April 2, 2013 {Prom Season and Formal Dance Horrors}
I should be doing chemistry homework right now. Or English homework. I really should. This isn’t very responsible of me, because I have so much crap to do, but I kind of had to rant about this now that it’s on my mind.
For all the Muslims who live in the West, you’ll feel my pain on this: formal dances. Whether your school calls it prom or a formal dance (like Homecoming), we all know what it’s like to be Muslim and have to deal with that. And it’s…(in very eloquent terms) poopy. It frankly sucks when everyone else around you is so hyped up about the big night and all you have going for you is a tub of Ben and Jerry’s in the fridge. Or some pictures of samosas on your dashboard on Tumblr.
I don’t know about your families, but my parents never let me go to any formal dances (well, I don’t even ask) except for the IB banquet (only because all of our teachers are there and it’s more of a dinner than a dance). So trust me, I’ve been there. I remember in eighth grade, the first time we had a formal dance, everyone was so excited and my parents weren’t going to let me go. And like I said, it sucked. I know it sounds superficial and immature thinking back on it now, but it’s hard being the odd (wo)man out, especially in the world of middle school where pre-pubescent mongrels chew you up and spit you out faster than a crappy Nicki Minaj album (YEAH, I WENT THERE). All of my closest friends were asking me about opinions on dresses and shoes and it wasn’t even about going to the dance that seemed to be the fun part: it was about getting all dressed up for what seemed (at the time) the biggest night of our lives.
I remember in eighth grade, I really wanted to go to this dance. I begged my mom, and I mean hardcore begged. I told her she didn’t even have to buy me a dress, I would wear Indian clothes (I know, don’t judge). I told her I just wanted a night to see my friends and “create memories.” She said no until I literally nagged her so much she threw her wallet down and told me to take the $15 for the ticket and go.
Victory, right? I got the cash! I could go to the dance and dress up for a night and hang out with all of my friends and create memories that last a LIFETIME! Not. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go to the dance knowing that my mom didn’t want me to go. I wouldn’t be able to fully enjoy it, you know? Not with her disapproval looming in the back of my head.
I had nagged my mom so much that I legit started crying when I was trying to convince her. Lame, I know. I can’t believe that was even me. Anyway, she gave me the money and walked away. It was dark, the only light on was the lamp, and I need to make a decision because the last day to buy tickets was the next day. So I grabbed a piece of paper and I started writing. The following is the actual letter I wrote my mom and put in her wallet (verbatim). I was thirteen at the time.
Dear Mom,
Thank you for the money for my ticket, but I can’t take it. I don’t want you to give me permission and money because I nagged you. If you are going to give me permission, I want it to be genuine.
Even if I took the money, I wouldn’t enjoy myself after seeing your expression when you handed me the money.
Whatever I do, I want you backing me up 100%. Don’t get me wrong, I still want to go. But not after you said no, and not as much as I wanted to.
Thank you so much for everything, Mom. Especially the fact that you were willing to let me go to the dance to make me happy. Don’t worry about it; it won’t hurt as bad as it used to knowing that I am the only one not going.
Those $15 will inshallah be better spent, not on some stupid dance. Besides, I know I’m a pretty expensive child. Again, thank you.
I love you (times a million),
Ash
God, my handwriting was pretty bad back in the day. But you get the idea. And what I said was true. It sucked the next day at lunch as everyone was excitedly purchasing their tickets. Worse, the day of the dance (the dance was a Friday), almost all the girls were getting checked out early to go to the salon to go get ready.
That night, every single one of my friends went to that dance. Worse, all the other Muslims (we had like three or four) went to the dance too, and I was the only person who stayed home. But one of the teachers I peer tutored for said something that stuck. She said, “Respectable girls don’t go to that dance. The amount of things that go on there…you don’t want to be involved with that.” And at the time, I didn’t fully understand what she was talking about.
But now I do. I no longer talk to anyone from middle school, just three people (well, two, because Hamza is one of them and he basically ignores me now but I’m not that close to the other two anymore). So the “memories” I wanted to make? So not worth my mom’s disapproval.
I heard all about it on Monday. The girls who showed up dressed like sluts. The dirty dancing. The grinding. The kissing. The groping. The bang bang on the dance floor (okay, not that far but you get the idea).
When I entered high school and was faced with the predicament of whether or not to attend Homecoming, I thanked Allah that I never went to that dance in eighth grade. The decision I made wasn’t just about attending. It was about conformity, standing up for my beliefs, and being comfortable in my own skin. I learned that if you’re always trying to be like everyone else, you’ll never be truly happy because the ones that love you know you can do so much better than what everyone else is doing. I learned that being Muslim isn’t some death sentence to my social life. It’s an honor because I’m removed from all the dirty things that take place at events like those. I learned that I need to be comfortable in my own skin and look people in the eye when I explain my beliefs and decisions, not shrink away in shame.
Now, I’m faced with a bigger decision: prom. It’s supposed to be the event of a lifetime. And I’ve been pressured into going, but I’m not going to. Sure, I do kind of want to see what it’s all about. It would be nice to hang out with some friends. But being in that environment and attending that event would only hurt my pocket and threaten my faith in my beliefs. I don’t want to spend hundreds on dollars to dress up and be around people I’ll never see again in my life. And I don’t want to be in an environment where I’m constantly pressured to dance with a guy. And I sure as hell am not going to pay $80 freaking dollars to stand around in the reception hall of some posh ass hotel to look at all the girls hike up their dresses and dance on some perverted guy who thinks he’s the sexiest thing since cheesecake was invented.
It’s tough, but stick in there! Making that decision in eighth grade seemed like the end of the world at the time but look at me know ;) No, but really. Just pray to Allah and inshallah it’ll be easier to get through that temptation. I feel yo pain, sista (or brutha).
All my love (and cheesecake),
Ash ♥
