“Nothing but our faith in the fallacy of the life imposed upon us is the truth. Everything is possible since Nothing is true.”
I am reaching out whilst enclosed from all corners, through bars and underneath the veil covering my hair. I exist, I am breathing, and I shall continue doing so in my own way. I would like to talk about the all-consuming and hideous oppression that shaped my whole childhood. My story begins, as usual, within a conservative family. I was raised in an intimately religious family.
Al-Fatehah, Surah Yaseen, alongside allegedly all-healing prayers and my body… Tyranny and restrictions begin corporally.
I was banned from putting on pants even as a kid, my knees used to be gashed because of the skirts I had to wear. I did always felt the grotesqueness of those long skirts, clashing with those put on by my peers. I was still the silent one, kind of marginalized. I have never belonged anywhere. I was just a devout kid, afraid of questioning things. Instead, I should have been playing games on the streets, dreaming and running with no time whatsoever to think about the All-Mighty. I went to a İmam Hatip High School*, typically, with my pre-destined veil on. I did not even utter a single word to the opposite sex in those four years as it was forbidden (harām). Even a quick glance meant a cardinal sin. I used to walk with my eyes looking down, and my body hunched by all the fear. It was, however, impossible to undermine a curious and reflective, no matter how polluted, brain. I had internet access, and I was curious about the lives, the worlds, of the people that had allegedly been doomed to hell according to “the teachings.” I read a lot and started perceiving the world way beyond all that I had been taught. Here I was, a non-believer with a cover on my head, preventing all forms of communication with the outside world. The veil was never only a piece of fabric; it represented all the unrest about kissing a boy on the street, being alone at an artistic event, or being photographed whilst enjoying an ale. It was about a delusion; me, myself, and the one that others believed to be me. The veil covered not only my hair but also who I really was.
I started creating small areas/moments of freedom, leading to an ambivalent life. I sought shelter in restrooms, when I was as far away as possible, to free my hair and feel the wind. I was digging my way out, step by step.
I believe that all the enslavement would one day end. I would eventually be brave enough to face all the struggles and become myself. I also believe in you, beautiful women, who take a spirited stand against oppression, against all the odds. I know that we shall one day free ourselves from the oppression and through the loopholes.
*Imam Hatip schools are educational institutes in Turkey where people are trained for religious professions such as imams.
“Nothing but our faith in the fallacy of the life imposed upon us is the truth. Everything is possible since Nothing is true.”
I am reaching out whilst enclosed from all corners, through bars and underneath the veil covering my hair. I exist, I am breathing, and I shall continue doing so in my own way. I would like to talk about the all-consuming and hideous oppression that shaped my whole childhood. My story begins, as usual, within a conservative family. I was raised in an intimately religious family.
Al-Fatehah, Surah Yaseen, alongside allegedly all-healing prayers and my body… Tyranny and restrictions begin corporally.
I was banned from putting on pants even as a kid, my knees used to be gashed because of the skirts I had to wear. I did always felt the grotesqueness of those long skirts, clashing with those put on by my peers. I was still the silent one, kind of marginalized. I have never belonged anywhere. I was just a devout kid, afraid of questioning things. Instead, I should have been playing games on the streets, dreaming and running with no time whatsoever to think about the All-Mighty. I went to a İmam Hatip High School*, typically, with my pre-destined veil on. I did not even utter a single word to the opposite sex in those four years as it was forbidden (harām). Even a quick glance meant a cardinal sin. I used to walk with my eyes looking down, and my body hunched by all the fear. It was, however, impossible to undermine a curious and reflective, no matter how polluted, brain. I had internet access, and I was curious about the lives, the worlds, of the people that had allegedly been doomed to hell according to “the teachings.” I read a lot and started perceiving the world way beyond all that I had been taught. Here I was, a non-believer with a cover on my head, preventing all forms of communication with the outside world. The veil was never only a piece of fabric; it represented all the unrest about kissing a boy on the street, being alone at an artistic event, or being photographed whilst enjoying an ale. It was about a delusion; me, myself, and the one that others believed to be me. The veil covered not only my hair but also who I really was.
I started creating small areas/moments of freedom, leading to an ambivalent life. I sought shelter in restrooms, when I was as far away as possible, to free my hair and feel the wind. I was digging my way out, step by step.
I believe that all the enslavement would one day end. I would eventually be brave enough to face all the struggles and become myself. I also believe in you, beautiful women, who take a spirited stand against oppression, against all the odds. I know that we shall one day free ourselves from the oppression and through the loopholes.
*Imam Hatip schools are educational institutes in Turkey where people are trained for religious professions such as imams.
(Image: Ulla Thynell)