With Eid finally behind us, I thought I’d wrap up this year’s Ramadhan content with this very, very personal post. Though I’m speaking of deeply personal experiences, it may connect with you in some way. Please feel free to skip it if you’re not interested, but please be kind if you stay!
I have been a Muslim since birth, so for the whole 29 years of my life, I’ve always been Muslim. My family is pretty religious and, for the most part, I’ve always been a practicing Muslim. That being said, my relationship with Islam hasn’t always been smooth and straightforward. There were even years that I didn’t pray at all—except on social occasions, which is more to do with putting up appearances than anything else. I can’t say I don’t feel like the worst person in the world for questioning my own faith, but today I realise that people like me are more common than I thought—especially in my generation.
Which brings me to the reason I decided to write this post. I think a lot of us often feel a little lost when it comes to religions. It’s not so much that we don’t believe—I think most of us want to—but we often don’t feel like the available faiths can cater to our spiritual and emotional needs that keep evolving with the changing times. This is what I’m trying to navigate as well, although specifically from the perspective of Islam. Despite my doubts and questions, I never try to look into other religions—for me, all religions are fundamentally the same, so I don’t see the point of jumping ship, so to speak.
Earlier this Ramadhan you see the Islamic books I’ve read. Needless to say, I learnt a lot from them—a lot about Islamic history, about The Prophet’s life and about the modern experiences of being a Muslim. They have opened my eyes to all aspects of Islam—at least as far as I am ready to take in. They allow me to form my own belief and opinions towards Islam and what that may mean to me. If you don’t mind, today I’d like to share these thoughts with you.
Islam ≠ Muslims
If there is anything I know about Islam is that it doesn’t condone fanaticism. Yet, somehow, most Muslims that call themselves devout are short of being fanatics—and this has put me off the religion now and then. As fanatics, devout Muslims have given us no room for debate, alienating people like me who constantly question the faith—often not to attack it, but to validate our belief in it. They shut down our arguments and use history as reference to problems we face today. However, modern problems require modern solutions—not historical analogies and conventional practices—and mainstream practicing Muslims aren’t equipped to provide them.
Instead, they criticise the way we live and how we practice our faiths. When we pray, they say we are doing it wrong. When we give alms, they say we are not giving enough. When we perform rituals, they ridicule our shortcomings. They come up with rules and regulations that make our ibadah seem complicated, putting layers upon layers of methods to confuse and discourage us. But—as I read recently in this book—Islam came as a solution. It aims to simplify and facilitate, not mystify and complicate. I have met people who have stopped practicing Islam, because of their unpleasant experiences with devout Muslims—including Irshad Manji—who choose to reprimand, criticise and shame people who don’t practice Islam perfectly. Imagine how big an impact they could’ve had if they chose to nurture, guide and be supportive instead.
For the longest time, this has bothered me so much. How come devout Muslims fall short on so many levels? How come they are more concerned with their rituals than helping those in need? How come they preach about kindness but doesn’t extend that kindness to the earth? It has clouded my eyes and allowed me to judge Islam based on how mainstream, devout Muslims behave—but that shouldn’t be the case. At the end of the day, Islam is an ideology. It’s not inherently bad. If it gets obscured through selective practices, Islam itself remains pure. This is how I choose to view Islam today—as separate from the imperfect behaviours of devout Muslims.
Islam in Its Cultural Context
One of the things I learnt recently—well, actually I just never thought about it before—is that Islam is very much influenced by the culture and historical period it originated from. Unlike other religions, Islam is deeply political, cultural and sociological. It comes at exactly the right time to revolutionise the way the Arabs have always conducted their society—giving weight to individual virtues, putting an end to blood feuds and forging a path to cross-clans tribal systems. We can even argue that it seems curated specifically for the 7th-century Arabs, which is the context we need to keep in mind as we observe the scriptures and Islamic practices today.
For instance, the hijab. Did you know that it stems from the traditional Arabic symbol of social status? You see, back when The Prophet was alive, the hijab signifies women of higher social status. It didn’t start out as an Islamic identity or even custom—it only started becoming that way when Surah An-Nur (24:31) was revealed to The Prophet. Afterwards, his wives began to wear veils—what we know today as hijab—to assert their higher social status as wives of The Messenger of God. According to Samina Ali, female members of the ummah have also been encouraged to don this veil for their protection. Meanwhile, Karen Armstrong believes they asked to adopt it themselves because they also want a special status like The Prophet’s wives—being the members of the first ummah. Either way, it is deeply rooted in the Arabic culture.
Being Arab or following the Arabs do not bring us closer to God.
However, since then Islam has grown and spread far and wide—including to regions far from the Arabian peninsula, like Indonesia and Malaysia. The scriptures need to be reinterpreted and the practices readjusted to align with local norms and cultures—not replace them. In fact, we have done that rather well here in Java—creating hyperlocal rituals, such as nyekar (visiting graveyards to pray for our deceased loved ones and ancestors), yasinan (occasional prayer circles to wish the recently departed well) and numerous syukuran (an event of praying and feasting to show gratitude for anything).
We don’t have to follow the Arabic way of doing it. Being Arab or following the Arabs do not bring us closer to God—it has become a widely accepted misconception that needs to be rectified. I would even go so far as to say that the hijab can be translated in accordance with local cultures—some good old jarik should suffice to cover ourselves, for instance. We also don’t need to wear turbans to signify our deep faith in Islam—it’s not even mentioned in the Qur’an. I think we need to have this conversation, to preserve our own traditions within the norms of Islam—and not Arabise ourselves.
Devotion Is Not a Contest
Honestly, I don’t know if it’s the hustle culture that has arisen in recent history or if it’s that fanaticism once more, but I feel like people constantly race to one up each other when it comes to worshipping God—not only in Islam, I believe this applies across all faiths. However, again, that creates this really unhealthy, rigid and discouraging environment in which members of the congregations cannot make mistakes in relation to their practice—which is absurd, because it is natural for humans to make mistakes. Also, although the concept of religions (particularly Islam) being a personal spiritual affair is relatively new, I deeply believe in it. And, since it is deeply personal, it should naturally come in different forms.
The way I practice Islam may not be the way you practice Islam, but really we are all doing our best according to what we believe is right. Personally for me, for instance, Islam should be more concerned with the ends—being a good person for God, for other humans and for the planet—which can be achieved through proper means—salat, fasting and zakat. The trivial technicalities should not overshadow the goal. Growing a beard, wearing certain clothes or eating only while sitting down should not distract us from achieving the ultimate goodness for all—as best we know how.
We should always remember that, at the end of the day, Islam is about niat (intention). It should not be a performance that we put up for other people to see. Who cares if others know whether or not we prayed 5 times today? Why should we show off all the verses we remember from the Qur’an? What good does it do to flaunt the zakat we give to those in need? God always knows what we do and why we do them. He knows that—no matter how big our actions may be—if they don’t come from pure and sincere intent, they are essentially meaningless. So that’s what I have set out to do—to have pure intent that doesn’t demand validation, approval or praise from no one, but myself and The One Almighty who matters. He knows I am not perfect, but I am doing the best I can and want to.
Here’s to all my fellow imperfect Muslims out there—whether or not you’re still finding yourself in relation to this faith, already undoubtedly devoted to it or have somehow found your way elsewhere. Hope peace reign in your heart either way!
With Eid finally behind us, I thought I’d wrap up this year’s Ramadhan content with this very, very personal post. Though I’m speaking of deeply personal experiences, it may connect with you in some way. Please feel free to skip it if you’re not interested, but please be kind if you stay!
I have been a Muslim since birth, so for the whole 29 years of my life, I’ve always been Muslim. My family is pretty religious and, for the most part, I’ve always been a practicing Muslim. That being said, my relationship with Islam hasn’t always been smooth and straightforward. There were even years that I didn’t pray at all—except on social occasions, which is more to do with putting up appearances than anything else. I can’t say I don’t feel like the worst person in the world for questioning my own faith, but today I realise that people like me are more common than I thought—especially in my generation.
Which brings me to the reason I decided to write this post. I think a lot of us often feel a little lost when it comes to religions. It’s not so much that we don’t believe—I think most of us want to—but we often don’t feel like the available faiths can cater to our spiritual and emotional needs that keep evolving with the changing times. This is what I’m trying to navigate as well, although specifically from the perspective of Islam. Despite my doubts and questions, I never try to look into other religions—for me, all religions are fundamentally the same, so I don’t see the point of jumping ship, so to speak.
Earlier this Ramadhan you see the Islamic books I’ve read. Needless to say, I learnt a lot from them—a lot about Islamic history, about The Prophet’s life and about the modern experiences of being a Muslim. They have opened my eyes to all aspects of Islam—at least as far as I am ready to take in. They allow me to form my own belief and opinions towards Islam and what that may mean to me. If you don’t mind, today I’d like to share these thoughts with you.
Islam ≠ Muslims
If there is anything I know about Islam is that it doesn’t condone fanaticism. Yet, somehow, most Muslims that call themselves devout are short of being fanatics—and this has put me off the religion now and then. As fanatics, devout Muslims have given us no room for debate, alienating people like me who constantly question the faith—often not to attack it, but to validate our belief in it. They shut down our arguments and use history as reference to problems we face today. However, modern problems require modern solutions—not historical analogies and conventional practices—and mainstream practicing Muslims aren’t equipped to provide them.
Instead, they criticise the way we live and how we practice our faiths. When we pray, they say we are doing it wrong. When we give alms, they say we are not giving enough. When we perform rituals, they ridicule our shortcomings. They come up with rules and regulations that make our ibadah seem complicated, putting layers upon layers of methods to confuse and discourage us. But—as I read recently in this book—Islam came as a solution. It aims to simplify and facilitate, not mystify and complicate. I have met people who have stopped practicing Islam, because of their unpleasant experiences with devout Muslims—including Irshad Manji—who choose to reprimand, criticise and shame people who don’t practice Islam perfectly. Imagine how big an impact they could’ve had if they chose to nurture, guide and be supportive instead.
For the longest time, this has bothered me so much. How come devout Muslims fall short on so many levels? How come they are more concerned with their rituals than helping those in need? How come they preach about kindness but doesn’t extend that kindness to the earth? It has clouded my eyes and allowed me to judge Islam based on how mainstream, devout Muslims behave—but that shouldn’t be the case. At the end of the day, Islam is an ideology. It’s not inherently bad. If it gets obscured through selective practices, Islam itself remains pure. This is how I choose to view Islam today—as separate from the imperfect behaviours of devout Muslims.
Islam in Its Cultural Context
One of the things I learnt recently—well, actually I just never thought about it before—is that Islam is very much influenced by the culture and historical period it originated from. Unlike other religions, Islam is deeply political, cultural and sociological. It comes at exactly the right time to revolutionise the way the Arabs have always conducted their society—giving weight to individual virtues, putting an end to blood feuds and forging a path to cross-clans tribal systems. We can even argue that it seems curated specifically for the 7th-century Arabs, which is the context we need to keep in mind as we observe the scriptures and Islamic practices today.
For instance, the hijab. Did you know that it stems from the traditional Arabic symbol of social status? You see, back when The Prophet was alive, the hijab signifies women of higher social status. It didn’t start out as an Islamic identity or even custom—it only started becoming that way when Surah An-Nur (24:31) was revealed to The Prophet. Afterwards, his wives began to wear veils—what we know today as hijab—to assert their higher social status as wives of The Messenger of God. According to Samina Ali, female members of the ummah have also been encouraged to don this veil for their protection. Meanwhile, Karen Armstrong believes they asked to adopt it themselves because they also want a special status like The Prophet’s wives—being the members of the first ummah. Either way, it is deeply rooted in the Arabic culture.
Being Arab or following the Arabs do not bring us closer to God.
However, since then Islam has grown and spread far and wide—including to regions far from the Arabian peninsula, like Indonesia and Malaysia. The scriptures need to be reinterpreted and the practices readjusted to align with local norms and cultures—not replace them. In fact, we have done that rather well here in Java—creating hyperlocal rituals, such as nyekar (visiting graveyards to pray for our deceased loved ones and ancestors), yasinan (occasional prayer circles to wish the recently departed well) and numerous syukuran (an event of praying and feasting to show gratitude for anything).
We don’t have to follow the Arabic way of doing it. Being Arab or following the Arabs do not bring us closer to God—it has become a widely accepted misconception that needs to be rectified. I would even go so far as to say that the hijab can be translated in accordance with local cultures—some good old jarik should suffice to cover ourselves, for instance. We also don’t need to wear turbans to signify our deep faith in Islam—it’s not even mentioned in the Qur’an. I think we need to have this conversation, to preserve our own traditions within the norms of Islam—and not Arabise ourselves.
Devotion Is Not a Contest
Honestly, I don’t know if it’s the hustle culture that has arisen in recent history or if it’s that fanaticism once more, but I feel like people constantly race to one up each other when it comes to worshipping God—not only in Islam, I believe this applies across all faiths. However, again, that creates this really unhealthy, rigid and discouraging environment in which members of the congregations cannot make mistakes in relation to their practice—which is absurd, because it is natural for humans to make mistakes. Also, although the concept of religions (particularly Islam) being a personal spiritual affair is relatively new, I deeply believe in it. And, since it is deeply personal, it should naturally come in different forms.
The way I practice Islam may not be the way you practice Islam, but really we are all doing our best according to what we believe is right. Personally for me, for instance, Islam should be more concerned with the ends—being a good person for God, for other humans and for the planet—which can be achieved through proper means—salat, fasting and zakat. The trivial technicalities should not overshadow the goal. Growing a beard, wearing certain clothes or eating only while sitting down should not distract us from achieving the ultimate goodness for all—as best we know how.
We should always remember that, at the end of the day, Islam is about niat (intention). It should not be a performance that we put up for other people to see. Who cares if others know whether or not we prayed 5 times today? Why should we show off all the verses we remember from the Qur’an? What good does it do to flaunt the zakat we give to those in need? God always knows what we do and why we do them. He knows that—no matter how big our actions may be—if they don’t come from pure and sincere intent, they are essentially meaningless. So that’s what I have set out to do—to have pure intent that doesn’t demand validation, approval or praise from no one, but myself and The One Almighty who matters. He knows I am not perfect, but I am doing the best I can and want to.
Here’s to all my fellow imperfect Muslims out there—whether or not you’re still finding yourself in relation to this faith, already undoubtedly devoted to it or have somehow found your way elsewhere. Hope peace reign in your heart either way!