The Making of Me

The Making of me in 18 years in an 18 minute read.

Finding Islam

I’m Amira, a Bengali born Muslim, currently in my first year of uni — tackling the challenges of balancing deen & dunya, university life, assessments, family, friends, community, finding myself and beyond. I’ve been in Australia my entire life, and Sydney is the place that feels most like home. But my identity runs much deeper — it begins with the story of my ancestors who first embraced, fought for and preserved Islam, passing it down to their progeny.

I remember once my uncle told me that he always sends his blessings to the first person in our family line that took the shahadah — that hit me. I realised how much we take for granted the athan (call to prayer) that was recited in our ears at birth & the Islam that was already around us as we grew up. We didn’t have to struggle to discover the idea of Islam for ourselves.

However truly finding the deen and resonating with it for oneself is a very constant and individual journey.

I remember when I began mine. It was the infamous quarantine Ramadan of 2020 & I had hit the lowest point in my life. Shackled at home, isolated from my people, drowning in HSC assessments and all alone with only my thoughts and Allah — I was placed in the perfect circumstance to interrogate myself about the purpose of my life. Sincerely I followed Yasir Qadhi’s daily, “Juz a day” Quran Tafseer and fell in love with my lord and his book. And when I came out of isolation something from deep within me had changed. It was a feeling of metamorphosis that words could never do justice to.

I always had powerful Islamic role models around me — my teachers, siblings and community. But I guess I just went with it — knew the basics well, did actions because I was told and loved Islam on only the basis of it being a part me. But as I got older, it was in the greatest joys in life and in its most difficult challenges, that I realised my absolute need for Allah. This happiness was temporary and so was this hardship, Allah was the only forever. I still have so much to learn as we all do, and I am only in the beginning of my relationship with Allah but I am confident that if I continue walking to him, he will continue running to me.

But let’s explore the events that led me here a little deeper.

When I was officially asked to write a blog for MYA — I was quite struck in the sense that nothing called upon me and spoke to me as “the one”. It was only after I stumbled across an extremely moving podcast “The Digital Sisterhood” (100/10 recommend) on the way to university when an idea sparked. It was incredible how touched I was through hearing the stories of complete strangers as they opened parts of their souls up to other strangers. As a close friend of mine says “We always want to see the world through other people’s eyes and stories I feel is the closest we’ll ever get to that experience”. I realised it was through hearing the stories of others falling in love with the religion of Allah, did my own love and appreciation for Islam overflow uncontrollably. It is through stories we come to know each other and to know aspects of our own selves. It is through stories we are able to connect with each other on a deeper level and make sense of the intangible notions of the world — to learn, grow and gauge the diverse ways people come to find themselves & their purpose. It is through experiencing the stories of others that we increase our empathy, awareness and wisdom on how to interact with the world around us.

After this epiphany I decided I wanted to share my own story more deeply.

I don’t want this to turn into a novel or a longer blog than it is already becoming, so I will mainly share my schooling experience and how that tied in with the making of me and the finding of Allah.

Bismillah. (In the Name of God)

I am always grateful that growing up, my family has always provided me the freedom to explore the world. I was never restricted in adding to my collection of experiences because my mother had a free spirit, my father, an open mind, and my siblings a love to share moments and experience things with each other (kudos to my older sister for always letting me tag along with her basically everywhere and teaching me an insanely large portion of how much I know about the world). This partly contributed to the reason why my early years of high school were like living a carefree, teenage dream. I was a wild spirit who had too many friends to keep count of, life was always buzzing with energy and excitement. I didn’t used to think too much, had no filter, and was extremely loud and talkative. But I was also always curious, learnt a fair bit about Islam on the way, had fun at all times & that was pretty much it.

Life was good, really good — too good.

You could say I really had it all in terms of the schooling experience — I was in public, private, co-ed, Islamic, non-Islamic, and selective schools. Colyton Public, Auburn Girls, Malek Fahad and Western Grammar. I met all different nationalities, socio-economics, religions, Muslims and people generally along the way; providing me a unique exposure to more than a limited category of people.

At the end of year 10 I was completing my schooling at Malek Fahd Islamic School — and we were embarking on the next phase; senior years. This meant we were choosing our subjects! Missing the cut-off by a mere few marks for advanced English I was told directly that my fate lay in Standard English and I “simply did not possess the capabilities to be anywhere else”. While my other peers accepted it, I refused. Naturally I was outraged and simply couldn’t comply, leading me to fight for my place in the “esteemed advanced English class”. I didn’t know what I was doing, only that a school had no right to limit a student’s capabilities no matter their excuse. After bringing in parents, meeting with higher ups, and crazy valid arguments I was still turned down.

I lost. I was stuck in standard and I was shattered. (Fun fact: I later received a band 6 in Advanced English whilst not a single person from the entire class I was originally rejected off did). Yeah, I know right, the irony.

We plan, and Allah plans and Allah is the best of planners.

But with this event I realised how I was sick and tired of the restrictive, private Islamic school system that was on my back from the moment I entered its territories. Despite having a strong group of friends and community, I decided I was ready to leave for a new school. I had the most dramatic goodbye where almost my entire class cried at my farewell party and I got a load of surprise gifts and sentiments.

But as it so often happens, Allah had other plans.

It simply wasn’t my time to leave & Allah had something greater planned for me. The next year I found myself doing the “walk of shame” back into the halls of MFIS I apparently said goodbye to forever in year 11.

Life continued as normal — but then in the early middle of term 2, things took a very interesting, unexpected turn. I found myself tackling another challenge within the school — racism, discrimination, bullying, whatever you would like to label it. For being brown and outspoken I was a target for the Middle Eastern males of my grade. I was grappled with a challenge I didn’t know how to fight, but as my character commands — I still tried. My close friends and I started a resistance, a revolution within the walls of our corrupted school — through the collection of stories, signatures, writing speeches, speaking to any one in power who would listen and were willing to help, we fought. We knew this was a deep-rooted issue existing in the Muslim community, one that seeped into the entire school — in every grade. How could we not fight? But after rejection after rejection, from too many avenues, I realised that this was a battle against an entire system that I could not fight right now. Looking back now, what hurt the most for me was the racism I had first hand experienced and been exposed to all around me was from my own Muslim community. In retrospect, this entire experience for the first time in my life awoke a fire that I didn’t know burnt within me — sparked the ache for activism within me.

I am someone who acts with their head, but my head tells me that there is importance in following your gut and your heart at times. So, this time I knew — the time for me to truly leave MFIS had come. One specific day after school when my school counselor told me the truth of how “seriously” they were taking our concerns — something clicked — I was done. I decided to leave on a whim — I will never forget that bus ride where I ranted to the entire M90 of our unethical school system and then to end off my dramatic speech I announced to the entire bus that I was leaving. Now I had to leave.

However, after trying very hard, giving it my all in those interviews, exams and admission and then finally getting rejected from Alpha Omega because my subjects didn’t align — teenage, low eaman (faith) me was absolutely devastated. My perfect plan for escape had failed — I broke down in front of my family (a quite unusual occurrence). I knew I couldn’t go back. My dad bought me a gong cha and my sister gave me a pep talk and I was even offered to go to our local public school but I wasn’t happy with any of it. Now in the final years of my high school journey, it seemed I was left with no-where to go.

But once again, Allah is the best of planners.

I miraculously found myself in the most random school ever. A freshly established community school down the road from my house, who had only had a single graduating cohort when I joined. After calls with NESA, exams to prove I was responsible enough to catch up on the new HSC subjects I was taking on board and quick touch ups of transforming trashy report comments into ones praising me — I made it. Moving there was a huge culture shock, from being known and knowing hundreds in a school and being a part of a massive community to this tiny block of buildings of extremely sheltered people, was not easy.

For the first time in history — life started to slow down and be a bit quieter. I was so used to noise; the change really came crashing down on me. On top of that my sister had moved to another state and found herself in the toughest situation of her life — the single most grounding figure in my life was unstable and I was left to totally fend for myself. Falling out with every single person close to me and then finding myself tossed into an entirely new group of strange people I could mostly not connect with, was difficult to say the least. It was all happening so fast & I didn’t have time to process it. I was totally disoriented. Suddenly I could no longer relate to my friends stuck in the vacuum of MFIS nor was I able to relate to the new people here. For a long time — I felt sad, lost and confused.

And it was in these times, I found my comfort, solace and protection from my Lord.

Then one day I woke up and realised this simply wasn’t me. I decided I would not allow my life to be all glum & it was time to stop feeling sorry for myself. I distinctly remember the day that I had a switch in mindset — it was when we went on an excursion to a Buddhist temple, I embraced my personality and let myself connect to the people who I was shutting off because I was stuck in my own ideas of who they were. And that opened endless doors for me, I let go of my angst and let people in. It was through conquering my own internal battle I was able to create priceless memories and life-long connections with people externally. This taught me two things: the biggest battle is the one with your own self & the mindset you consciously choose to adopt into your lives is what will determine its course.

“It was the best of times; it was the worst of times”

This quote was the absolute epitome of my time in Western Grammar. So much of this time period was exciting new thoughts, exposure to the greatest people I had ever touched lives with (my teachers — we will get there), being all alone which allowed me to exponentially develop as I was away from all the influences that were comfortable and had inadvertently trapped my growth. But in between all of this was a lot of feelings of loss, dissociation, confusion, revisiting trauma, anger and loneliness.

Again, it was with the comfort of Allah’s words, time with my lord, contemplation and dua (supplication/conversations with God) that I not only survived but thrived.

Mr Badar — my once teacher at MFIS, was the little part of familiarity in the foreign landscape of my new school. He was the single person who made this scary new experience slightly less bad and instead reminded me of who I was. He always viewed the world with a passion, a truth and an unconventionality I wished the rest of society would — he encouraged me and inspired me to break away from the ordinary. To my tiny, seven student year 11 Advanced English class — this teacher was our walking legend, our saviour. We were the dead poet society, and he as I like to say our “Mr Keating’s”.

Miss Yasmin — my year 11 bio teacher and the “Mother” and “glue” of the entire school. She was one of the most incredible women I had ever seen in practise. Hearing about great people and actually witnessing them are two entirely different concepts. She was a walking, talking human who was in the constant service of people, in the constant service of Allah, embodying the beauty of Islam we so often overlook. The way she selflessly cared for others, took on the emotions of others, dealt with those who had wronged her, her patience, perseverance and love for her students would leave those who could see it in awe. And if you ever asked her why, it would always be because of Islam.

Mr Malik, my SOR and BS teacher changed the way I viewed the religion of Islam and the words of Allah. Before meeting him, the Quran was only a book for me. Through always somehow relating subject content (always a lol moment of school) with his gems of knowledge and own Islamic lessons, I developed my foundational understanding of the religion. His passion for what he taught was moving — through him I learnt a new perspective of the miracles and stories in the Quran. It was he who both taught me the art of balance but also made me push my limits. He taught me self-discipline and how to act with calm and cool. I will always attribute a large part of my motivation to study and the beginning of my journey to truly understanding the message of Islam and the way it has been conveyed, to him.

Mr Qureshi, my PDHPE and English teacher of year 12. He made the most recent and foundational changes to my critical thinking and prepared me for what was yet to come. He touched my heart and mind in ways I didn’t think was possible and taught me the most about society as a large & the world. He always challenged me and dared me to think bigger, think different. He never doubted me — instead it was his belief in my abilities which led me to dream, evolve and succeed. It was through his support and my exposure to him I was able to grow leaps and bounds. Not only this, he was the king of advice and it was through relating, resonating and conversing with him, I filled my void of intellectual loneliness with substance.

Funnily enough, my teachers became my best friends and I knew I had to exploit the limited time I would have with them. I’ve always been someone who is overly inquisitive about the lives of others. I’ve always had the burning need to understand the complex nature of humans and dig into the stories that have shaped the people around me (probably why studying psychology fits just right). Connecting to people’s stories allows me to make sense of the chaotic world I find myself in. And by reaching out to these teachers, or frankly anyone that fit the opportunity — whether I met them in my travel journeys, if they were my siblings, friends, siblings’ friends or an elder — I was always able to learn so much from the people around me. And that is why I’m a strong believer in the sharing of stories & experiences for the growth of society as a whole. Especially the banks of knowledge that will soon cease to exist — our beautiful parents, their generations, anyone who is older.

Do you notice that the elders are the most neglected in society? That the elders are often standing up on crowded public transport or that the elders are experiencing higher rates of mental health issues than the rest of the population. What little importance do we as a society give to those who have experienced more than us. We’ve strayed far from the sunnah and traditions of those before us, that we no longer respect elders the way they deserve and seek their consul. We don’t necessarily have to listen to their advice but we still owe much to them and also have much to gain from their experiences and the wisdom that they have to offer.

So back from that tangent, — my year 12 teachers all played a crucial role in my journey to Islam, by watching them, I couldn’t help but be in awe at how they embodied the teachings of Islam in a way I had never seen done before. They made sense of the chaos of their worlds, they owned everything they did & they found all their success through Islam. It was contagious & I simply couldn’t believe all these other students could not see it. It brought the concept — it’s very hard to appreciate something if you can’t see its value or you haven’t had a deficiency of it. In my previous schools — I was surrounded by people in leadership roles who were fighting their fitrah (natural inclination), never those who carried themselves with it. These teachers taught their content REALLY well and had a true passion and understanding of the concepts they transferred to their students. With all of this I was able to go from a slack off student who was always prophesied by her family to receive a 70 atar to achieving a 90 plus. It was through the efforts and mentorship of my HSC teachers that I was taught well enough and inspired by their faith in me to become a high achiever. And deep in my heart, I knew that one day I myself had to be in a classroom transforming lives the way my life was transformed.

Teachers hold vital roles and make up the crux of society — they are the ones who raise the next generation and all the students who go into every other “more important” career path you can think of. To excel as a society, we must expose our children to teachers who are chosen for being the best in their fields and for having the best characters. A critical part of Tarbiyah (training/upbringing) is role models in schools. And that brings us to the whole concept of falling as a society due to the lack of importance placed on the status of school teachers, but that’s an entire other discussion for another time.

I will always make dua for my parents, teachers and mentors for what they have done for me and my priceless moments with them. I remember Mrs Hajar — another extraordinary teacher at the school told us that growing up her father would always tell her: after Islam, life experiences are the most powerful force known to mankind. That hit hard for me — maybe because sitting in that tiny sheltered Muslim school (a cohort of 17 people), I realised the place I was in life and the emotions I always felt, was so different to the peers around me — it was almost shocking. And the only reason this could be attributed to was the different places I had gone. It reinforced what Mrs Hajar was saying: experience is the best of teachers, exposure, taking risks, being out of your comfort zone truly forces you to grow. To develop empathy, resilience & deeper thought processes. Experiences are what make us realise our utter and total need for Allah, his presence in our life and his greatness.

Back to my story: keep in mind, up until the times of deep seclusion and true rock bottom confusion at this dunya I was still just a teenager going with the flow of where life took me, only vaguely figuring out that I really needed Allah. When I think of the times of covid, I reflect on the seerah of the Prophets and great Islamic legends in history. Prophet Muhammad (SAW) for example would escape the noise and fitnah (trials) of society by retreating to the remote cave of Hira to be in a state of deep contemplation. Our souls need isolation to connect with the one that created them. We must at times silence the clutter, the bustle and hustle of the rest of the world to hear our minds and hearts for once. It was covid Ramadan of 2020 for me that truly allowed me to do this — in the peak of all these soaring emotions I mentioned, I was suddenly then locked up in my house.

And I fell in love with all the time I had and the silence of every single moment with my thoughts and Allah. I finally had a chance to internalise all that had to come to pass and the knowledge I was exposed to in the past few years of my life. I barely attended online year 12 classes or actually studied for HSC during lockdown, instead I spent every spare moment reflecting, writing and learning more about Islam. I got silence after an eternity of noise. I attained freedom after an eternity of captivity from futile social interactions. I gained independence for myself and connected with Allah more deeply than I had ever done before.

After this, I consciously journey through life being mindful of seeking only the pleasure of Allah. I have first-hand witnessed the presence of Allah in my life and his miracles, and it is the multitude of experiences that Allah has placed in my life that has allowed me to taste the sweetness of eeman (faith). I would not change a single event in my life — not even the most terrible of moments, because without them there is no way I would have the appreciation for Islam that I do now.

And then after HSC was an extremely interesting time, as it is for many, going BAM into the world after 13 years of the exact same routine. But this story is not about my present nor my future, only aspects of my past — so I won’t address the insane amount of learning from life after graduating high school and experiencing university because that altogether is a work in progress and an entirely new plethora of experiences I will save for another time.

For now, I don’t know where life will take me, I don’t know what is yet to come — the trials, triumphs or tribulations. But what I do know for sure is that I am a human like any other, bridled by flaws and a never ending room to grow and evolve. So I ask Allah for his guidance, for him to keep us steadfast on the deen and to move our hearts to always choose Allah as our ally. Because how can we ever lose if Allah, the All-Mighty, the Most-Wise, the All-Encompassing, the one who created everything that opposes us in the first place is on our side? Because even if you have everything, you have nothing if you don’t have Allah. And even if you have lost everything, if the entire world is against you — you will always win if you have Allah.

Before I end off, here are 13 personal principles that I currently resonate with and would humbly like to share to anyone who Qadr (fate) has brought here:

1. Share your story, discover the story of others: you will be surprised at all that you will learn and how much you will grow.

2. Dare to dream and be — an entire world of opportunities awaits; you simply must be brave enough to seek them.

3. Let Islam be your map for everything and ikhlas (sincerity) be your compass. By Allah — your lord will take you exactly where you need to be if you sincerely seek his guidance.

4. We are only here for an extremely short while, live only for your eternal abode not this temporary stop you are just passing by (dunya is a drop of ocean in comparison to the akhirah: the hadith that changed my outlook on life)

5. Learn both about Islam and the world & act when you know things have to be done, when you see gaps in society: no one will ever do it for you. If not you — then who?

6. Perfecting our prayer is a constant struggle. Place massive importance in doing justice to your Salah (prayer) and don’t forget your athkars (morning and evening remembrance of Allah) — they will structure and give meaning and barakah (blessing) to your life.

7. Treat people the way you wish to be treated.

8. Do not undermine your abilities + what you have to offer to the world. But do not walk with pride. Remember that every human being has something to teach you, you just need to have the humility to be able to see it.

9. Find mentors, make friends, network, connect with people. You can’t make it alone.

10. Each of us are on our own unique journeys and have different, personalised individual needs. Don’t compare yourself to others and be discouraged, instead let them be a source of inspiration for you.

11. Don’t ever become stagnant or complacent. Take tiny steps, huge ones, walk, jog, run but never stand still.

12. Make Allah your best friend & always make dua for everything, especially for Allah to keep your intentions pure. Don’t ever forget that Al-Wali is our protective friend who will never leave us. He is al-Mujeeb, the Answerer of all of our prayers.