Beauty: Whose standards do you live by?

As a young woman growing up in the west, I am constantly reminded that in the eyes of my society, I will never be good enough. I will never be good enough because I will never look good enough. And I will never look good enough until I chain myself to society's endless list of demands.  

Standing in line at a checkout, I am told that I have not yet achieved my skin's ultimate glow. 

But not to worry, there is something for that.

I am told that my weight is not ideal. 

But not to worry, they have tips and tricks for that. 

I am told my curves are unnatural, further reminded by the frustration felt after countless shopping trips. 

I am not thin enough nor am I tall enough. My nails need work, my eyebrows need work. My clothes would also look a bit better if they hugged me a little tighter. Forget the scarf, I am told of my beauty's inverse relationship with my clothes- in this case, the less the clothing, the more beautiful I will appear in the eyes of others.  

And if society's demands weren't bad enough as they were, they continue to change. The length of my hair no longer complies with society's standards, neither does the length of my skirt, leaving me chasing after demands with seemingly no end in sight. What I failed to realize all these years, however, is that these ideals of beauty have been changing for as long as humans have been in existence. 

And that is when it finally hit me. 

These very ideals that have caused young girls to starve themselves, to cut themselves and to torture themselves mentally and emotionally were ideals devised by human beings. A product of societal construction, women are forced into literally buying into a notion of beauty crafted intelligently by men willing to exploit these women on behest of their gain. Not only do they set a bar so high women are left gasping for air from the cruel physical and mental exhaustion experienced thereof, they set the bar in relation to THEIR perception of true beauty. How then, am I supposed to buy into society's definition of beauty when its definer shares not a single demographic with me? How could I ever feel satisfied complying with standards that would continue to change, as they are nothing more than a product of human creation? It was the realization of this simple fact that allowed me to discover the reasons behind society's faulted, unattainable notion of beauty. 

I suddenly felt the biggest wave of relief I had felt in a very long time, for it was at that moment when I realized the incredibly simplistic nature of my Creator's standards for me, the only one who truly even mattered in the first place. To him, neither the colour of my skin nor the size of my hips mattered, so long as my character fell beautifully in line with his demands of holding myself upright as a virtuous Muslim woman. In complying with these standards, I would find the honour, respect and beauty we had been told to search for in all the wrong places by all the wrong people. The very people who would constantly remind us that we would never attain beauty, so long as we refrained from living up to their standards. Their oft-deceiving standards. In the eyes of my Creator, I would always remain testament to the beauty of all that He had created. For I was yet another example of a masterpiece created by none other than the Master himself. The Master of the Day of Judgement, a day when I will be asked not of the colour of my skin, nor the numbers that had appeared on scales throughout my lifetime, but of content of my heart and the weight of my good deeds. On that day, I realized that I would not be judged for the colour or the plumpness of my lips, but of the words that they spoke, be they good or bad. Allah set the standards for me so low, yet promised to elevate me to a status so high in comparison to the women who my society told me to emulate. 

The mind is a beautiful thing, and a single belief can alter with such force one's entire outlook on life. My convinced belief in Allah (SWT) frees me from the slavery my society continuously tries disguise as the truest example of liberation for women. We all have our insecurities. However, the real problem lies in one elevating the importance of their physical blemishes and insecurities over the more important issue at hand.

 

I am beautiful and I have found beauty in a faith that frees me from living up to illusory standards. If I can remind myself of this everyday, then God Willing, I will find pleasure solely in the recognition I receive from my Creator and none other. This type of beauty is attainable and ever-lasting. This is a type of beauty that is inspired by faith. And that is all I aspire to be. Beautifullyfaithful. 

And whatever thing you [people] have been given - it is [only for] the enjoyment of worldly life and its adornment. And what is with Allah is better and more lasting; so will you not use reason? [28:60]

*a reminder to myself before all others*

We Can't Be in Love

"We can't be in love," 

I whispered, but you refused to listen. The words that had plagued my mind for so long now also refused to listen, for in that moment I wanted nothing more than for you to hear what I had to say. But as always, they'd remain shackled in the depths of my mind, my soul left crippled for no tongue would come in aid to the voiceless. Speechless, you'd reach out and pull me in closer, making promises I knew you would never keep. Brighter tomorrows would become my dreaded todays, a nightmare replaying over and over again in my head. I knew we couldn't be in love, but somehow your words would always aim, with precision, at that empty hole in my heart. A temporary mask, but a mask nonetheless. Fragile, as though almost nonexistent, you'd break. The tear stained pieces becoming testament once again to two hearts that failed to beat together. To two hearts that had failed one another.

You told me you'd be everything I'd ever need, and that if I just placed my trust in you things would fall into place. And as I fell for your words, I'd close my eyes and hold back my guilt-ridden tears. You no longer meant the world to me. You no longer were the reason for my existence. Yet that empty space in my heart called out to you, holding on to the hope that things had changed, and that this time I wouldn't need to bend over to pick up the shattered pieces you'd always leave me with.

I'd push you away, breaking free from your desperate grip, but how many times would it take before I could finally break free?

"We can't be in love."  

This time, I wanted you to hear the urgency in my voice, to feel the certainty with which each letter was pronounced. Questioning the return of your grip on my forearm, you paused, your gaze piercing into my soul. 

"Just know that no other will bring you joy like I have, and no other will love you like I have. Replacements will come and go, but know that you will ultimately come running back to me. That empty hole can be fixed, so long as you trust in me".

I wanted nothing more than to be able to believe you and your words, for I could not bear the pain of of having lived a life in vain. But this time, things were different. This time, I had found someone who promised me better tomorrows so long as I put my trust in the toils of today. 

No one would love me as you had? If love was merely a myriad of temporary highs followed by the guilt of having bought into the facade of this feeling lasting forever, then yes, no one would ever love me as you had. But my new love promised me a reality your immaturity could never compete with. My new love would bring me joy, and through my sorrows. No longer would I continue in this love affair as my new love would show me the beauty in all that surrounded me, yet embrace me and protect me from all that would ever attempt to mask this beauty. My new love would prepare me for a hateful, unjust world wherein open veins spilled blood not in vain, but with a higher purpose your love failed to help me see. And with this purpose, my heart could finally heal, vanishing the hole your love would seldom seal. 

"We can't, and we will never be in love, so long as My Creator beats my heart to the rhythm of his love. His all encompassing, nurturing love."

And with these words, I could peacefully depart from a life crippled by the pain of your temporary love. 

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O my people, this worldly life is only [temporary] enjoyment, and indeed, the Hereafter - that is the home of [permanent] settlement. [40:39]

The Oil Lamp

The room, her world, was closing in on her before her eyes. She'd blink, and for a split second hold on to the hope that her lifting lids reveal an alternate world. But it remained the same.

Alone in that room, she spent her darkest days. One dark room, one door. 

That door. She knew, if ever light existed, the four seams through which light beamed was her proof. 

But not her only proof, for she was not alone in that room.

Her world had evolved over time from all that she once knew, to those 4 walls and 1 door. 

That door. Her proof of a world, a seemingly alternate reality, worth living for. 

No amount of convincing could deter her from following through on this sliver of hope. To her, belief had to mean more than the stills relayed to her processing centre. It just had to. Becauseto her,  the very essence of her living had to mean something.

That door, she knew, was her answer.

That door, she knew, would provide her with a reason to live, to laugh and to love.

She longed for the ability to one day hold on to that door's handle. She could

already feel her heart race, the space between successive breaths quicken and her hands

shaking simultaneously with the turning of the door's handle.

In that room, she knew she was not alone. She felt alone, but she knew other hearts beat alongside hers.

Independently, separately from hers, but they were there.

She also knew that they, too, were looking for a reason to live to laugh and to love.

They, too, desired an answer, a purpose. They, too, knew there just had to be more than this.

Enshrouded in darkness, she would watch intently as they each carried a source of light slowly, calmly, collectedly towards that door. She would watch as they opened the door, the sudden intensity of the light pushing them back in awe, a halo drawn ever so delicately around them.

And then they'd disappear. The room returning to its familiar darkness.

She had to get get there, somehow she had to find the courage to get too that door. To find her answer, every answer she had ever cried herself to sleep searching for. She whispered, proclaiming subtly to anyone around her who was willing to hear her out, that she wanted something more. She knew in her heart, that beyond these four walls, her answer awaited her. The answer, that would ease her pains, relieve he sorrows and bring glad tidings of better tomorrows. Her trembling voice bore witness to a conviction that had to be based on more than just that tiny sliver of hope that there was something more.

She rose, and as she rose a voice called out to her. She could see the dimly illuminated face of the person coming towards her at a quickened pace. They handed the source of that light over to her and hurried away.

She held it carefully with both hands and realized the source of this light that had guided people time and time again towards that door was a simple oil lamp.

The oil lamp, she realized, would guide her as well. Slowly, and with a firm grip on the lamp, she made her way to the door. Careful not to stumble, she felt her heart race as she came closer towards the door. With the lamp in her left hand, she felt her right hand tremble as she placed it on the doors handle.

And there it was, the light on the other side. More beautiful than her mind could comprehend, let alone imagine. With that, she gently placed the oil lamp on the ground beside her, and continued on her way, the door closing behind her. The four beams through which light shone through into the dark room the only proof remaining of an answer longed for by hearts once like hers. 

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By Allah's (SWT) grace, I live a truly blessed life. For not only do I see all that is beautiful around me for what it is, but as a reflection of who He is. What is beauty if the eyes do not perceive it as such? What is love, and wealth and everything else that is supposed to bring us enjoyment in this world if it has no real meaning. Just as the girl in my story, I have chosen to find an answer for myself- and so I ask you, what does this all mean? It is true that beauty is indeed in the eyes of the beholder, but it is also a reflection of the Holder of all of life's answers. This faith has guided me to all that is good and I not only find beauty in faith, but I find faith in beauty. And that is exactly what I aspire to be- Beautifullyfaithful.