 02:09 AM

    I do hope so. What a wonderful way to live.

    Don't let Hitler have the street.
  • Iceman's Journey
     Reply #22 - September 10, 2016, 12:35 PM

    It is wonderful to have people around you who you can trust and accept you.

    The unreligion, only one calorie
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