In my 30 something years of existence as an Islam woman I have never done fasting on Ramadhan. Never worn the traditional Maguindananoan garb, never did sambayang (obligatory prayer) and not even once showed interest in the native arts. Classmates would ask me why I never donned a tendong (head scarf) unlike my other cousins who never left home without it. I would occasionally wear scarves but it usually ended up on my shoulders or my neck and used as a fashion accessory or to shield me from the cold. So very Sex and the City. The only time I would be caught in a malong and bangala (blouse) was on special occasions like weddings and the jesuit school prerequisite United Nations Day Parade in Ateneo. That was about it. I was a farce. An embarrasment to the religion I called my own.
I reached the point when I thought of converting to Christianity just to fit in. In my heart I was Islam but my entire body and my education told me I was a Catholic. I knew there was something missing. I felt it but never did anything about it. Until a few months ago.
I called it a journey. A journey back to my roots.
Stocking up on books and voraciously surfing the net of everything from Surahs and the Pope's much publicized Islam-bashing. With the help of my cousins and good friend Girard I managed to fast 18 days out of the 30-day fasting period of Ramadhan. Not a small feat for a big eater.
Slowly but surely I am getting there. Treading the path to discovery. Gaining the knowledge and pride of my neglected heritage.
A long overdue Belated Eid Mubarak to everyone. Just in case you didn't get a copy of Tuesday's (October 24) Philippine Daily Inquirer here is the link to my cousin Teng's FRONT PAGE feature. Front page people! Hoot hoot!
