51, Muslim, and Tired of Explaining
I've answered 'but why can't you drink?' approximately four hundred times. Here's my actual answer.
I'm 51. I was born in Bandung to Iraqi parents. I have a Indonesia accent, an Arabic name, and a permanent cloud of questions following me.
but why can't you drink?? I don't drink because I don't want to. Why do I fast? Because Ramadan is genuinely my favourite month. Why don't I date? 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 university applications, not conduct interfaith dialogue at every barbecue.
Social media makes it worse and better. Worse because every time a terrorist attack happens somewhere 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 kids my age online who get it.
My mother says I should be patient. My imam says I should be a good ambassador. But I'm 51. 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 Bandung trying to finish my degree. 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.