Kafir was a nickname given to me by the Muslim community of Tumblr circa 2009. Someone had found my Tumblr and forwarded it to the Muslim community. I didn’t have much on my Tumblr. I reblogged a lot of cat pictures, talked about my day, and posted pictures of myself. One of these pictures happened to be from a banquet I attended with my best friend. Teal dress. Knee high length. Sleeveless. I was also pretty “blessed” in certain areas. This picture went viral and the haram police came. I had already considered myself agnostic long before this. I was receiving death threats for months it seemed. A lot of “you’re not a real Muslim” “your mother is probably so ashamed” “Allah hates you” — everything.
None of this is new to me.
My parents never had time to sit down and teach me stories from the Quran, or even teach me how to pray. They were too busy trying to make sure my siblings and I had food on our plates. My brothers never had the time either, they all worked full time and went to school full time.
I never doubted my place in Islam when I was younger. I was loved and I was taught how to love. Islam was that to me. My mother would tell me that taking care of plants and animals is part of Islam, and if I help her water the plants then Allah will be so proud of me. She said if I’m nice to my brothers and stay quiet while they study, Allah would help them pass their classes.
At night, my mother told me stories of birds. I saw God in that.
I asked her about heaven and she told me I would have my own Pikachu and as many cats as I wanted to. That’s all I needed to hear.
And that’s the last time I imagined heaven.
When I was ten years old, a girl started questioning if I was ‘really’ Muslim. She saw me talking to a classmate who happened to be a boy.
She later started telling other girls from the masjid. Word spread and I was known as the fake Muslim.
I didn’t want to tell my mom because I didn’t want her to know Allah didn’t like me.
I remember I wore basketball shorts to Six Flags. It also happened to be Muslim Day. A girl from my masjid saw this and decided to tell everyone how I’m not Muslim because the length of my shorts was enough for her to decide that. I was thirteen.
Rumors started spreading at a vicious rate. (Hey smart phones.) Somehow I ended up being the girl who sucked dick behind the masjid. I didn’t even know this, I found out from a guy who I had never met if I was down to come over and f*ck :-)
I didn’t have many Muslim friends growing up, and even the ones I did questioned my faith constantly.
I always have tried to focus on myself and forget the opinions of others, but that’s not true. When I was sixteen, I declared myself agnostic.
The friends I had told me I was dumb and faithless for even considering to be agnostic.
I kept walking away from the faith I was born into, the faith my mother kept so close to her heart. I didn’t want to tell her that I don’t like Him anymore. And I didn’t think He liked me very much either.
Islam was magic to me because of how simple and beautiful my mother made it.
When I was being harassed on Tumblr, a girl from Toronto, a hijabi, someone who’s account name might as well had been imyourangel786 messaged me. She brought more of her friends and they were all messaging me. They were telling me how beautiful I looked in my dress. They were complimenting me. They were reading my posts and relating to me on my cat posts. They made me feel accepted.
I was twenty years old when I learned how to properly pray. I’m starting to see Islam as magic again. I still don’t know every story about the Prophet (pbuh). I can’t read the Quran without struggling. I still wear sleeveless shirts. I still talk to boys. I still sin. I learned how to repent. I’m growing. My faith is getting stronger. I teared up for the first time while praying! Last year, I thought this was never going to happen to me. This is the closest I’ve ever felt to my faith.
Sometimes, I don’t believe myself. I still think of everyone who has called me a kafir or told me I’m not close enough to God for them, and I doubt myself. What if someone catches me in the act? Am I even praying right? Am I Muslim?
I don’t blame anyone for my disconnect between God. I ask Him for forgiveness every day.
I hope I’m Muslim enough for myself one day.
P.S.: Everyone’s path is different. I do know that if you have any opinions on someone’s way of practicing then you should kindly shut the fuck up, inshAllah.
(Astaghs…see, I still sin!)
P.S.S.: I only have women to thank for my growth. Shout out to my mom, Sara Vawda, Noor Wadi, and Fatima Abdullah ❤️
Sarah Khan is a writer and producer who lives in Los Angeles.
