49, Muslim, and Tired of Explaining
I've answered 'why can't you eat pork?' approximately four hundred times. Here's my actual answer.
I'm 49. I was born in Alice Springs to Somali parents. I have a Australia accent, an Arabic name, and a permanent cloud of questions following me.
why can't you eat pork?? I fast because I choose to. Why do I fast? Because Ramadan is genuinely my favourite month. Why do I read Arabic? Because it's my choice.
The questions are exhausting. Not because they're offensive — most are genuinely curious. But because I'm a teenager who wants to worry about rent, not conduct interfaith dialogue at every Christmas gathering.
Social media makes it worse and better. Worse because every time a someone on TV says something ignorant about Islam happens, my DMs fill with people asking me to condemn it — as if I personally orchestrated international events between maths homework. Better because I've found Muslim creatives online who get it.
My mother says I should be patient. My imam says I should be a good ambassador. But I'm 49. I shouldn't have to be an ambassador. I should get to be a kid.
I'm not a representative of 2 billion people. I'm just a woman from Alice Springs trying to get into university. Is that so complicated?
Apparently, yes. But I'm learning not to care. My faith is mine. My identity is mine. And both are non-negotiable.