Apostate

Prologue

Before I start talking about my current life, I think I should first guide you through how I got here. So, I'm just going to quickly summarise what my life was like growing up.

I would say there were a lot of chaotic events in my childhood - it was, especially in terms of religion, very busy and there had never been any moment to hesitate or wonder about what was really going on. Like every other child, I soaked up everything fairly quickly and I never questioned what my parents said; it was always fact, the absolute truth. It was just natural for a kid to imitate their parents, and I wasn't any different. In a way, religion made life very simple for me. I had this idea, which seems kind of strange looking back, that this world was a game - if I was good, I would win, and if I was bad, I would lose. Simple. For most of my youth, I believed this wholeheartedly, thinking that life was nothing more than a challenge. There were certain rules set down by Allah and if we followed them, we would win this game and of course, like every Muslim child, it's what I was taught to sought after. Winning. It really was a no-brainer: I wanted to get to heaven. And not just ordinary heaven, I wanted cloud nine. The highest part of heaven there was. As you can probably tell, I was a pretty competitive kid.

This perspective affected my life in ways I wasn't, at that time, aware of. The basic notion I held throughout my childhood was to get through this life - it was just a delusion, it didn't matter. Though this didn't affect me academically or in any terms of progress, it did make me far less interested in reality. I never cared about this world and that prevented me from going deeper into things, being curious, truly caring and appreciating the world. Let's just say, religion was enough for me. For a very long time, it dominated my reality and I saw no need to give it up. So, I didn't. It was my base, my firm groud that I always expected to remain planted beneath my feet.

One thing which was stressed constantly throughout my childhood, was that I should love Allah more than anyone or anything in this world. And how could I not? He was perfect; kind, loving, merciful. Allah was everything to me - he knew me better than I knew myself, he strengthened me when I felt weak, he listened to my prayers. It wasn't hard to get emotionally attached to someone so unconditionally loving and forgiving. I was always left in a state of awe, I suppose, at his greatness and beauty. Unlike other people, he had no flaws and would never disappoint me. He was, simply put, my best-friend. I confided in him and told him every secret I had. If you came up to me at ten-years-old, I would've confidently promised you that the friendship I had with Allah would last forever and I would die saying his name. It's hard to get into words how I felt about him; he was, in every way, my world.

I believed that my relationship with Allah was special. Maybe the bond grew stronger by itself, but I know that it was enforced by my community and family, who also had very special connections with Allah. We had a great love for Allah and it made me feel happy to be with others who appreciated his existence as much as I did. Though my family was never particularly religious, we definitely started everything with Allah's name and commonly said phrases such as 'Insha'allah' or 'Masha'allah.' For a child, this setting naturally encouraged love for God. I also loved him for what he had created. Nature never failed to disappoint me - it was beautiful and the way everything was so well designed and sustained fascinated me. It clearly pointed to a creator: Allah. I didn't understand atheists at all, how could they walk the planet without believing in the one who made it all? The notion was ridiculous to me. It was enough proof for me to validate the existence of God.

For many years, I was very proud of the fact that I was born a Muslim. To me, it was an honour to be gifted by Allah with the blessing of Islam - which conveniently happened to be the right religion. I was always told how lucky I was to be raised up as a Muslim, how Allah had chosen me to be one of the guided. I felt special knowing that Allah had picked me from many others to be born as a Muslim, and when I saw non-Muslims, I almost felt pity for them. In my view, I had been given a head-start in this game of life which they didn't even know existed. I was really worried for everyone else though. They didn't even know that they were going to hell. I used to frequently ask questions about it, such as: are they going to go to hell if they don't know? The answers used to vary. Most elders told me they were too blind to see the beauty of Islam and they have an open choice. I felt bad that they might suffer in Hell after death but I trusted in Allah and knew his judgment was fair. I could never stop thinking about this though and I promised myself that when I was older, I was going to try to spread the message of Islam and help convert as many people as I could to Islam. But for my younger years, I plainly strived to be the best Muslim I could be. My objective in life was very clear from birth, and I never missed an opportunity to become a better Muslim.