A piece of cloth over my head

Last year I decided to wear a piece of cloth over my head. Just a square metre of cotton to cover my hair, ears, and neck.

It had been an ongoing debate on my head on why Islam bestow this piece of cloth upon women, as a proof of their devotion.

And now in the middle of a party where everyone dance I open up my laptop to write, because the thought has been bothering me for the past hour.

It’s not Islam who force me to wear the piece of cloth, I chose to do so.

It’s not the piece of cloth that forbid me to drink, smoke, and have sex out of wedlock.

It’s the people.

People are the enforcer of whatever beliefs they held, without anyone ever giving them the authority to do so.

By being a part of the community, I signed a contract to conform, that wearing this piece of cloth as a form of devotion would led people to expect me to be good.

Good. Religious. Devoted. Straight. Composed.

The standards are higher, while men are able to smoke freely, women are judged, and women with the piece of cloth are demonized.

I have to say that it’s just a result of deep thought and humble observation on how people act towards me after I wore this piece of cloth. It cannot, I repeat, cannot be the representation of muslim women since everyone of them have their own views on the matter.

For me myself religiosity is very personal, yet wearing the piece of cloth make it very public. My every moves scrutinized, as if the angels on my shoulders are taking human form to write down my sins in front of my eyes.

I just have to say that people might go astray sometimes. It’s inevitable. And everyone has every right to do so.

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