55, 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 55. I was born in Kuala Lumpur to Pakistani parents. I have a Malaysia 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 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 work drinks.
Social media makes it worse and better. Worse because every time a political controversy involving Muslims erupts 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 young Muslims online who get it.
My mother says I should be patient. My imam says I should be a good ambassador. But I'm 55. 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 man from Kuala Lumpur trying to pass my exams. 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.