arushik

[arushik]

[arushik]

The Right To Say No

A lot of the more liberal, ‘cute’ Muslims will always be on my ass about ‘you left the religion now stay away from it. Why do you keep talking about it?’ so I’m here to end this pointless discourse.

Because I’m not allowed to leave it.

I live in Egypt, a muslim-majority country with laws that allow my family to kill me with no repercussions if I disobey them, try to run away from them, bring ‘shame’ or ‘dishonour’ upon them (through such horrendous acts as having a boyfriend, or even just male friends), or if I ruin the family reputation. There’s a million and one ways for them to get away with my abuse, with marrying me off, with controlling my every move, with killing me in cold blood. If I speak out in my real life about leaving Islam, I’ll be killed by a brain washed stranger before my parents even get to hear about it.

Islam is not a religion of peace, and anyone who speaks basic arabic can tell you that the word Islam does not come from the word salam, meaning peace or greetings. They come from the same root word, yes, but that does not mean in arabic what it does in english. Islam comes from the word istislam, meaning to surrender. To surrender yourself completely to Allah, mind and soul. To obey without question, to believe without thought. That is what Islam teaches Arab children. These are the literal words of our prophet. Your mortal mind is too weak, too small, to understand Allah’s will in His creation. Do not trust your mind. Trust my words blindly.

I’ve been forced to wear the hijab since I was 10 years old. I was too young to understand then, too young to say no, but when I was a teenager I tried to argue that I would wear it when I’m older, when I can understand, when I feel ready. All of this got shot down angrily, even with me crying my eyes out for days, begging for some freedom to breathe. I am still forced to wear it to this day.

I’ve been forced to pray the 5 daily prayers since I was 4 years old. My parents would grab me and put me in a long tarha and make me do the movements next to my mother (never, of course, standing next to my father or brothers. Even in families, the wife and daughters stand behind the sons and father), before I was even old enough to understand the words being said. My father followed prophet Muhammed’s words “Order your children to pray by 7, beat them for it by 10″. A child refusing to pray would mean a punishment worse than death. I’m still forced to pray, to this day.

I’ve been forced and dragged and beaten and screamed at and punished since I was 5 to memorise the Qura’an. It’s made up of long verses in complex Arabic. It often speaks of violence towards non-believers, both in this life and the next. It often insults and sneers at Christians and Jews. It often speaks of violence against women. It speaks of the murder of homosexual men - and never brings up the unthinkable, homosexual women. It speaks of the evils of women, befriending non-believers, homosexuality and disobedience. It speaks of women being unclean while on their periods. We are not allowed to touch the Qura’an or even speak it aloud during our periods. I am still forced to memorise it, to this day.

I am forced to dress in long, uncomfortable, itchy materials, even in 50 degree weather (celsius) in the Saudi Arabian sun. I can not wear see-through materials, or tight materials, or even half sleeves. Every inch of me must be covered save for my hands, my feet and my face. I often pass out from the heat. I can’t wear a swimsuit at the beach. I can’t wear shorts or tank tops in my own house. I can’t stand in the cool breeze with my hair blowing behind me. I am not allowed to become a judge. I am not allowed to be a ruler. My word in court counts for half of what a man’s does. I am the image of the devil. I am sin. I am a woman.

I can’t stand up and say, I am an ex-muslim, I can’t stand up and say, I am a bisexual woman. I can’t stand up and say I denounce this religion, I denounce this life, I reject these limitations. I reject these ideas. My hair is not so enticing that I have to cover it. My arms are not sexual organs. My name is not arousing. My sexuality is not wrong. My logic is above your 1400 year old myths. I can’t stand up and say no. I can’t say, I was born into this life, I did not chose it, I was born a muslim, with muslim parents, in a muslim country. I can not say, I’ve tried your Islam and I didn’t like it, and I don’t believe in it. I can not say I’ve decided I don’t want it.

All I want is the right to say no. The right to reject a life that was thrust upon me without my approval. The right to seek out my own paths.

All I want is the right to say, No, I will not surrender.

[arushik]

Bird in a Cage - Prologue

The castle in front of her was dark and imposing. The turrets disappeared into the clouds and the drawbridge groaned as it was being lowered. Saro looked out from between the silk curtains of her carriage. It looked like an unfriendly place. She stepped out of the carriage, adjusting the skirts of her lehenga and lowering her veil to more completely cover her face. 

A king was waiting for her inside, beyond the drawbridge. She froze at the door of the carriage. A court lady gently held her hand and coaxed her towards the main doors as the drawbridge finally met the ground. There was a thud, and a cloud of dust that blew past their feet and into the city streets behind them.

“It is not long now,” the court lady whispered into her ear. Saro missed her old handmaids. All of them remained at home, and she had been given new servants. They were all strangers to her, and while they strived to please her, each new kindness and consideration felt like a bribe. They sought to earn the favor of a queen, and none of them were subtle. 

The court lady smoothed down the skirts of Saro’s lehenga. Saro walked forward. There was no welcoming party to greet them at the threshold. There were no wives with bells and flowers to welcome the prospective new bride. She liked the lack of ceremony and started to walk in. The sooner she met the king, the sooner she could tell him she was not fit to be his queen. She could go back home before he discovered her secret, and no one would be the lesser for it.

Saro strode across the drawbridge. Beyond the castle’s walls, the insides of the structure were softer. The inner walls were painted white, and the stones shone against the mid-morning sun. People bustled about doing their work, and there were children running around chasing each other. A stone path led to a pair of massive wooden doors, and she headed for them. 

Trumpets sounded as she stepped off the drawbridge and onto the stone path that led to the castle’s massive front doors. Flower petals rained from the sky, and the trumpets gave way to the sounds of an orchestra.

Saro looked up. The battlements were filled with people holding baskets of flowers. It was where the music was coming from as well. The massive front doors of the castle opened, and a boy walked out, his hands behind his back.

He was young, nearly as young as her. Yet he was a king. He was handsome, but for the moment Saro did not want to think of that. 

“Your highness,” Saro said, bowing in greeting.

“My wife,” he replied. From behind him, he withdrew a garland of golden jasmines and placed it around Saro’s neck. She heard the court ladies whispering to themselves of the garland’s beauty. It was a beautiful thing, truly a work of art.

“Do you like it?” the king asked. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

It’s too heavy, Saro thought. Far too heavy.

#fiction #writing #indian #fantasy #prologue #writer

[arushik]

In case you didn’t know, our justice system is completely fucked up. From the cops to the DA to the judges. The law does not represent morality. That’s a lie told to us to keep you in check and shame for being immoral when you question authority. Never let anyone make you feel stupid or immoral for questioning the law.

[arushik]

it would be neat. unfortunately, my hair can barely even grow itself. 

wish my hair grew little flowers on its own how neat would that be

[arushik]

I see this art and it makes me think of Venus, of how a lot of women truly are. There’s no tiny waist or hourglass figure. There’s no sucking in to pretend stomachs don’t exist. It’s a reminder that beauty can exist perfectly naturally without filters or facetuners, without shaving inches off our arms and legs and hiding those parts of ourselves have been taught to be insecure about. 

#truebeauty

[arushik]

Replace “spit” with “pee” and you have me. 

my fatal flaw is not being able to contain my disgust when i see a man spitting on the ground and it’s gonna get me murdered

#public urination #disgusting

[arushik]

If your nipples are deep red, consult a doctor.

Neil Gaiman describing women's breasts.

[arushik]

Very good advice for both the writer and the critiquer.

[arushik]

[arushik]

“You will never love the man you marry.” “How many women do in this world?” Alice asked.

chapter 28, The Merulan Cruse. 

The Merulan Curse on Tapas

#tapastic #tapasnovels #wattpad #tapas_app #tapas #webfiction #writing #dialogue #regencyromance #fantasy #arushi #fiction #historicalfiction

[arushik]

marie antoinette was a clueless teenage girl thrown into a marriage and country she had no choice in, and has been slandered for hundreds of years since her death, with made up quotes such as “let them eat cake” when her final words were actually apologising to a guard for stepping on his toes, the fact that despite the extravagance she was much less fancy and money wasting than previous royals, and the erasure of her efforts to listen to and help the people despite having no political experience and her king-husband being useless, all providing a perfect example of the sexualised demonisation of young women with any semblance of power throughout history, and in this essay i will

[arushik]

(via Turkish woman allegedly kills abusive husband, becomes social media icon)

“Will women always die? Let some men die too,” Dogan told police. “I killed him for my honor.”

[arushik]

Spitz

After getting a puppy, I had my fair share of puppy blues. He’s my first dog, and while I’ve played with and taken care of other peoples’ dogs for short periods of time, it’s not the same. Not to mention, puppies are a whole different ball game.

Today, I took him for a walk. In the street next to ours, I saw a cute little Indian Spitz with three legs. He (or she?) was cute, and seemed friendly to my puppy when we last saw each other. Unfortunately, that day, there was a barricade placed across the opening of the street. It was cordoned off. Today they removed the barricades, and I went to meet my puppy’s potential friend.

The Spitz was lying on the steps outside the gate of a house. He was someone’s dog, as the collar around his neck clearly indicated. I walked with my puppy towards him, but he seemed somewhat sleepy. I was about to give up and try again tomorrow.

Spitz was on the concrete steps outside a house gate, and while I watched, a woman threw small rocks down onto him from her house’s rooftop terrace. He was hurting no one, he was not peeing on their property. He was simply sleeping.

I don’t understand peoples’ unnecessary cruelty. What kind of person throws stuff and yells at a small, three-legged, pet dog? I was furious, but my puppy was also getting scared by the falling rocks and the yelling, and so I led him out of the street.

I’m gonna go back tomorrow with some snacks for Spitz. If they throw things or yell again, I’m yelling back. And trust me, I’ll actually have something to say.

#dogsofindia #animal cruelty #spitz #dogs #dog