Writer Fariha R\u00f3is\u00edn<\/a> and artist Ayqa Khan<\/a> talk about growing up without intimacy, losing their virginity before marriage, and navigating faith and a sex life in the Western world.<\/p>\n

Ayqa:<\/strong> Fariha, you are one of my few Muslim friends that I can talk to about sex. We both know that having sex before marriage is a forbidden sin; an action that would send us straight to the flame-y pits of Jahannam<\/em>, or at least, this is what we\u2019ve been told. But what if praying and sex are both parts of my life? Both give me comfort. Practicing and learning Islam helps me create my own morals and ethics. Sex allows me to take ownership of my body and explore my sexuality. I am comfortable with my curiosity, but often feel rejected by other Muslims, including some family members. To them, I am too liberal and too western; I could never be a \u201creal\u201d Muslim in their eyes.<\/p>\n

Fariha:<\/strong> Yeah, I\u2019ve struggled with the idea of what a \u201creal Muslim\u201d means, too. What does a real Muslim look like? Are real Muslims only those who wear hijabs, or have beards, or pray five times a day and know all the Surahs by heart? It\u2019s very difficult to conform to an idea that feels very far removed from you and your reality.<\/p>\n

My parents were liberal and never outwardly religious, but other Muslims in our community were quite the opposite. Religiosity was less important than spirituality to us, and my father would always say \u201cIslam is a way of life, not a religion.\u201d Even when my sister started wearing the hijab, at age 20 (I was thirteen), I felt like she was denying large parts of herself, and I didn\u2019t want that for myself. As a young person I knew there was a part of me that wanted to see all of life for all it was; I wanted to experience things, even if they were haram<\/em>. And oftentimes, my family didn\u2019t agree with me.<\/p>\n

Our home was complicated however. It was largely devoid of love and feelings in general. My parents were unhappy; my mom was severely ill; no one in my family knew how to express their emotions, and I wanted to feel something, from someone and I felt myself always seeking love wherever I could find it.<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n

Ayqa: <\/strong>I feel that. My parents were never intimate with one another either. In fact, intimacy was practically forbidden in my household. So when I would watch other couples interact romantically in public, I was uncomfortable and confused.<\/p>\n

The first time I saw two people kiss each other was at the movies. My aunt and uncle were babysitting me, an eight-year-old at the time, and when we sat down, my uncle asked me if he could sit next to my aunt. Twenty minutes later, they started making out. I didn\u2019t know what was going on, so obviously, I started crying hysterically and couldn\u2019t stop. Theater security eventually asked us to leave.<\/p>\n

Fariha:<\/strong> It makes me so sad that physical displays of love were never introduced to you before then!<\/p>\n

Ayqa:<\/strong> What hurts more is the fact that I can\u2019t talk about such an important part of my identity with the people I love. My parents definitely think I\u2019ve never had sex. My mom knows I\u2019ve kissed boys because she has snooped through my journals, sure, but she probably thinks I haven\u2019t gone past a steamy kiss. I don\u2019t know how she would react if she knew I liked women, too.<\/p>\n

Fariha:<\/strong> Yeah, it\u2019s kinda heartbreaking that we can\u2019t have that honest line of communication. There\u2019s a part of me that wants to share things about my partners with my parents, especially my mom. This is the kind of relationship I always craved when I was younger and saw my white friends talking to their moms about boys and get guidance from them. I\u2019ve come to terms with the fact that even though I hate it, I have to hide large swathes of my life from my parents. A lot of us just accept that it might be safer, for both parties, if we just pretend to be normal. I love my parents, and I understand that it\u2019s hard for them to comprehend. They come from a different headspace.<\/p>\n

Ayqa, how did you come to realize you liked both men and women? After my abortion, I primarily only dated and slept with women. It felt safer. My sexuality is fluid; I don\u2019t like defining it. I hate how everything has to be explained within a framework or a concept. A couple of years ago my sister asked me if I\u2019d ever slept with a woman, and I denied it \u2014 earlier this year she asked me again, and I came out to her and told the truth. It\u2019s funny, my sister has been this spiritual faerie my whole life; so pure, so good, so Muslim. But, I think that the more openly honest I am with myself, the more honest she\u2019s becoming with herself, too. I\u2019ve watched her being more open to ideas even about her own sexuality, and what that means.<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n

Ayqa:<\/strong> Well, I have always been attracted to women. Growing up, I was constantly surrounded by heterosexual people and thus never really knew how to fully engage in that part of me that desired women. I didn\u2019t know where to start or what to do. I almost dismissed that part of me because I didn\u2019t know how to navigate such a primarily heterosexual space, a space where fluidity did not exist. Towards the end of senior year in high school did I allow myself to accept those feelings of desire and act on them, when I met someone. I met a girl who allowed me to embrace all parts of myself, and in doing so, did I begin to understand my own sexual fluidity.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s funny you mention your sister because when I would try to engage with my older sister about my questions, she would shy away and \u201cjoke\u201d about how I\u2019m a \u201choe.\u201d I wanted advice and guidance \u2014 navigating a sex life as a Muslim is difficult! \u2014 but I ended up having to figure out my body and sexuality on my own. The more experiences I had with different men and women, the more I started to understand myself. Talking to my partners about the way we had sex, what we liked, what we wanted really helped me feel comfortable with my body and thoughts alongside making sure I was doing the best I could to make them feel comfortable. Doing so allowed me to feel in control and gave me room to be myself. But I\u2019ve always kept Islam and my sex life separate.<\/p>\n

Fariha:<\/strong> Yeah, if you don\u2019t have anyone to turn to, you\u2019re forced to figure it out on your own. When I was eight years old, my friend\u2019s mom took us to see Titanic <\/em>and I saw my first naked body \u2014 Kate Winslet\u2019s. It was thrilling. My friend\u2019s mom asked us to cover our eyes, but I peeked through my tiny fingers to see Kate\u2019s voluptuous body. The only other time I felt that alive was while reading some erotic fiction in my early teens. It left me feeling buzzed, like a bulb went through my body. But I kept these feelings to myself because I was young and didn\u2019t know if I was supposed to be feeling this way. Homophobia was rampant at my all-girls school, so my sexual exploration had to be almost entirely a secret.<\/p>\n

Ayqa:<\/strong> Oh wow, for me my sexual exploration started in middle school, my peak puberty years, when I started masturbating. I would take baths as often as possible and would almost always be overcome with a desire to touch myself. I gave myself an orgasm before I knew what an orgasm was. Embarrassed of what others might think of me if I told them, I kept my bath time rituals a secret. Though, I was so clueless at the time, I remember googling: \u201cCan you get pregnant from an orgasm?\u201d<\/p>\n

Fariha:<\/strong> Ha! I can\u2019t even remember when I first O\u2019d, isn\u2019t that sad? I definitely never really masturbated until my friend gave me a duck vibrator for my eighteenth birthday. I went home and just masturbated three or four times. To me, it was important to find pleasure that\u2019s holistic, and not shameful.<\/p>\n

Ayqa:<\/strong> Yeah, exactly! I figured pleasuring myself would be in line with Islam: I was giving to myself, instead of seeking it out through acts that were considered haram<\/em>. But the more I googled, the more I realized that some Muslims disagree \u2014 but that didn\u2019t really stop me.<\/p>\n

Fariha:<\/strong> I think it\u2019s absurd that women \u2014 I mean all women, not just Muslim women \u2014 are denied this part of ourselves. In Muslim communities, it\u2019s taboo to talk about sex openly and there\u2019s a strong emphasis on seduction of the female form. This kind of gendered relationship with sex stifles many Muslim women\u2019s relationship with pleasure. You\u2019re not supposed to talk about sexual desires, so suddenly pleasure is cloaked in shame. Something so natural becomes a curse.<\/p>\n

Whenever I would ask other Muslim friends or family members about sex or intimacy, their responses were dismissive: \u201cJust don\u2019t think about it!\u201d But I couldn\u2019t stop thinking about it. My mom, especially, made me feel dirty about my body. She would berate me when I was just a kid (I was six years old) saying that I was asking for sex because I didn\u2019t cross my legs. She would say things like, \u201cYou secretly love the attention, don\u2019t you? Slut.\u201d In my early teens, if I wore anything remotely form-fitting (usually accidentally), she would chastise me, yelling that all I wanted was the dirty glares of men. Her violence was a product of her illness, but I think her struggle with mental illness was rooted in her parents\u2019 denial of her sexuality, and her interest in a deeper exploration of herself through art and culture.The more I understand my mom, the more I see our similarities. Like me, she wanted to explore different parts of herself, but was never allowed to because of the limitations her community imposed upon her.<\/p>\n

<\/a>Ayqa:<\/strong> That\u2019s so hard.<\/p>\n

Fariha:<\/strong> I went to an all-girls high school where the idea of sex was pretty pervasive, and most of my friends were beginning to sleep with their boyfriends around age 15. My parents had taught me that virginity was sacred and holy, so I was naturally judgmental of my friends. While they were exploring themselves, I just felt really grossed out and disappointed. I never felt jealous \u2014 I never had FOMO \u2014 I was sincerely trying to be a good Muslim. Then one day I just didn\u2019t know what a \u201cgood Muslim\u201d meant anymore, and I felt frustrated that I kept trying to hurt myself for the desire I felt. I had met a guy that I liked, so I just took the plunge, praying for my sins as I performed them.<\/p>\n

When I did start having sex, I figured my mother was right: I was evil because I had betrayed everyone around me, and I had succumbed to an earthly pleasure. I thought I had passed some kind of sacred threshold; Islam didn\u2019t matter anymore, because I thought I couldn\u2019t be Muslim anymore.<\/p>\n

Ayqa:<\/strong> Why do you think you felt like that?<\/p>\n

Fariha:<\/strong> Well, because I had a very limited idea of what being a Muslim meant. Back then, it was largely tied to ritual for me \u2014 prayer, fasting; the five pillars. Even though my father had always taught me that Islam was a philosophy, I felt like there were very serious borders I couldn\u2019t cross, sex being one of them. My mother was struggling with herself all throughout my teens, and my father wasn\u2019t around, my sister was seven years older and dealing with her own shit, too \u2014 so I didn\u2019t really have anyone to turn to.
\nThere was no one to stop me from having reckless sex without protection, to stop me from hurting myself, to stop me from getting pregnant. I wish someone had told me that sex is ok, that it\u2019s normal and human nature. Then, maybe I wouldn\u2019t have fallen so deeply into my own destruction and depression.<\/p>\n

Ayqa:<\/strong> I\u2019ve been there too, Fariha. Sometimes, I don\u2019t feel any sort of guilt or remorse for my actions; then other times, sex leaves me in a dark place \u2014 a place where I begin to question and dissect my own beliefs.<\/p>\n

Since I was forced to guide myself through puberty and my sexual awakening, I ended up always relying on my partners for advice and direction. I figured they would have all of the answers; they were the only ones who could save me from the trappings of my religion.<\/p>\n

In my last relationship, I subconsciously dropped most of my routine and revolved a new life around my partner. We shared interests and hobbies, like music and art, but sex was a huge part of our relationship. If we weren\u2019t intimate, everything else felt meaningless. And yet, I\u2019d find myself in their bed, after they\u2019d gone to work, talking to Allah, \u201cI know this doesn\u2019t feel good but I don\u2019t know how to leave.\u201d I was so exhausted from needing this person that I\u2019d slip into praying in these moments, begging God to show me the truth. There was a part of me that didn\u2019t want God to abandon me even if I knew what I was doing was \u201cwrong.\u201d<\/p>\n

Fariha: <\/strong>That\u2019s so real \u2014 the fear of losing God.<\/p>\n

Nowadays, even though I live my life by my own principles, I feel closer to Islam than ever before. It finally feels like mine \u2014 not just something I\u2019m trying to uphold, badly. I don\u2019t want to live my life thinking that God is forever punishing me, when I could live a full life, and understand, and know, that God is always there and loves me.<\/p>\n

Ayqa:<\/strong> Oh, there have been a few times I\u2019ve felt like God was punishing me, too. I went to the gynecologist for the first time when I was dating my first boyfriend and it was maybe three months into our relationship. I felt scared and liberated during my first visit. I was in an unfamiliar place where a very personal part of myself was going to be examined and spoken about so openly. I had never really spoken about sex with my friends, because I didn\u2019t have many partners. I didn\u2019t fully know much about vaginas and sex until I started having experiences, and with them I developed a stronger relationship with my body. Being in that office alone and lost showed me I was there to take care of myself, because if I didn\u2019t, no one else would.<\/p>\n

A few days later I got a phone call from a doctor: I tested positive for Chlamydia. I immediately had a panic attack. I wanted to run into my mom\u2019s room and cry. I wanted her to hold my hand and take me to the gyno and tell me it was going to be okay. I wanted her to validate me and my pain, to tell me that I did nothing wrong and that this all would go away.<\/p>\n

For a moment, I thought God was punishing me. That I deserved all of this because I decided to have sex. But that moment was short-lived. My next thought was that I needed no one but myself.<\/p>\n

Fariha: <\/strong>Did you talk to your partner about how you felt punished by God?<\/p>\n

Ayqa:<\/strong> Well, I berated him for not telling me about his STI, but I did not tell him about this conversation with God. Islam, in general, was a subject my partner and I rarely discussed, and when we did, we barely skimmed the surface; it felt too complicated for him to digest, so I just avoided it.<\/p>\n

Fariha:<\/strong> Which makes sense, too, when you\u2019re unsure of where you stand you avoid talking about it. I used to do this because I was so embarrassed of being Muslim, and feeling Muslim, when I knew I didn\u2019t seem Muslim enough<\/em>. Though, I think more so, I just didn\u2019t know what to say, how to defend myself. Going forward, I think it\u2019s gonna play an important role in conversations I have with future partners, because I feel way more comfortable in all of my identities now.<\/p>\n

In the past, I\u2019ve always felt in between two worlds: I wasn\u2019t Muslim enough to be a true part of the Muslim community; at the same time, my religion was too much for my non-Muslim friends to understand. I think that\u2019s why I write \u2014 to create the community I never had. To protect the young women, femmes who need this<\/em> like I needed this when I was younger. I want us to safeguard our bodies, and our souls, so that we don\u2019t get into abusive relationships, or put our selves on the line.<\/p>\n

Ayqa:<\/strong> Communities aren\u2019t always kind.<\/p>\n

Fariha: <\/strong>They\u2019re not. Humans like to place other humans (especially women\/femmes) into boxes, which is very destructive. Either you are this or that \u2014 you can\u2019t be both. Take, for example, the time a woman on Twitter told me I wasn\u2019t Muslim because I didn\u2019t wear the \u201crequired\u201d head-covering. Just by looking at me, she had placed me into a box. A box unworthy of being a Muslim. It was upsetting.<\/p>\n

I think that if we can teach young girls that their bodies are their own, not their religion\u2019s, or their families\u2019, or their partners\u2019, then maybe we can move to a place where women have a real, holistic understanding and acceptance of who they are. I don\u2019t feel the need to explain myself to any community anymore. I have to come to terms with my own life, my decisions \u2014 for myself. Not for everyone else who wishes to control me. I\u2019ll decide how to live my life and follow my faith. And other Muslims should learn to do the same.<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n

Ayqa:<\/strong> I feel the same way about my relationship with Islam: it\u2019s between me and Allah, and no one else. I am going to practice what I feel is right \u2014 even if my actions feel contradicting.<\/p>\n

A \u201cgood\u201d Muslim is one who prays, eats halal, practices the five pillars of Islam, practices abstinence; a \u201cbad\u201d Muslim is one who drinks, has sex, eats pork. I don\u2019t believe in either, and I think such dichotomies need to be demolished. I was born with a history and tradition that will never leave me. I am also a child of the West. I like having a glass of wine \u2014 and I like praying. I am affected by the implications of Western society alongside the placement and practice of Islam in my personal life, and life as a member of Western society. Here, in North American, we are given a lot of space to explore ourselves without deliberate consequences. We are lucky for this, so why begin to dismiss our existences because we don\u2019t fit a mold? There is no formula to get into heaven. It\u2019s between you and Allah.<\/p>\n

This article originally appeared in Muslim Women Speak<\/a> on Medium and is republished with permission from the author. <\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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