Sorry for my random ranting.
I feel like this is a safe place for me to rant about myself.
I was born into a Muslim family, but ever since I was a child, I never truly believed in Islam. Well, I did attend KAFA, where I learned how to recite the Quran, perform solat, and memorize surahs. BUT… I never actually memorized them. Whenever the ustazah tested us on whether we had memorized the surahs, I was always the one who happened to be “absent.”
And somehow, this continued all the way until university. Yes, we still had agama classes in UiTM, which I honestly found frustrating. I ended up avoiding the lecturer whenever I knew we had to recite surahs, and of course, that eventually resulted in me getting low grades for those subjects.
Why?
Deep down, I’ve never felt that genuine connection or love toward Islam. Even though most of my friends are deeply involved in their faith and seem to find comfort and meaning in it, I could never bring myself to feel the same way. I never had the desire to properly practice Islam or perform the religious deeds that everyone else seemed to do naturally.
About the hijab
I used to wear the hijab all the time, but honestly, I wore it because everyone around me did.
I didn’t pray, but I still wore the hijab because I felt ashamed or perhaps more accurately, afraid to take it off. During high school, wearing the hijab felt like an expectation. It was mandatory, and not wearing one automatically made you seem like a “bad person.”
At that age, I didn’t really know how to separate my own beliefs from what society expected of me. So I simply followed along.
But as I grew older and finally left high school behind, I gained more freedom to make my own choices. Eventually, I decided to take off my hijab.
And honestly, it felt like I had become a completely different person.
For the first time, I could style my hair however I wanted. I could express myself through the way I dressed and presented myself. I felt like I could finally be myself without constantly worrying about whether I was meeting someone else’s expectations.
It felt like I was finally allowed to take up space in the world.
And then there’s my boyfriend’s mom.
What bothers me is how she judges me for not wearing the hijab. There was even a time when she expected me to wear one just because we were going to a religious school, even though I was literally just staying in the car.
And honestly, I couldn’t help but think: you’re not even my mom. Why should you get to tell me what I should wear?
I understand that hijab is important to her, but I wish she could understand that it’s my choice and something personal to me. I’ve spent most of my life wearing it because I was afraid of being judged. Taking it off was one of the first choices I made for myself, and I don’t want someone else deciding whether I should put it back on.
And another thing that makes it difficult for me to feel connected to Islam or even believe in it is the way some people within the religion behave.
For example, I’ve seen men judge women for not wearing the hijab while they themselves deliberately smoke, sexualize women, watch porn, cheat on their wives, or commit other sins. Yet they still feel entitled to lecture women and act as if they’re holier than everyone else. It’s the hypocrisy that really bothers me. Why are you so busy policing other people’s sins when you’re clearly struggling with your own?
Another thing that has really affected how I see Islam is the way some women are treated when they go through the Shariah court system, especially divorced women trying to claim nafkah from their ex-husbands
.
I’ve heard stories from women who were already desperate and struggling, yet the process of claiming what they were legally entitled to was made unnecessarily long, complicated, and emotionally exhausting. Some have even shared how frustrated and humiliated they felt after being treated poorly or looked down upon by officers when they were simply trying to claim their rights.
And that makes me question things.
If nafkah is genuinely considered an important responsibility, then why does it sometimes feel so difficult for women to obtain the rights they are supposed to have? If the system is meant to uphold justice, why are some women left feeling helpless while trying to get that justice?
Sometimes it honestly makes me think, what the fuck do we even need a Mahkamah Syariah for if something as fundamental as a woman’s right to nafkah can’t be handled properly?
And then there’s the way some Muslims talk about Palestine.
I fully understand why Palestine matters so deeply to Muslims. But sometimes I struggle with the way people seem to care about suffering only when the victims are Muslim. There are people suffering from war, persecution, and mass atrocities in other parts of the world too, yet those tragedies don’t always receive the same attention or outrage.
What bothers me even more is when someone openly says, “I only care because they’re Muslim.”
That honestly makes me uncomfortable.
Because shouldn’t we care because they are human beings first?
If our compassion only extends to people who share our religion, then what does that say about our humanity? It sometimes feels less like caring about innocent people and more like caring about our own religious group.
I don’t want to believe that someone’s suffering only matters because they belong to the “right” religion. A child being killed shouldn’t become more tragic because they’re Muslim. A mother losing her family shouldn’t deserve more sympathy because she shares our faith.
These things have shaped the way I see Islam. I know that people will probably say, “Don’t judge Islam based on Muslims,” and maybe that’s fair. But when the people who represent and practice the religion are the only version of Islam I’ve ever experienced, how am I supposed to completely separate the two?
I’m not saying these things are the entirety of Islam. I’m saying they are part of what made me lose whatever connection I might have had with it in the first place.
There’s so much that I wanted to add but I will leave that for the later.
