The idea of blogging was suggested by a friend, so if it’s crap please let me know and I will be more than happy to blame them.
The aim of this blog is not simple. It is not merely a forum in which I can express my entire life story. It is a place where I can disappear into myself by disclosing certain details in my life, in the hope to connect with people in similar situations.
What situation am I in?
Well my family are Muslim and by being a part of this family, for the time being, I too was brought up with Islamic teachings. But there’s one slight problem…I’m gay. I think that’s the first time I’ve actually written that and to be honest it feels terrifying.
This blog will be the arena to harbour the conflicts I’ve faced, still facing and have yet to face, in the bid to hopefully tell my family who I really am and for them to accept me. I realise my writing style and or topics are not for everyone, however if you do decide to stick around. I’d be grateful for any words of support, criticism or just for others who are trapped in their own void to open up on this secure site.
I believe in equality for all and never to judge others until full knowledge is gained of their situation. But I know not everyone lives by that, as you will come to see in future posts.
Hey I’m back after so long, apologies I got caught up with life so I didn’t really have time to reflect or I wasn’t in a safe place to do so. But I’m here now and that’s all that matters right?
Ok so I want to talk about change on this post, change is a funny thing. Sometimes it can be a good, bad or just plain inconvenient however due to some module choices this year I have been exposed to material exploring what the dimensions of sexuality and gender are. So what? So I find myself having trouble facing the material, facing the words on the pages that others seem to skim by whilst my eyes remain stuck on the same words: homosexuality, gay, lesbian, transgender etc.
It’s stupid really, it shouldn’t bother me but it does. I hate how comfortably people can talk about the subject yet within myself I feel my heart hesitating, questioning itself whether it’s safe to engage in such debates. Why? Because it means I need to actually stop running from everything and face this brick wall that I always keep breaking my nose on. Culture, society, parents, these words buzz around my ears as influences on identities are touched upon; awareness of the effects that each and every one of those words has on someone’s identity I only know too well. Or do I? I mean here I am indulging in my hidden identity away from the supposedly happy go lucky mask, yet I’m not sure what this person is like and I guess it’s time to change that.
Sexuality within the texts I’m reading are described as something that is fluid and cannot be defined by the categories that humans love oh so much. Ok I can see that and am inclined to agree that people should stop trying to make boxes because there will always be people who never quite make it in. However I cam across a programme and it discussed the popularity of people (in America) going to places to get therapy to try and cure their ‘same-sex attractions’ . Now, like I said, I agree that sexuality is fluid and can change but for some reason people seeking out ‘therapy’ to change themselves so much because of such pressures from society, culture and their families was repulsive but attractive at the same time. I mean if you’ve read my other posts you’ll know that if/when I confront my parents (the brick wall) it will either break or break me in the sense I will either lose myself or I lose my family due to their views. So if there’s a chance, a way to change so that this brick wall could somehow magically disappear surely it should be an option to consider?
But then I jolt back to reality, where the success rates of such therapy aren’t proven nor do I actually believe I could repress myself so much to change into something, again, that I don’t know. And as much as I know that I will not subject myself to such methods of control, it is like everything else, it is an option.
I actually hate this word. Hate the topic and everything and anything that is related to it. Why? Because it’s never the marriage I would want nor could actually happen for me.
One annoying thing about the culture of Asian people, especially for girls is that everyone wants you to get married and after that you can continue your life because then you’d be your husband’s responsibility essentially. As much as my parents are supportive of my stubborn want to continue my education and pursue a high demanding career, the question of when will it be my turn is looming ever closer.
Many of my Asian friends are married or are engaged to be and even if their mothers are joking when they keep asking when I’m going to join them, I laugh and politely say I have no plans too. However my mother insists on ‘letting me finish my studies first.’ And whenever we discuss the topic…well it’s not really a discussion I blatantly tell my mother I never, ever want to get married my career choice won’t allow for such distractions blah blah blah. Yet she never listens.
As a result of relatives and friends getting married I find myself attending more and more of them. I’m not sure if any of you guys have been to an Asian wedding but basically you have to doll up to the max because it’s not just a wedding. It’s a chance for other families to have a look at the single girls/guys and place potential inquiries into if such personal are interesting in getting married. Problem. Well problems , One I hate dressing up…but I do, only for these occasions to keep my mother happy and two because I am now dressed up with a splash of make up I actually look like a viable candidate for marriage, in the Asian sense.
So usually at these events I try to lay low and not draw attention to myself to avoid these awkward questions and to throw my mum off the trail I’ll fire out some things I’d want at my imaginary marriage. For example it would be at a zoo, I’d ride in on an elephant and leave on a giraffe…you know things that would never happen.
However as I’ve seen the happiness and celebrations I’ve caught myself thinking if I ever found the right girl would all this be open for me? Would my family be there to smile in pride? Would I have the sparkly dress? Where would I even get married? And the sad reality is even if I find the girl of my dreams, I’ll never have the wedding I would want.
So I’m back from University for summer now…again. It’s scary how time stops for no one, no matter what’s happening or who you’re with, time is always moving .
And with University loading on the work time is slipping my fingers more than ever, I noticed this especially when I realised I hadn’t come home as often as I did in first year. No matter, I’m back now and my mum really wanted me to come with her to the Mosque on Sunday morning. As there is lessons on how to read the Qur’an and learn its meanings and such. I used to go every week whilst I lived at home and I detested the classes, not because I was bad or anything, I guess it was because I felt it was futile as I know what I am and Islam don’t mix.
But I could see going would mean a lot to my mum and after a lot of persuasion I decided to go and be a show pony to all of her friends and see all the people I used to read with. I entered the Mosque with a negative attitude, thinking that it was a waste of time and these people didn’t actually care for me. However with familiar faces filing through the door and to my surprise, their faces lit up when they saw me. I got hugs, smiles and genuine interest off of these people, it was funny as I never saw this side to them when I had attended regularly. I even surprised myself when it came to reading the set passage of that class, I found myself reading as fluently as ever, but with a few hesitations here and there. What surprised me the most that the techniques and pronunciations of the Arabic words I tended to ignore when I attended normally were flowing from my mouth as though I’d always read that way.
I sat there listening to the other girls reading and then we came to translation. One of my friends translated the passage that is known as the ‘Witness’ section in the Qur’an. Some of the teachings were familiar and I had no problems with, however after each line there was always reference to Allah’s forgiveness. Allah will forgive if you ask, Allah knows the secrets in your heart…
As these words floated around me, I started to wonder if there was actually hope that Allah might not smite my entire existence on the spot. I’ve been told if you have any questions you should ask them during prayer, I know some of you are of different faiths or have none at all so I’m sorry if you don’t agree with anything but I’ve always wanted Allah to give me a sign or something that all hope is not lost for me. And maybe this was it?
However I’m not so sure but the month of Ramadan is approaching and I will be asking Allah for answers so if I get any I’ll let you know!
If you have any questions please ask but again I want this to be a safe and caring forum so no bashing of form will be tolerated.
So even after reading the first post you’ve decided to stick around? Cool, welcome aboard. I can’t promise smooth sailings or pretty views but I can guarantee for some thought provoking material on the behaviour and actual happenings in the life of some who feel they have no voice. Or those who have a voice but feel they can only use it when they are protected by their masks.
Masks are funny things, we all hide things from others. That’s just normal life, right?
But what happens when you become so isolated from the very people who should love you unconditionally that your mask evolves into another persona? The quiet, scared and lost person struggling to breathe beneath the conforming smile. The person who only appears in the silence of night, you’re own vampire if you will, because if you look in the mirror it’s not them who’s looking back at you. No. It’s your mask, staring back with hollow, knowing eyes and you stare back, hoping it will never break because when it does it won’t be something you forget. Ever.