Burning the Sky

How grief leads to the breaking point of me questioning religion and existence, and experiencing religious guilt far worse

“Faith should be discovered not assigned”

I was always religious growing up. I was raised to be religious and to be a devoted, faithful Muslimah. I have to do shalat 5 times a day, read Al-Quran almost every day, and pray to God whenever we want something. To trust only God. My parents have always been proud of me because I accomplished a lot by being religious. I always believed in God and His mercies. I had a strong faith in Him.

However, now I am terrified; I am completely losing my faith in God. I no longer do daily prayers (shalat) like I used to. I never pray when I want something anymore; I no longer read Al-Quran either. Why? Because I think religion doesn’t make sense, especially since I’m a woman. I came to a conclusion and realized that religion, from a woman’s perspective, is quite misogynistic. Here are most of my questions: Why are there more women in hell than men? Why can’t we wear perfume and use makeup so that men won’t be tempted? Why should we cover ourselves so that men won’t be tempted? And if someone is a very kind and pure soul, will they go to hell for not believing in the truth (this religion)? Will women who don’t wear a hijab really go to hell, with people who have sinned far worse? Why does it always revolve around men? Why is it that we have to carry men’s temptation and bear the sins that are supposed to be theirs?

The only thing that still makes me a Muslim is my hijab. I still wear it religiously every time I go out. I don’t have the courage to take it off, because I know everyone will judge me for it, and they’ll perceive me differently. I have always been known as one of the most religious people in the class; my hijab has always covered my chest, and I never showed my neck.

I also have a very religious father; he’s the type of man who always becomes the imam wherever we pray and tells me to come back to God if I’m in a rough place instead of seeking a therapist. So if I ever show my hair in public places, my father will kill me. Whenever I go outside, even if I just step onto the front porch with no one around, my father insists I go back inside to put on my hijab. And if I don’t wear it properly, he’ll scold me and become furious at me for not covering myself properly. I know he meant well, but now I just don’t know how to tell him that I can’t force myself to be religious anymore.

And my mom is not as religious as my father; she took me to a therapist far from our house once when I was in a rough place and scolded my father when he told me that “she should just come back to God instead of going to the therapist.” Regardless, I do think she still expects me to be religious. She seemed to realize that I never prayed anymore, but she never tried talking me out of it. I’m not sure why. Probably because it’s not her sin to carry anymore. Still, I think if I decide to take off my hijab, she’ll be disappointed in me and say, “what will your father think of you now?” since that’s the last thing that ties me to this religion.

I now only wear it out of fear and routine. I do love and long for the feeling of the breezy wind blowing through my hair, but I never want to let my parents down. I’m already sorry for them for having such a sinful daughter; the least I could do was keep wearing my hijab.

From the beginning, how religion has influenced my childhood and teenage years

My father, who’s supposed to be wise and very religious, told me when I was young, “if you can’t seem to be told to pray, as long as it’s still my sin to carry, then I have the right to hit you two with a broom." And if we had already reached an older age, he said he might have to hit us even harsher with an object that is even worse than a broom. We never wanted to make him angry, so we always prayed.

Thinking about it again, why would he make us afraid whenever we didn’t pray? Because if you want to teach religion to your child, violence is never the answer. Especially if you want your children to love the religion.

When I was young, I always prayed for God to kill me, to take my life away; they told me that since I was still a child, my sins would be carried by my parents. I am still pure. And I think I have always had this tendency where I’d rather leave people first before they leave me. So I prayed for Him to kill me first before everyone else, and then I could die pure.

They said, if I finally got my period and became fruitful, I would be the one who carried my own sins, and my chances of going to hell would be high. I didn’t want to carry my own sins; I didn’t want to go to hell, so I asked God to kill me before I got my period. Every. Single. Time.

He never did answer my wish and my prayer; hence why I am still living until now.

In middle school, I was in a private, prestigious, religiously strict school. It was mostly fun, but it was also a bit torturous because they’d force us to memorize so much. There was this program called "Pesantren Quran" where we read Al-Quran and had to memorize at least 1 juz (the more, the better) for 1 week, every single day, to the point where I kept having panic attacks, and I lost a lot of weight due to stress. If we didn’t pass the last test, we had to stay there for another week and repeat. Guess what? I didn’t pass. But thankfully, it was all bullshit, and we could go back home with our friends who passed the test. We just had to write a letter, make a promise, and sign it. I honestly forgot what the promise was.

So when I reached high school, my middle school program really shaped me as a person. In the beginning, I was afraid to hold any physical contact with every boy. Because touching them, even just slightly, is a sin. Since 10th grade, I have always been a part of the Tahfidz club. I also made sure to never skip any of my prayers. I was afraid that I would go to hell; even if I’m not the most saintlike person out there, at least I still pray 5 times a day. That’s what I thought back then.

Now, I am questioning if everything that I have always believed in is real or not

**Grief also takes me to the point where I can’t pray anymore.

Between heaven and hell ☪︎☪︎☪︎**

This year, I was grieving a lot. Ever since my grandma and my grandpa died, I think a part of me died with them too, currently wilting away like them. And I feel like my faith in everything has grown frail, especially my faith in God Himself. Because why is it that we prayed every single day for their recovery, especially my grandma, and she almost made it but died the next day? Doctors were the ones who made every effort to save her, even if in the end she still died. There was no miracle. Where was God when everybody prayed? And I know what happened to them that day was inevitable—destiny, they called it.

“You can’t say that, this is the best destiny that God could have for them, so you have to accept it as it is."

As my shitty aunt (who I thought might’ve understood my words since she had a degree in psychology) said when I told her, “this isn’t fair, they died within a span of 44 days.” But I thought that God isn’t that cruel to take them away from me in such a short span of time. I haven’t even grieved my grandpa properly. And I thought maybe if we begged and prayed enough, He might’ve helped us and given us mercy.

“Dengan Yang Maha Pengasih, lagi Maha Penyayang.”

He didn’t give us mercy. I haven’t prayed since.

I have prayed a lot since I was young. However, sometimes it feels like no matter how many times I’ve prayed, it doesn’t come true. Where was He when I was being bullied as a kid and prayed so He’d soften her heart and grant me mercy? Everyone said that God has the ability to switch someone’s heart. In the end, she’s still the same.

But I still pray frequently after that. I haven’t lost my faith yet.

Sadly now, I can’t even force myself to perform the daily prayer 5 times a day, or even pray when I want something. I can’t force myself to believe. I really did try to believe it, but I can’t, and it terrifies me. If religion is real, and Islam is the truth, will I get punished and be put in hell for not praying and believing anymore before I repent? I don’t want to go to hell. Why did I even live in the first place? I was so close to death when I wasn’t born yet. I was so close to heaven, and it got ripped away from me because I’m alive.

Between heaven and hell, I don’t know which path I will go on if it’s real. Does it even exist? Will I be free from thinking that living is a punishment because I didn’t die and didn’t have the golden ticket to heaven when I was born?

Before my birthday this year, I never said it out loud to anyone; but I was planning to go back to how I should be, definitely not here. And I already had everything prepared in my head. I wrote a note too a week prior.

But my high school best friends decided we’d hang around together a day before my birthday, my middle school best friends were planning on having a vacation together a week after my birthday, and one of my favorite cousins who feels like a twin to me sent me a beautifully heartfelt message at 00.00 the day of my birthday. My family surprised me with a cake at 07.18 in the morning because that’s my birth time. My cats are still here too.

Life has taught me that I should still stay here and enjoy the life that I have right now, even if it’s never going to be the same as it was. My faith in Him hasn’t returned. I’m still processing and trying to think of my life as something that is worth living for, instead of a punishment. I should just live my life as it is with less burden. Keep living. Because that’s what people do, and that’s what I might do next.