When was it that I became Muslim?
Was it the moment I was born?
Was it when I took my first breath?
Or was it when I got a bit older, and realized that people around me moved up and down several times a day?
Was it when I was 4? Or 5?
Was it when I put on my first pair of “Muslim clothes”?
Or when I started to attend my first madressa?
Was it in grade 2 and 3, when I started to have Muslim friends?
Kids that looked like me.
Sounded like me.
Dressed like me.
Was it when I grew a bit older, and moved into grade 5 and 6?
Maybe it was during those Fridays when we left school early to attend Jummah?
Or maybe it was in grade 7, when Chris asked me if my mom dressed like us?
Hmm…
Maybe it was a bit later than that?
Perhaps it was in high school, when we were able to pray salah in congregation, at school?
What if it was during grade 11 World Religions class?
Maybe it was in university? Possibly the first time I learned there was an International Blasphemy day?
Maybe it was during the discussions I had with friends about religion?
Or maybe it was after university, when I got my first full time job, and washed my feet in the bathroom sink?
Hmm…
Maybe it was in Korea. But wait, how could it be in Korea, I was the only Muslim I knew there.
Maybe it was during those nights of loneliness?
Maybe it was during the tears?
Or the yearning for a higher power to pour my sorrow into?
Maybe it was in the culture shock and lack of resonance?
Perhaps it was when I got married, and learnt what compromise meant?
Maybe it was during our first trip, when I saw a man prostrating in public?
Maybe it was the year covid happened, and we took a trip to Banff?
Perhaps it was in all the sights that called for nothing less than a “SubhanAllah”.
Or was it in the mountains that our lord has told us will come crumbling down.
When was it?
When was it?
When was it?
“…Surely in this are signs for people who reflect.” (Quran 45:13)
VASIM KAPADIA 