My hijab story is like a secret diary no one should ever read. It is filled with horrible facts about me and points to my mistakes and weaknesses. My journey to hijab is filled with fear, negativity and regret. So I warn you: read with caution.

The most important thing you should know is that I used to wear hijab, but eventually took it off. I hate saying it, admitting to the world that I was one of those ignorant girls who went backwards after putting on the hijab, instead of moving forward with my deen. But it’s what I did and I can’t change that.

I first put on the hijab due to an extreme iman rush after an Islamic conference and pressure I felt from my community members, because, masha’Allah, almost all the girls I knew already wore hijab and were so religious. I always felt like an outcast not wearing it, so I decided to just do it.

After putting on the scarf, however, I was extremely self-cautious. I would feel fine wearing it when I was around my religious friends; but, when I was with other “normal” people, I was ashamed. I tried to cover while still blending in: wearing hoods and hats to cover my hair, instead of proper hijab. I didn’t understand that “hijab” was true modesty, not only in dress, but in actions as well. I treated the hijab simply as a cloth on my head.

During that period, I regretted the day I decided to wear the hijab and every bone in my body screamed at me to take it off, but I was afraid of what people would think of me. So I continued my self-loathing and wore the scarf. I felt horrible because I knew I wasn’t getting reward from Allah ta’ala. After all, I only kept on my hijab from fear of people’s judgment, rather than fulfilling the command of my Lord.

The regret continued and became stronger each day. I woke up miserable, knowing I had to put on my hijab. I hated going out, especially with my husband, because I felt that every other girl looked beautiful to him except me. His consolation only made it worse. I didn’t believe him when he said I looked beautiful, because I felt ugly, inside and out. I was always irritated and fighting with everyone around me.

After two years of my ongoing battle with the hijab, my nafs finally won, leaving my iman scattered to pieces. I shed the command of my Judge. I couldn’t handle it anymore. But taking off my scarf didn’t give me the relief I was looking for. I still had regret. Sure, I was happier sometimes because I got to do my hair, but I felt really bad and disappointed in myself. This time, when I was around my religious friends, I felt ashamed. I felt like I was less than them. I knew I wasn’t happy before, but at least I had been following Allah’s command. Now, I still had regret and I was disobeying. It was a lose-lose situation.

I tried to console myself whenever the regret kicked in, telling myself that at least I was a good person that prayed, fasted and dressed modestly. But I always knew in the back of my mind that I was disobeying Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala, every second of everyday that I was in front of non-mahrams. My biggest fear was dying without wearing the hijab.

A year and half after taking off the hijab, I went to hajj with my husband, alhamdulillah. It was quite the experience, but I did not cover when I came back home. SubhanAllah! Now the guilt was doubled. Everyone was calling me “Hajji,” but I felt like a big fraud, a failure. While I was discussing hajj with a few people, someone said, “A sign that your hajj has been accepted is if you change after completing it.”

I immediately felt foolish. I knew I hadn’t changed all that much even though my reoccurring du’aa at hajj was that I would wear the hijab. This statement slowly brought about the change I needed. At that point, I knew I had to wear hijab again. I had to make a difference in my life and gain Allah’s ta’ala’s love.

I thought about putting on the hijab everyday after that. Every morning I would wake up and say to myself, “Today is the day…” but it never was. I walked around everyday with a smile on my face, even though I was constantly in battle with my nafs.

Why am I so weak? How come everyone I know can wear it, but not me? How is it possible that everyone just loves hijab and I despise wearing it?

I realized that I didn’t simply hate the hijab, I was afraid of it, afraid of what it could turn me into: a self-loathing, low self-esteem introverted human being.  I felt like my iman was so much higher when I wasn’t wearing hijab than when I was. The fear of wearing hijab was so strong, that even truly wanting to wear it wasn’t enough to make me put it on.

I tried to increase my iman as much as I could, so that I would have the courage to cover myself, as my Lord has prescribed.  My sister-in-law visited me from Atlanta and took that opportunity to speak to me about death and the last days. She told me that she used to be afraid of death because, like me, she didn’t want to die hijab-less. Once she put on the hijab however, she said that her fear of dying had decreased immensely. She helped me realize that my fear of hijab was miniscule compared to my fear of the Day of Judgment, when I would be asked about my deeds.

What would I say when I was questioned about the hijab?  ”I didn’t want to look ugly”? I feel the inadequacy of saying it to myself, so how could I possibly face my Creator and say that to Him?

In hopes of continuing to increase my iman, I listened to the Hereafter Series by Imam Al-Awlaki. Something he said really hit a nerve with me, alhamdulillah. He said that the Day of Judgment is 50,000 years long and that’s not even including the rest of the akhira – that’s just that one day. Meanwhile, we live on this earth for maybe a hundred years, if we are blessed with a very long life. And on the Day of Judgment these hundred years will seem like they were fifteen minutes long, if that. Will it be worth it, at that point, that I got to show my hair off to strangers and feel “pretty” for fifteen minutes? Of course not!

My fear of hijab was slowly starting to diminish, with the help of Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala. Soon after, I was truly inspired by a close friend of mine who decided to wear the hijab. I was so happy to see her at my door, proudly wearing her white and black hijab. I was shocked and a part of me, a huge part, felt guilty, because there she was covered and modest, meanwhile I didn’t even wear hijab. My shock was not due to her lack of iman or anything; I know her as a very good Muslimah, masha’Allah, and may Allah make her even better than what others assume of her. Rather, it was because of her family, who was very against hijab. But against all odds and by the will of Allah, she chose to wear the hijab anyway. She put Allah ta’ala’s command first, disregarding what her own family would think and how they would react. I was overwhelmed by her strength, proud of her courage and jealous of her commitment and iman. She truly inspired me and made me feel the guilt of disobeying Allah’s command without saying a single word.

That was the last straw. Alhamdulillah, I decided to wear the hijab a few days later. This time, I felt so strong and ready to face the challenges that would confront me.  I knew it wouldn’t be easy, and I certainly wasn’t looking forward to the hard times; but I knew that earning Allah’s wrath just to show off my hair was not only foolish, but also utterly insane.

It has been three months since I put on the hijab and by the mercy of Allah, I plan to keep it on. Hijab is a choice I make everyday, every time I step out of my house or meet a non-mahram. By the will of Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala, I hope to make the right choice everyday, for the rest of my life, and look forward to reaping the benefits in the akhirah.

Image credit: Chiot’s Run

I sat beside her, looking at my off patterned socks as I spoke. “You’re my hero,” I whispered. My words echoed in the hollow room. “Thanks sweetheart,” was her earnest and loving reply.

Classically, a hero is the archetype of courage, and is someone who knows that battles are won with the heart. It is said that a hero is someone who is selfless. When I was a little girl I had a string of heroes and heroines. There were times when I dreamed I was part of a clan of mutants called the X-Men, that I could be like the coolest kid in second grade, and that I could be a heroic dreamer like Ronald Dahl’s protagonist in one of my favorite novels, James and the Giant Peach.

As I grew, my aspirations changed and so did my heroes. My dreams and life evolved and my heroes shifted more from imagined characters to real people. Real people who had impacted my life in some way and today I call them my real heroes.

My journey to donning the hijab is not only a personal triumph but also a celebration of my hero. It’s a day that I look back fondly on because my hero was there with me every step of the way.  She provided words of encouragement and showered me with love. She had bought me my first hijab and was there to calm my fears as I wore it for the first time.

My hero was the one who always reminded me of my intentions to please my Lord. She was the epitome of a superhero and had the power of washing away my anxiety with a simple smile. She wore that superhero cape of hijab with such pride and conviction that it radiated to all those around her. She was a hero in her own right, and I no longer wished to be like the heroes of my childhood. I wanted to be her sidekick and a newfound hero to others. Looking back now, I realize how truly blessed I was (and still am) alhamdulillah, to have had a hijab hero who helped me realize a dream.

With the passing days of Ramadan, it’s time for a renewal, my dearest sisters. Let’s take this opportunity to thank and make dua’ for our hijab heroes.  It is in this month and beyond that we ourselves must become a hero in another’s life. It is our duty to pay it forward. Just as Benjamin Disraeli once said, “Nurture your mind with great thoughts; to believe in the heroic makes the heroes.”

We have to go into the world and be that hijab hero. We have to be it for our sisters, mothers, daughters, aunts, and for each other. We need to be that smile of encouragement and that shoulder to lean on. We need to be that unwavering support for a sister striving to wear the hijab today and a grateful well-wisher for a sister who has been wearing it circa twenty years.

Just as Abdullah ibn Mubarak (may Allah be pleased with him) said, “How often it is that a small action becomes great by its intention, and how often it is that a great action becomes small by its intention.” It is the ordinarily heroic things that we do that can change someone’s life. Thus, we have to do it for our ummah, for our hijab heroes and, most importantly, for our Lord.

As for my hijab hero, this piece is dedicated to her inshaAllah. I love you, Mom.

Some years ago, I was sitting with a friend of mine and she started telling me about her struggles with hijab after becoming Muslim. She had grown up Christian and accepted Islam while she was in college.

“For me, hijab was the hardest thing,” she said. “I just didn’t want to wear it. So I made every excuse I could. ‘It’s too hot.’ ‘I can’t breathe’.” She shook her head, remembering. “But the funny thing is, I didn’t realize I didn’t want to cover.

“Until one day I was talking to some sisters and I was making the same excuses. And the sisters started trying to convince me, but for everything they said, I had an answer. And we kept going back and forth. But then a sister said something that I really couldn’t respond to.” She paused. “‘Just makedu’aa. Pray that Allah makes it easy for you’.”

Her eyes grew distant, reflecting. “When she said that, I didn’t know what to say. In the back of my mind, I knew that if I asked Allah for help, I would wear hijab. And that’s when I knew I didn’t really want to cover.  I didn’t even ask Allah to help me. Because I didn’t want Him to.”

—

When I hear stories like these, I think of the depths of the human heart. I think of how we think we know ourselves and our intentions. But, really, we don’t.

For almost every one of us, there’s something we know we need to change but simply won’t. The issue may involve not wearing hijab, not praying regularly, watching inappropriate TV and movies, intermingling, having “boyfriends” or “girlfriends”… And for each, we have a convenient excuse, if we bother to make excuses at all.

But in Ramadan, a lot of unpleasant things come to surface because the devils are chained and the depths of our hearts are exposed.

Yet most of us still manage to wriggle out of obedience to Allah, and the excuses abound…

There’s no point in wearing hijab in Ramadan if I know I’m just going to take it off later…

I don’t want to be a hypocrite…

I know myself, and I’m not ready to change my life…

But in each excuse, there’s one key component that’s missing.

Allah.

I don’t mean His name is absent. For most of us, it’s actually Allah’s name we use to justify our wrong.

Allah is Forgiving. Allah knows my heart. Allah’s my judge…

Or our favorite…

When I change, I’ll do it for Allah, not because people asked me to…

Yet Allah says, “And make not Allah’s (name) an excuse in your oaths against doing good, or acting rightly…” (2:224).

When we’re not blaming Allah for our sins, we’re blaming our natural human weakness. And it’s true; humans are weak. But the truth is that this isn’t our chief shortcoming.

But human weakness is the chief shortcoming for those with high emaan.

Those with low emaan have as their chief shortcoming a diseased heart.

The strong believers constantly strive to do what’s right, but because of human weakness, they inevitably fall short. But their energy is spent striving against sin, not giving in to it.

The weakest believers don’t even bother striving; they’re quite comfortable in their life of sin. Their energy is spent defending their sin, not fighting against it.

…I don’t want forgiveness. I don’t want to change. I like the wrong I’m doing…

This is what it really boils down to. Otherwise, we’d just make du’aa, and pray that Allah makes it easy for us to do what’s right, even if we fall short at times.

But it starts with wanting change. And that’s not an easy thing for the human heart, especially for those of us content with our low emaan and life of sin.

Yet…

All will be forgiven during the month of Ramadan, except those who do not want to be forgiven.

And who does not want to be forgiven?

Those who do not ask.

The month of Ramadan is, more than anything, a month of opportunity. It’s a time to set right things that are wrong. It’s a time to change course, even as you’ve no idea how you’ll walk that new path. It’s a time to ask for change, to beg for change, to cry for it—even if part of you doesn’t even want it.

And it’s okay if you have no idea how you’ll manage wearing hijab, praying regularly, shutting off that TV, or leaving alone those “cute” girls or guys.

It’s okay, because it’s not you you’re turning to for help.

It’s Allah.

And Allah is able to do all things.

Let us remember, too, that Allah is All-Forgiving. But, of course, to benefit from Allah’s Forgiveness, we first have to want it. And wanting forgiveness isn’t just saying we want it, or just uttering a prayer. It means we regret our sin. It means we hate our sin. And it means we take every step to avoid it.

And we never give up fighting against it.

That’s what it means to want Allah’s forgiveness.

That’s what it means to ask for it.

So it is upon each of us to closely examine our lives—and hearts—and ask ourselves a simple question.

Do you want forgiveness?

If our answer is yes, we know Who to turn to for help and guidance.

If our answer is no… well, there’s nothing for us to do except what we’ve always been doing.

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Umm Zakiyyah is the internationally acclaimed author of the novels of the If I Should Speak trilogy and Realities of Submission. For the latest titles by Umm Zakiyyah, join her Facebook page.

This piece, titled “But I Don’t Want Forgiveness,” is copyright © 2010 by Al-Walaa Publications, All Rights Reserved. It was published earlier on Saudi Life, and is republished here with permission from the author.

“The month of Ramadan to the other months is like Yusuf to his brothers. So, just like Yusuf was the most beloved son to Ya’qub, Ramadan is the most beloved month to Allah.

A nice point for the nation of Muhammad (صلى الله عليه و سلم) to ponder over is that if Yusuf had the mercy and compassion to say {“There is no reproach for you today…”} [Yusuf; 92], Ramadan is the month of mercy, blessing, goodness, salvation from the Fire, and Forgiveness from the King that exceeds that of all the other months and what can be gained from their days and nights.

Another nice point to think about is that Yusuf’s brothers came to rely on him to fix their mistakes after all those they had made. So, he met them with kindness and helped them out, and he fed them while they were hungry and allowed them to return, and he told his servants: “Carry their belongings with you so that they don’t lose them.” So, one person filled the gaps of eleven others, and the month of Ramadan is likewise one month that fills the gaps of our actions over the other eleven months. Imagine the gaps and shortcoming and deficiency we have in obeying Allah!

We hope that in Ramadan, we are able to make up for our shortcomings in the other months, to rectify our mistakes, and to cap it off with happiness and firmness on the Rope of the Forgiving King.

Another point is that Ya’qub had eleven sons who were living with him and whose actions he would see at all times, and his eyesight did not return because of any of their clothing. Instead, it returned due to Yusuf’s shirt. His eyesight came back strong, and he himself became strong after he was weak, and seeing after he was blind. Likewise, if the sinner smells the scents of Ramadan, sits with those who remind him of Allah, recites the Qur’an, befriends on the condition of Islam and faith, and avoids backbiting and vain talk, he will (by Allah’s Will) become forgiven after he was a sinner, he will become close after he was far, he will be able to see with his heart after it was blind, his presence will be met with happiness after it was met with repulsion, he will be met with mercy after he was met with disdain, he will be provided for without limit or effort on his part, he will be guided for his entire life, he will have his soul dragged out with ease and smoothness when he dies, he will be blessed with Forgiveness when he meets Allah, and he will be granted the best levels in the Gardens of Paradise.

So, by Allah, take advantage of this greatness during these few days and you will soon see abundant blessing, high levels of reward, and a very long period of rest and relaxation by the Will of Allah.

By Allah, this is the true relaxation…”

['Bustan al-Wa'idhin wa Riyad as-Sami'in'; p. 213-214]

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Reposted from the Milestones on the Road to Firmness in Faith blog. May Allah reward the translator and elevate his ranks in this world and the next.

As I travel down my Ramadan memory lanes, I think of myself before and after the last Ramadan, and I realize something happened to me, something changed. Unfortunately, I can’t say I’ve reflected back on all the Ramadans I’ve lived through with consistency; but now that I am, I feel utterly grateful that Allah has not taken me back to Him yet.

Alhamdulillah for the visit of this honored guest each year, a guest which makes me reflect on my past and aspire for my future, especially since I became a mother. Ramadan has the effect of slowing me down enough so I can take stock of my inventory of deeds and intentions, and reprioritize my life. I find there are actions I need to chuck along with the container of what-used-to-be-food way at the back of the fridge, and there are actions I need to adopt to beautify my character. There are priorities I need to shove to the back burner and there are priorities I need to bring to the front. Ramadan really is the perfect time to slow down, reflect, and reconnect with Allah at a new level.

As humans, we like tangible things. Let’s face it, some of us are obsessed with attempting personality quizzes. We like to see ourselves expressed on a scale. In terms of before and after, we like to see our progress (or the lack thereof). Last Ramadan, in an attempt to measure, reflect, and grow as a person, I decided to use the Heart Wheel Journal. I really needed the break from the usual hustle and bustle of life; I wanted to hunker down to a focused month of reconnecting to Allah. I had started taking the Taleem al Qur’an course with Al Huda Institute, and the fact that we were given a break for Ramadan further emphasized this need for me.

Every night, with an almost gullible devotion, I took out my Heart Wheel Journal and filled it. On days 4, 10, 19 and 27, I had to shade in the slices in each wedge of the whole circle corresponding to a specific deed, be it Daily Sadaqah, Upright Character, Night Prayer, Dhikr Chunks, Salah, Fasting, Avoiding Distractions, or Chastity. I never could give myself a 10 on any of those wedges, because each time I shaded them, it made me think of my shortcomings and fluctuating progress.

I started to think of how I could fill those slices all the way through, and for some reason I can’t explain, the “Chastity” slice stood out to me. I wanted to be able to fill that slice out more than any of the others. I’ve worn the hijab ever since I was admitted to a boarding school at the age of thirteen. I wouldn’t say I was a willing hijabi at first, but it soon became a part of me and I no longer thought about taking it off.

From the moment I became a hijabi, though, my hijab varied in size and length throughout my teen years. My dress went from all skirts and no pants (thanks to my father who forbade jeans) to the typical jeans and long sleeved shirts in my early college years. I don’t think I ever wore body-hugging tops or jeans, but the length of my sleeves did fluctuate (though they never really went all the way to “short”). At one point, I had ditched the socks and covering my feet, but soon had them back on as I embarked on the first steps of regaining hayaa towards my middle college years. I also began to lower my scarf to cover my chest. All this took place while I was still in my home country, Malaysia.

My junior and senior college years brought me to the United States, and this is where I continued to embrace changes as life enveloped me with a plethora of experiences I am still discovering to this day. Not long after the birth of my firstborn while I was in my junior year, I embraced the abaya. And that was my typical outdoor attire from then on: a long flowing abaya with a scarf generously draped over my chest.

Until last year that is. My firstborn is now thirteen, and I am no longer the same girl I was at thirteen, no longer the same woman I was thirteen and more years ago. Last Ramadan, as I zoomed in on chastity slice on the Heart Wheel, my heart fluttered, my thoughts swirled, and my limbs followed suit. I opened my drawer and fingered a small item gifted to me a few years ago by some sisters as a surprise. The cloth was black, lightweight. I had tried it on a couple of times in years past.

That day, I tried it on again. As I looked at myself in the mirror, a pair of eyes that looked prominently East Asian stared back at me. For a Malaysian, I look more Chinese than Malay, though I don’t really have that characteristic Chinese slant. But my eyes are still Chinese-looking to the Malays. With the black Saudi-style niqab on, my slightly Chinese eyes looked even more Chinese. I’d never met a niqabi with Chinese-looking eyes before, so (as silly as this sounds) it unnerved me. It had unnerved me a few years earlier, when I had put it on for the first time, and it was still unnerving to me last Ramadan when I tried it on. Still, something stronger pushed me to overlook that concern and try wearing it outside.

And I did. I wore it to taraweeh.  Despite the slight claustrophobia that hit me as I adjusted to breathing through it, my heart felt much more tranquil. It no longer reared and nudged me for something. I had wanted to put on the niqab for years, but I was never moved to do it. The niqabis I’ve known and closely befriended have given me a wider perspective on sisters behind the niqab. In the beginning, I was always nervous around niqabis -they seemed intimidating and I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to act around them. Once I got past my own fears and pre-conceived notions, I found that they were just like the rest of us. That made me think, “Maybe I’m ready for this now. I’m not better than anybody else, and I don’t have to be to do this.”

I thought about the Chinese eyes, and the fact that I wasn’t used to having a cloth covering my face, and the fear of my glasses getting all fogged up. I thought about summer, and the desert heat here in New Mexico where I currently live. I thought about all the smiles I wouldn’t be able to flash at non-Muslim women I come across, and I worried that they wouldn’t understand. I thought about my doctors, and I thought about the Muslim community. If I started wearing it, I would be the the second of only two niqabis. The other sister had recently come to town from Dubai. Despite that, I felt alone.

I didn’t put on the niqab right away after that first test-wear. My mind was doing the thinking, as it had all those years before; but this time, my heart did the longing and pushing. About a month after Ramadan ended, I found myself paring all those thoughts to only one real unanswered concern, “How will I smile at the non-Muslim women and kids?”

Since there were no niqabis in town with that experience, I emailed a dear niqabi who I’d known since even before she started wearing niqab. “How will I smile at the non-Muslim women and kids?” I asked her.

She replied, “Your eyes show when you smile, and with kids, if there are no men around, I pull down the niqab and smile and talk to them.”

That was all it took. Sure, I got hold of other niqabis I knew and asked them other questions. Important questions like, “Would it be weird if my niqab doesn’t match my hijab?”

But I was one step closer to actually putting it on for real. My main concerns were dissolved one by one after chatting and emailing my niqabi friends. Alhamdulillah for the internet! I don’t know what I would do without it. My “about-to-wear-the-niqab” research would have been severely crippled had there been no easy avenues to ask these niqabis my thousand and one questions.

And so, one day prior to Halloween, I stepped outside the house as a fresh, rookie niqabi. Yup! Of all the days I could have chosen to be my first day to step out as a determined niqabi, I had to choose a day so close to Halloween. “If anyone asks me about this,” I remember thinking to myself, “I’m seriously going to say, ‘Oh no, no, this is not for Halloween.’” Alhamdulillah, I didn’t have to make any such disclaimer because nobody asked. Not yet anyway.

That was all about a year ago. A year later, I can say the niqab has given me a physical reminder each time I leave the house. It has forced me to be extra nice to people I meet, because I know they can’t see my smile and might not be too inclined to pay attention to those telltale crow’s feet at the corner of my eyes. The niqab has also humbled me into correcting my other actions that do not befit a niqabi.

This Ramadan, I am not doing the Heart Wheel Journal again, although I do recommend it as a tool and think that I’m still severely lacking in all its wedges. I’m grateful for the insights the journal provided me; I’m grateful for last Ramadan and the chance to reflect, for the strength Allah provided me to wear the niqab.

And I’m utterly grateful that Allah has not taken me back to Him yet, because here is Ramadan again, and the chance to reflect and  grow and improve in other ways, insha’Allah.

It was the year 2002, I was fourteen years old. After nearly eleven years in Europe, my family and I returned to our Muslim country – alhamdulilah.

ME!

I wore t-shirts, tight jeans, hair hanging loose. I was athletic and played many sports. On the outside, I was a teenager; however, on the outside, I was merely a child.

BOYS

I studied in a mixed school, with Muslim boys and girls. I was the popular girl. Everyone knew me. To them, I was “cool.” Boys wanted me to be their girlfriend. They wanted to hang around with me. They thought I was cool because I was westernized. However, what they didn’t know was that I was opposite to what they thought. I wasn’t the girl who hung around with guys! I dreaded them. Rather, I was a Muslimah. A follower of Islam. I was an extremely shy person, who tries to be conscious of Allah, who knows her religion, and who especially hated to mix with the opposite gender. I realized that how I showed myself on the outside did not reflect who I truly was on the inside.

HIJAB

When I wore the hijab, I didn’t tell my friends. My parents said it was nice. I remember wearing a long denim jacket and headscarf, and going to school – heart throbbing.

I will never  forget this situation: One of my three friends saw me in the hijab and laughed. She told me that when I came to school, I should take it off, and when I leave school I could just put it back on so nobody would notice. Then a boy heard her say this and told me not to listen to her because “she’s a devil.” That day, I went home with a crushed heart. Sitting on the computer, I cried and cried and cried.

Once, I was crying and my mum asked me what was wrong. I told her boys said things about my hijab. “What did they tell you?” she asked. “They told me I was like an angel,” I said. My mum smiled and I got more upset. Back when I was fourteen, I thought they were making fun of me:)

AFTER HIJAB

I got used to wearing the hijab. It slowly made me a better person. I thought people would judge me, but they only respected me more. I thought I would look ugly, but it only gave me modesty and nour, and this is the best type of beauty. Hijab is beautiful and Almighty Allah asked us to wear it so we would be protected.

MY (so called) FRIENDS

The girls in my class all spoke their own language which I didn’t understand, except for three girls who, in addition to English, spoke Arabic. Therefore, these were the only girls I could befriend.

The three girls I hung around with also didn’t wear the hijab; their clothes were tighter than mine, hair blow-dried nearly daily. They would talk about music, boys, and bad things I didn’t know about before. They usually ignored me. I dreaded being with them, but they were the only ones I could communicate with.

SELF-ESTEEM

Being with these girls made my self esteem drop. Inside, I hated myself. If you could rate self-esteem, mine was about zero. I thought of myself as a loser. I would try to fit in by wearing cool clothes and make-up. These so-called friends of mine encouraged me to have a boyfriend. They did so much to me. But I was patient.

SCHOOL’S OUT

After school was over, I wanted to become a better Muslimah. I left the fake make-up. My hijab became better. And I focused my attention on doing what was right, increasing my knowledge about Islam. Slowly, slowly I was spiritually climbing towards Allah – alhamdulilah.

UNIVERSITY

My “friends” dropped out. I kept studying and now I want to do my MA. My four years in university, I didn’t put make-up on. My hijab was always aimed at wearing the most modest clothes, not colorful, not attractive, and in a manner that would please Allah ta’ala. The friends I choose feared Allah; they were good Muslims who uplifted and encouraged me to do good, alhamdulilah.

TO MY SISTERS

Wallahi, to all my sisters in Islam, hijab is nour (light). Don’t let men gaze at your beauty. You are too precious. Your beauty is like a rare diamond, protect it by covering yourself. Wear the hijab for Allah, so that Allah will be proud of you. Our Creator doesn’t tell us to do something unless it benefits us. And as I am a proud Muslim hijabi, I can be first to tell you there are so many benefits.

Some females who don’t wear the hijab worry about what people will say. I ask you, are you not worried about what Allah would say?

When you choose to not wear the hijab, you choose to follow the devil. You choose to make the devil smile because you disobeyed Allah. Who is deserving of your worship? Doesn’t Allah deserve it, when all Allah wants paradise for us.

DUA

May Almighty Allah guide everyone towards the righteous path. And may Allah give every girl what He gifted me, the strength to wear hijab. May Almighty Allah fill all Muslim girls’ hearts with nour and love for the hijab, and keep those who wear it firm in their obedience.

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Find more from Mabrouka at her personal blog, http://Be-Islam.yolasite.com.

I’ve been wearing the “hijab” for a long time – for nearly seven years. And what I mean by “hijab” is wearing a khimar, a scarf on my head. Throughout elementary school and middle school, I never even thought about wearing full hijab. I always thought that girls who wore full hijab had a superiority complex about themselves… that just because they wore proper hijab, they assumed they were automatically better. Not to mention they judged girls who wore a khimar with skinny jeans, calling it “half-hijab.”

During grade nine, I started to care a little more about Islam. I tried to learn more Qur’an and I was a little more conscious of Allah, but not by much. I felt horrible for not acting like a Muslim should during the day. I barely prayed, I swore a lot, I cracked dirty jokes, and to top it off, I didn’t even care if I wore hijab or not. But, almost every night, as I was going to bed, I was terrified of dying. I was scared because I knew if I died then, I would be in big trouble. So, I made dua every night to Allah not to let me die then, and to give me a chance to change.

I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I didn’t think I had the strength to change it.

By the end of the school year, I did change – not by much, though. I wore more loose-fitting clothing and covered my body most of the time, but I didn’t wear skirts. Why not? Because I hated skirts. I thought they were absolutely constricting. I had no problem with abayas, I just thought they weren’t appropriate for school.

I remember on July 2nd, 2009, my Qur’an teacher was giving a lecture about the lessons Luqman taught his son. He was specifically talking about this ayah:

“O my son, establish prayer, enjoin what is right, forbid what is wrong, and be patient over what befalls you. Indeed, [all] that is of the matters [requiring] determination.” [31:17]

At the end, he asked us all if we understood the importance of prayer and forbidding evil and enjoining good, and said that we would have to raise our hands if we did. Naturally, everyone did. He then told us that our hands would be witnesses against us on the Day of Judgement if we didn’t change.

That absolutely terrified me because I realized, then, that if I didn’t start praying I would be doomed in the Hereafter. So during July, I tried my best to pray all my prayers, but my only problem was Fajr. I didn’t have an alarm clock, so I couldn’t wake up to pray Fajr, and no one else in my family bothered to pray it.

I remember a week and a half later, a girl I’d known for a year (but didn’t go to school with) came up to me and asked, “Why don’t you wear the proper hijab?” Thinking she was joking, I said, “I bet you don’t wear it either.” Her face went blank as she said, “I do, and you should too.” Here words shocked me because, normally, she wasn’t a very serious person.

After that exchange, I contemplated the idea of wearing proper hijab. I didn’t mind it, but I still wasn’t sure if I was ready. I thought I would eventually wear it, but probably after high school. It felt as if I was being pulled in two different directions, and I didn’t know what to choose. I wanted to wear the proper hijab, but I thought that I didn’t have the strength to keep it on.

A few weeks later, on August 1st, 2009, I was watching a lecture on YouTube about death that made me reflect. What if I died before I was eighteen? What would I say to Allah? That I was intending to wear hijab in three years, but didn’t because I had died before that? At that moment, I turned to my younger sister and promised that I was going to wear proper hijab from that moment on, and that I’d keep it up during coming school year. Within the same week, my mother bought me an alarm clock so I could pray Fajr and wake up my entire family for it as well.

—

A year after making that promise, I’ve managed to keep it. I’m a full-hijabi. Not only that, I’m a full hijabi that prays alhamdulillah. My advice to others struggling with their hijab is to start praying first, because as Allah says in the Qur’an:

“Recite, [O Muhammad], what has been revealed to you of the Book and establish prayer. Indeed, prayer prohibits immorality and wrongdoing, and the remembrance of Allah is greater. And Allah knows that which you do.” [29:45]

I also advise you to make lots of dua – dua for Allah to guide you to wearing proper hijab, and to give you the strength to wear it. A piece of adviceI have to sisters who wear hijab (masha’Allah, by the way!): Never judge a Muslimah that doesn’t wear the hijab correctly. Instead, explain to her the importance of wearing the hijab using kind words – it’s much more effective.

And to everyone: Always put your trust in Allah, you’ll never be unsatisfied with the outcome.

Ramadan is just around the corner, and our hearts eagerly await its return.

Wasn’t it just yesterday that we parted from the beloved month in tears? Has a whole year already gone by? What do we have to show for the passing of a year, and how will we greet this Ramadan? What have we done to prepare for it?

Ramadan is about renewing our relationship with Allah – reading the Qur’an and interacting with it anew, letting Allah’s words pour over our hearts to transform us. Ramadan is about perfecting our prayers and increasing our nawaafil; it’s about seeking Allah’s forgiveness and pardon, and saving ourselves from the Hellfire. Ramadan is about giving up desires and giving away in charity, about kindness and self-restraint. Ramadan is about fasting and taqwa, as we learn from the verse in Surat Al-Baqarah, “O you who have believed, decreed upon you is fasting as it was decreed upon those before you that you may become pious” [2:183].

Ramadan then, is about worship, the very essence of which is love for our Maker, and submission to His will. Is there anything more humbling than the touch of forehead to the ground in sujood? Is there anything more beautiful than a slave giving up food and drink and desires to please his Master, the High? Is there any heart more filled with love and hope and fear than the heart uttering a fervent prayer to the One above Who Hears and Sees all?

That heartfelt prayer, that fervent du’aa – the Prophet salla Allahu alayhi wasallam tells us, “Du’aa is worship” [Abu Dawud & at-Tirmidhi; hasan saheeh]. If this is worship, then why not invest ourselves into an act that is so meaningful, yet so easy to do? Why not challenge ourselves to make du’aa like we never have before – to take our du’aa (and our worship of the Merciful, ar-Rahman) more seriously than we ever have before?

Below is a beautiful lecture series on du’aa by Sheikh Yasir Qadhi. Please take the time to listen to it, to increase your knowledge and desire to make du’aa, and your love and attachment to the One who answers du’aa:

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Dua: Weapon of the Believer

by Sheikh Yasir Qadhi

Part 1: Download | Listen below:

Part 2: Download | Listen below:

Part 3: Download | Listen below:

Part 4: Download | Listen below:

Part 5: Download | Listen below:

[Audio reposted from Halal Tube. If for any reason you have problems with the audio players or links above, visit the original page here.]

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Make a list of things you’ll be making du’aa for this upcoming month. If there’s something you’ve always wanted – an increase in rizq, the courage to wear hijab or abayas or niqab, a righteous spouse, a better life – turn with those desires to Allah. Pick a few things, five or six, that are most dear to you… work hard to achieve those things, and make continuous du’aa for them. Make du’aa while breaking your fast, when du’aa is likely to be answered. Make du’aa while in sujood, when du’aa is like to be answered. Make du’aa during qiyam, during the last third of the night, when du’aa is likely to be answered. Turn with open hands and submissive heart to your Maker…

Ramadan is almost here, and those of us who will be blessed with witnessing it may not live to see another Ramadan. What do you want from Ramadan this year? And what’s stopping you from achieving it?

30th February 2008

It’s 8am. Snap. I’ve overslept. Again. Not surprising, as I’d switched my laptop off at 3 am. I rush to get ready but sigh as I see my reflection in the mirror. I cake on some makeup and spray on a cloud of perfume. Still dissatisfied with my image, I place a green headband in my long flowing hair and rush out the door, stomach rumbling. As I power-walk to school, I dread what the day may bring…

First lesson. English. I’m late. Again. I look around and see all the seats have been taken, so I drag one from another table and sit at my own. As the day drags on, I sit in my lessons in silence, so my lips stick together and a knot forms in my throat; and yet I cannot concentrate on the work. The most dreaded part of my day arrives. Lunch. I grab a sandwich and juice and slowly walk down the middle of the canteen. It feels like everyone is so much happier than me. I sit at a table on my own, tears welling up as I chew tuna and cucumber on brown bread. I suddenly feel incredibly sick, unable to finish my lunch. I rush to the toilets and lock myself in a cubicle. I breathe. I sigh. What has happened to my life? How will I cope?!

I struggle through the rest of the school day and finally arrive home. Safe? No. After greeting my parents much too joyfully than I feel, I run upstairs – and it happens again as soon as I switch my laptop on. The taunting and the teasing has to stop. But I don’t know how or what to do. I just want it to stop. I feel so helpless, and weak. Whenever I think of simply shutting down the laptop, a sneering voice inside me whispers, “WIMP! Fight back!” While in this vulnerable state, I try to repel the comments and the “jokes.” I check my email and get caught up in my friend’s problems of self-harm, which scare me even more. The “ding” of msn, and the “pop” of facebook echo through my mind and I feel trapped.

My mother calls me for dinner and I look out the window. “The world is ugly. Ugly. I hate it. I hate me,” I think to myself. At the dinner table, I am shivering  from the cyber-bullying I encountered. I am used to the shivering though. It is a daily element of my life. I plaster a smile on my face through dinner, and the same internet antics happen throughout the night. I finally drop off to sleep, but wake up startled a couple of times with horrific dreams. I’m trapped in a cage of worry, fear – and pain. Intense pain which makes me cry and cry and cry until I fall asleep again…

It’s 8am. Snap. I’ve overslept. Again.

Welcome to my life.

—

30th February 2009

Beep, beep. My eyes open. “Bismillah.” I turn my alarm off, throw the duvet back and rub the sleep out of my eyes. It is 5:45 am. After washing, I pray my beloved Fajr prayer. The light is switched off and I feel at peace with myself and the world. After Fajr, I pick up my English translation of the Qur’an and read all the amazing stories my Lord has given me. I then recite the Arabic text and the gentle humming of my own voice soothes my mind. I get ready for school in my own time and read some Shakespeare in preparation for my English lesson today.

After breakfast, I pick up my black headscarf (to match my uniform) and head to my mirror. I drape it over my tied-back hair, and wrap the chiffon material around my head before securing it with a slide at the side. I slip on a black cardigan on top of my white blouse and wear my tie before grabbing my blazer and placing my bag over my shoulder. I look at myself in the mirror. I smile. Covered – yet I feel beautiful – I feel safe – safe that I will be judged by who I am – this is who I am. I grin and head to school.

On the way, I look up at the sky. It’s blue today. I smile even more – no clouds, for what seems like the first time of the year. (Yes, I live in Britain.) I think of all the other people around the world who gaze up to that sky, and smile, or laugh, or cry. It’s the same sky. It’s what unites us across the globe – and the Creator of the sky – Allah. Thank Allah. For all His mercies! This thought lingers with me during the walk to school.

First lesson. English. I’m on time as usual and find my group of friends and greet them. I concentrate on my lessons while having a good laugh with my mates. My hijab protects me from any glaring eyes and  I feel so confident in everything I do, and keep the remembrance of Allah in my heart throughout the day, clutching my prayer beads and completing a full round whenever I get the chance. It’s finally lunch time and after grabbing some food, I sit with my wonderful friends and happily converse with them, (today we were discussing the politics of the Palestine/Israel situation and if there is anything we can do), but not for too log. When I see I have fifteen minutes left of my lunchbreak, a couple of friends and I walk to an empty classroom and perform our Dhuhr prayers. It feels so great to kneel down on my prayer mat at school. I feel totally at peace and protected as I walk down the busy hallway to my next lesson.

When the school day ends, I walk home, continuing the same contemplations of this morning. Smiling all the way, I arrive home and greet my beloved parents. After getting changed out of my school uniform, I pray Asr prayer and the same feeling overcomes my heart – peace.

I start and finish my homework within an hour and spend the evening playing with my lovely little sister before briefly checking my mail and going down to dinner. Before I go downstairs, I look out my window. “This world is beautiful. Thank you Allah! For letting me experience this beauty. But please let me see the beauty of paradise. Please forgive me and accept my deeds,” I pray, “There is much to come, after. But I still have many blessings in this world.”

After dinner, I pray Maghrib and then do some revision for an upcoming exam. Finally it is time for Isha prayer, which I pray before getting ready to go to sleep. I rest my eyes and gradually drop off with a smile on my face and dhikr moist on my lips.

Beep, beep. My eyes open. “Bismillah.” It’s 5:45am. Again.

Welcome to my life. Alhamdulillah.

—

There are many significant changes between these two lifestyles of mine. Each a year apart. Hijab is the element between these two years. Hijab is the change which transformed the laziness, insecurity, low self-esteem, wrong company, weak faith, lack of knowledge and pain – into something else, something bright, beautiful and peaceful.

It didn’t only change the way I dress and act, it changed my chracter and my outlook on life and everything. It changed who I am; and I am so glad it did.

Your life can always change. It’s never too late, sisters and brothers.

You are not alone, ever. Allah is always there with you. So stay strong. And smile!

A beautiful reminder by Abu Ahmad - stay tuned after the nasheed in the video below to hear it, or feel free to read the transcript below.

My dear sister in Islam, we should not overlook this blessing that Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala has granted us. This blessing of Islam is and should be the most precious thing in our lives. Yes, the most important.

Islam should be dearer to you than your own parents. Islam should be dearer to you than your own husband. Islam should be dearer to you than your own child. It is this religion which will guard you. It will give you success in all aspects of life. It will give you the respect that you are looking for. It will give you the honor that you are looking for. And more importantly, it will give you the guidance that you need so that you may attain the everlasting bliss in the Hereafter.

Remember, O Sisters, remember your role in society. Do not belittle your job in society. You are the mothers who look after the family. You are the ones who show love and respect to its members. You are the first of the teachers of this Ummah. You are the soothers and carers of the men of this Umman. The success of this Ummah lies upon your shoulders, O Sisters of Islam.

Remember Khadijah, the first wife of the Prophet Muhammad salla Allahu alayhi wasallam. She was one of the greatest women that ever lived. In the early stages of the Prophethood of the beloved Prophet Muhammad, salla Allahu alayhi wasallam, she protected him. She gave him finance. She cared for him. She comforted him. And most importantly, she believed in him.

My dear sisters in Islam, as we look around in today’s society, we notice that many sisters are being misled. We notice that more and more sisters are living for this world, and not for the hereafter. More and more sisters do not know who Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala is. More and more sisters are leaving the prayers. More and more sisters are taking off their hijab. And more and more sisters are being seen in night clubs and pubs, dating men, and having a “good time.”

My dear sisters in Islam, we must wake up before it is too late. We must start changing and make Islam our priority in life. We must love Allah more than anything else in this world. We must stay focused from all this deception that’s happening. We must remember the very reason for our existence.

As Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala says in the Qur’an,

وَمَا خَلَقْتُ الْجِنَّ وَالْإِنسَ إِلَّا لِيَعْبُدُونِ

“I have not created the jinn, nor mankind, except so that they may worship Me [meaning Allah].” [51:56]

My dear sisters in Islam, if you love diamonds and pearls, do not be deceived by these worldly treasures, as the treasure in the Hereafter is far greater. Look at the sign of death… as we speak, someone dies… and they will have eternal lives. Will they live in the paradise, enjoying its bliss, or will they suffer in the hellfire?

And my final quote to you is: Will you choose what is best for you, or will you lose yourself in this life and in the hereafter?