Something about Religion

Don’t you ever wonder what the purpose of life is? I never really did, “يقدم لله” (it’s Arabic) my mother would tell me when I was younger. It means to submit to Allah which essentially means the purpose of life is to understand there is no god but Allah. Religion was pretty impactful in my life (the formal way it was introduced to be specific), my entire family were followers of Islam which means they follow the five pillars of Islam. My family is pretty religious. They would wake up early in the morning and across their daily routines recite the Quran word from word. The religion was followed to its exact amount and then there’s me. A sense of formality in the form of religion always lingered around my life for as long as I could remember so it’s obvious that I'm formal in my writing with an elegant demeanor (is what you would think). That doesn't sound like me at all, well that’s not who I make myself out to be at least, but I did love my parents very much. 

        The quickest way to a mother’s heart is through literature, (well at least for me)
to read the Quran and recite it to the smallest detail (even your pronunciation had to be spot on). My mother would have such a large smile every time I would recite “alhamdu Surah” to her. Reading the Quran formally and uniformly made her proud of me and there’s nothing more I want then to make my parents feel proud that I’m their child. There’s a surah for everything (and I mean everything), even going outside when I would walk to the corner store to buy that fake Frosted Flakes, the one with a polar bear on it instead of a tiger (we didn't have much money) I would constantly recite the Quran in my head as each time my foot is placed on the concrete on my way to the store. Even entering the store, I would use my right foot because that's the formal way the prophet entered a room (always right first when entering and left foot for leaving). Life was pretty formal which gets a little weird because of the informal environment I was raised in (Brooklyn). My home wasn’t very large and it wasn’t particularly the ‘best’  place to live, we didn’t have much but I never thought about it too much my mom would tell me “always be grateful for what you have no matter how little” so I was raised to praise most of the things I have one of which being my little journal I keep for writing my stories in. Being in such a formal household, reciting the Quran to the very detail and talking to my parents and siblings in the uttermost respect which would lead one to assume my journal was full of formal writing, that was not the case.

My form of writing was informal, within that journal there was poetry filled with vulgar language and strong feelings that I freely expressed with not a care in the world, most of the spelling was incorrect and the words was drifting off the lines in a sloppy handwriting. Being able to express myself without having to worry about my parents' thoughts was the best feeling in the world, writing in this manner also allowed me to try something different and act in a new way that gives me the ability to feel like somebody that does not have cold and heavy chains of formality wrapped around his voice. The irony behind my informality is that my English and Bangla writing are equally ‘good’ and by good, I mean what society definition of good is (formal and clear without an accent). English is my first language, and I gradually picked up Bangla from hearing it around my house, my preference was speaking in English because if you knew how to speak English fluently you were considered smart (or at least that's what my parents implied). Due to my fluent English, I was typically the one to answer important phone calls for my dad about bills or work because my dad had a slight accent (he was not taken seriously with that accent). It was already embedded in my mind that I had to speak formally and with a strong voice so that I can sound like my father. Overtime my formality in Bangla grew into a form of my own language (in a way); my newly found “Broken Bangla”. To me, broken Bangla is a mix of English as well as some Bengali ‘slang’ in the mix (words that typically was made up by me). Although I knew how to speak in (formal) Bangla my preferred Bangla was not “proper” nor was it fully in Bangla (which made me slightly harder to understand). My friends are primarily why my language changed so drastically, my literature was created in a newer form due my vast interactions with my family as well as my teachers and friends; Through the lessons I was taught by my friends, family and teachers giving stories about their lives and interactions I was able to create a persona for myself and change my writing to a more a more informal laid back appeal compared the formality I had back when studying the Quran. I typically add small little side notes so that people know what I am thinking compared to when writing stories about the Quran or in school about literally anything, my writing was always ‘perfect’ to my teachers and religious instructor, but it was never perfect to me. People are not able to write about who they are in the way they want (simple thought but there's so much to say about it), people typically have the mindset that “you have to be formal” or “ you have to put on your ‘white voice’ in order to make it somewhere in life” these terms have always been told to me and it confused me. Why does my writing or my voice has to be heard or read in a specific way in order to get noticed? 

Whether I’m writing it to be slightly rebellious towards my parents' formality or I just straight up enjoy it is not a question I ever went to depth on, all I know is that this is the person I want people to see me as through my writing. A question that was constantly put into my mind was why I chose to go on the path I’m on now, the answer is simple. To make me feel like ‘me, the reason I follow my path is because I want to express myself to everyone for who I am. Now I’m at the top of the first floor with each step acting as a boost in my life, things are rushing into my life such as college, jobs, weddings to attend and this little piece of literature I am working on and my choice is to write it in my voice, to act on these tasks in my personality, to present myself in a way that I want others to see me as. Now I’m on the first floor and I’m hoping to climb further not as the person my parents saw me as when I was a child, I want to climb the steps left in my life as the person I know became. There’s a blank book out there that I’m staring at each day waiting for me to write the rest of my story but this time I won’t have to hide my literature from anyone, I can write me for who I am; an informal, laid back, super expressive writer.