You Had It Coming

This won’t be one of those long blog post where I complain about humanity, being myself, or people being generally fake. This is just one of those things in my life that I’d like to remember forever, and hence why I’m writing this to make sure it stays as part of my memory when I’m older.

Yesterday, my friends and I went to this boarding school to do some little renovation to the library for our student council’s project, and us girls got into talking while we were waiting for the painters to finish repainting the library. It was small talks of marriage and what ifs, mostly. It was around four in the afternoon, and they were asking questions about how serious I was about deciding to marry at such young age. I told them the reason why I chose to do so and eased their curiosity a tiny bit.

I was about to head to the boarding school’s mosque to pray when a friend asked, “How can you be such a believer?”

Despite the busy noise, it felt like everything buzzed into distinct voices far away as everything focused only to her and I.

I chuckled and answered as honest as I could. “It’s my family, not me. I was born to it and just gone along with it.”

She frowned, “But have you ever wanted to become like those girls out there?”

This time I laughed, because oh how dearly I wished to wear graceful strapless dress, curl my hair, and wear tight skinny ripped jeans. How I wished to show off all the curves and skin to satisfy men, as degrading as it was.

“Yeah,” I nodded without second thoughts in my amusement. “But you know what makes me not go down that path?”

“What?”

I smiled, I wanted her to understand. “My mother didn’t say I can’t. She simply said that I was old enough to understand what’s right and wrong, and so the choice is in my hand. It’s up to me. You know, your life’s your choice, and god, how can you not choose what’s expected when said those words to?”

She seemed to get it, as a fellow hijabi.

Because that was what truly happened probably five years ago. I remember sitting in my bed in my old bedroom before the renovation, and I didn’t want to cover my hair. I asked her to please just let me, she spoke those words to me.

I was already a big enough girl to understand.

And when you realize the choice to go down in the hell was in my hand just as much as the choice to fly up to the heaven was, and you just don’t want to be responsible for sins that still can be avoided. You don’t want to be that person who regrets later in the afterlife and think, “I should have done this sooner while I still had the chance,” or “If only I hadn’t done this.”

Because at the end of the day, if they decide I belong in hell, it will be my own doing and nobody else. It’s because I caused my own pain and I’d be fully responsible for the torture they’re prepared to hit me with.

And that is not something that I wish to be responsible for.

And so, yeah, as half-assed as a believer that I am, I’m trying to avoid that painful hammer of judgement. It’s what I chose, and you can choose whatever you want for yourself. You’re all big enough to understand the rewards and the consequences, and you should be fully content with knowing that you have the freedom to choose. No one is forcing you to do what you’re comfortable with, but just one thing that you should remember.

It’s your own doing.

Here’s to freedom,
Here’s to choices.

In response to: Reason to Believe