Shoulder to Shoulder; Feet to Feet

Being from a mix parentage isn't just fascinating while growing up, in a way it made me understand racial differences better, to appreciate the cultural heritage, the languages, to seek a common factor that binds rather than separates and ultimately to seek the truth in the practices carried out generations through generations before.

My mother gave me my christian name as I was born on the Roman Catholic feast of Corpus Christi and F******** is the family surname. Brought up as a Roman Catholic child, I was patiently taught and made to memorise prayers as early as 3 years old by my paternal grandfather, grandpa Donald, now 91 years old [2009]. Kneeling in front of him each night, hands claps together, looking earnestly at his wrinkled ancient lips recite the prayers as I obediently followed suit until it was committed to memory. Every single day at 7pm it was time for prayer, family prayer. The candles were lit and we, cousins, aunts and uncles, mum and dad, grandpa and grandma, gathered around the altar, statues of Mary and Jesus were standing side by side behind the candles in the little white wooden box mounted high above on the wall. Hands claps around tiny beads, heads bowed, the family rosary began. This is the routine.

My religious education started early. My father fervently ferried me and my only brother each week for Catechism classes (religious classes) with nuns, priests and teachers on church grounds at the tender age of 6 years old until 16 years old. The Catholic faith formation continued until I graduated with my Bachelors in Science in 2005. By then I was reading a lot and my interest lay in inter-religious dialogue which was further enhanced when I was sent by the diocese as a student representative for a formation in inter-religious affairs in Bangkok in 2003. When I came back I was made the secretary for the diocesan commission for ecumenism and inter-religious dialogue (IRD) which lasted until i graduated from a government university in August 2005. I remembered the graduation day, my parents were so proud, they drove 300 km to stand by me on either side while I was holding a bouquet of huge seven white lilies, smiling widely, a gift from both of the two most precious persons in my life.

As an extrovert, I never liked to stay at home doing nothing long, therefore I told my mother I wished to continue studying. I pursued Masters in Science at a different university about 130 km away from my parents home in May 2005, even before graduation of BSc. I started early, and put my interest in IRD behind, at least for awhile. I worked hard in the research and managed to finish a large part within a year. Nevertheless, I was still keeping my interest silent, reading the instant i get the chance about all the religions more specifically about the differences between Christianity and Islam. My parents did not know. I never dared tell them for fear they will scold me and get upset and make me stay at home with them.

It happened during which my interest was sparked further when my cousin sister, two years my senior converted to Islam. I witness how much my own family held grudges upon that religion and even threatened to disown her. I remember how grandfather didn't even want to hear her name more so meet her when she came for a visit. I remember how my aunties and uncles all spoke ill of her and the man she wanted to wed, they accused him for all that had happened to her, they accuse him of making her revert to Islam. Eventually she turned to me. We spoke over the phone long, she was sharing her feelings and I was asking her why did she convert, what was her reason. Incredulously, she said it was because of her boyfriend, she wanted to please him for he was a Muslim. I remembered despising that religion too. God is indeed great. She made up her mind a month before the wedding day, she wanted to come back she said. She apostated. Since then the six years till now all I know about her is her struggle to change her identity card to the original form, bearing no label of being a muslim, no change of name whatsoever. The family accepted her back, grudgingly. What a shame, I thought.

My doubts became real, they were eating at me everyday now, I was feeling unease but I never mentioned to my parents anything about it. I read more and widely, I seek religious advice from nuns and priest, their answers weren't answers at all, it made me even more doubtful. Finally after so much thought, after nights and nights of kneeling in prayer, saying the rosary and asking for God's grace and guidance, for His supreme discernment, after assaulting my conscience and tears that came with it when I thought of the consequences of my final decision towards my relatives and myself. I took my stand. After the trip to India, I converted and called myself a Muslim.

As was presumed, the outcome was heart wrenching. My parents felt cheated, they felt I was stolen from them, that I was being put under a curse, being jinxed to convert, being forced, which was really on the contrary.

"Let there be no compulsion in religion" I remembered the ayat from surah al-Bakarah 255.

That was July 2006. That was the time I learnt that to stand up for my believes while those nearest to me felt the opposite was not the sweetest occassion one would like to experience again on this earth. Yet I know I wasn't alone, because in the end it is the truth that would ultimately prevail. My doubts were gone, it felt as if a heavy burden was lifted from my soul. I was happy... spiritually. My heart cries for my parents all the time, they cannot accept it they say, it is too much for them, I have shamed them they say. Prayer is still the best medicine for the heart, for mine and theirs.

So it happened eventually. A year from then, I am still me, the government requested for new Muslim converts to register and to have a Muslim name, I picked 'Mariam', the mother of Christ Jesus, the following two, 'Aisha Fatima' was given by a couple of individuals I love nearly as dearly as my own parents as the government also adviced for a new Muslims to have a Muslim foster family. I didn't want to have my Identity card changed, as i still wanted my name given by my mother to be used. She is my mother, that much and more I hope to do for her.

They say sweetness is when one feels at peace, I say sweetness is also when you know that in the end the truth will set you free.