I really wanted to dislike this book and was wary of the way it was framed.<\/p>\n We live in a society that is already reluctant to hear the voices of Muslim women, whose experiences and discussions are often co-opted by Muslim men<\/a>. Muslimahs struggle, creating hashtags and seeking platforms to have their voices heard<\/a>. They constantly add their voices (to help of course!) when they should just sit and listen instead of disingenuously trying to increase their online profiles by jumping into discussions that should be women-only.<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t want to feed into what I thought might be a frenzy of lauding our male counterparts<\/a>, as Amina recently wrote about.<\/p>\n When I saw that dedication of Salaam, Love<\/em> read: \u201cFor all the men who asked: \u201cWhere are our stories?\u201d I almost wanted to hijabdesk.<\/p>\n Men are asking where their stories are? Men, who have dominated writing circuits<\/a>, mainstream blogs, are quoted in BuzzFeed <\/a>because of their popularity (not their substance or relevance<\/a>), and are still in control of so much that is published within Muslim communities? Even when the topic is feminism<\/a>? *sigh*<\/p>\n But 70 excuses aside, I have previously referenced Love,InshAllah<\/em><\/a> for their initiative in starting and continuing important discussions about sexuality and Islam in an open, mature and responsible manner<\/a> \u2014 even if I don\u2019t always agree with them.<\/p>\n I had a lot of questions even before I began to read the book. \u00a0Who was writing? Would they be generalizing? Was I reading this so I could get some insight into the romantic mind of a believing man?<\/p>\n I did a little bit of research and looked at the writers page<\/a> on the book\u2019s website. I wanted to get an idea of what and who I was going to be reading.<\/p>\n Although contributors are predominantly of the same age and same geographic area (California), they are of different ethnic backgrounds and sexual orientation. They all self-identify as Muslims.<\/p>\n They were all going to be sharing their stories as a Muslim man. I hoped they would be varied. \u00a0As a reader, I wasn\u2019t reading it to get into the mind of *a* Muslim man. I was interested in reading about different experiences. I appreciate that each story is unique. No two struggles or outcomes are the same. I wasn\u2019t sure that one book was going to be able to capture all of these complexities in a meaningful way.<\/p>\n I am also not used to hearing Muslim men express their feelings of love in an intimate manner- unless it is in the lyrics<\/a> of music<\/a> or poetry<\/a>. Not in a manner that I can relate to or that isn\u2019t solely for entertainment purposes.<\/p>\n Still, I received my copy and dove in.<\/p>\n The book was divided into three parts: \u201cUmma: It Takes a Village,\u201d \u201cSirat: The Journey,\u201d and \u201cSabr: In Sickness and in Health.\u201d<\/p>\n I found the first story, \u201cSoda Bottle and Zebra Skins,\u201d to be hilarious. It touched upon references that I was familiar with: MSA experiences; the new moments of fear, excitement and newness of a relationship; the constant balancing of halal versus haraam in mixed-gender company. The style in which the storyteller was narrating was one I really enjoyed. I certainly laughed out loud when I read this line: \u201cMarriage is a life raft wherein one\u2019s libido can float along safety as it sails down a river of choppy American hypersexuality.\u201d<\/p>\n Then there were the stories that made me cringe, such as \u201cJust One Kiss,\u201d in which marital infidelity was blamed on the offending woman, and then she is accused of \u201cself-pity.\u201d I had to stop reading for a bit after that. The voice of a man victimizing himself as the explained his wife\u2019s emotional anguish was enough to make me want to punch the screen off of which I was reading. But then again, these are the vast array of *voices* of men. Even if they are reductive and misogynist, they are voices. That they exist makes them true, no?<\/p>\n There were the typical stories of awkward rishta attempts, some of which I found funny and similar to tales of my friends and relatives. The stories of men still navigating through the process, be it online encounters or masjid meet-ups or those that did not work out, felt more real to me. The tone was not overly introspective but practical in some stories.<\/p>\n I enjoyed the use of description in \u201cThe Other Iran-Iraq War\u201d and the twist that came with it. In \u201cAwkwardMan\u201d, the author explains his social awkwardness and quirky sense of humour that were not always appreciated or understood. It was very simple and honest story but also subscribed to a fairytale ending, which almost renders it boring. Still, I found it comical, which was a nice contrast to other stories that were too lyrical for my taste (\u201cA Grown-Ass Man,\u201d \u201cProm, InshAllah\u201d).<\/p>\n The story \u201cPlanet Zero\u201d was written so beautifully and hauntingly. The author\u2019s experience of how he witnessed pressure from his partner\u2019s family to separate them, is one that really made me melt. The racism, the injustice, and disrespect he experienced were enough to make my fists clench. Prejudice is a reality within our communities, even though we share the same faith.<\/p>\n Other realities are the voices of the writers who spoke of their experiences as queer Muslim men. \u201cThe Ride\u201d was really intense and raw as it touched on issue relating to substance abuse and mental health pieces; how the writer was so sickened by his need to be closeted; how distraught he was after his friend died; and his struggle with Allah and how he came to use his experience to strengthen his spiritual bond.<\/p>\n To read \u201cIn the Unlikliest of Places\u201d was powerful to see how an encounter with another man is actually what propelled the author back to fasting in Ramadan. Like the concepts of love and intimacy, spirituality \u2013 and what draws us to it \u2013 is quite complex.<\/p>\n In \u201cFinding Mercy,\u201d a failed relationship is what draws the writer to his Creator. He contemplates whether this relationship process is for something more profound; in search of mercy or perhaps for the only Love we can be certain of \u2013 the one of Allah for his servants.<\/p>\n However, part way through reading the book \u2013 save a few very touching and poignant reflections \u2013 I felt that many of the stories ended up in a happily-ever-after theme or the ever-touching \u201cI found my partner and I\u2019m good now.\u201d What felt like a repeated messages was the \u201cwe\u2019ve battled against the forces of the Mother-in-Law, fought against long distance relationships and now we have reached the summit\u201d mentality.<\/p>\n I realize that these challenges are all universal. But what some of those stories did not touch upon is that relationships are a constant struggle. They are a journey, one that is often extremely difficult.<\/p>\n Telling the story of love and how one one\u2019s partner met is wonderful. I always grin when I am asked to re-tell the dramatic tale of how I got together with my own spouse. It\u2019s romantic and dreamy but it\u2019s just a part of the story. Just the beginning. \u00a0I felt that some of the pieces from Salaam, Love told tales of how the process began or ended, and not really much of the reality that is the on-going struggle, or even an acknowledgement that although that specific challenge was resolved, whether the outcome was good or bad, there are more bumps along the way.<\/p>\n I also wonder whether some of the situations of the writers might have changed since writing. The summer that I got married, there were twelve other couple I knew who tied the knot. Only three couples remain intact \u2013 and some of us by the thinnest of threads. \u00a0In an incredibly brave and honest gesture, a contributor for the Love, InshAllah<\/em> book, Donna Kelli Sayed<\/a>, followed up with a post about how her marriage ended<\/a> shortly after the book was published. I was so moved by that. She did not gloss over the fact that she chose a different path, one that is far from the expected happy ending.<\/p>\n When I read stories about love, I always wonder about an update. Is that couple still going strong? Have they been able to navigate through all the challenges that come with a relationship?<\/p>\n As a woman who has been in a marriage sculpted by religious, cultural and heteronormative traditions, my honest experience is that it not easy, in any context or in any type of relationship. I am not saying I do not believe men when they write about their complete fulfillment; I just doubt it is all rosy all the time.<\/p>\n Some of my concerns were addressed in the last section of the book, which focuses on Sabr (patience) and definitely contains the most harrowing of the pieces offered.<\/p>\n These stories are of hardship and pain, but mostly of hope. Reading about about a couple\u2019s struggle with infertility in \u201cFertile Ground\u201d was very interesting. \u00a0I hadn\u2019t ever heard about that difficult journey from a man\u2019s perspective before: their feelings on the experience of feeling helpless, watching their spouse endure treatments, the stress, the vast emotions that come with trying to conceive; how they are supposed to be stoic, strong and valiant but are also hurting inside.<\/p>\n I have family members (female) who spoke of their experiences with infertility with me and I empathized with them. The honesty of the struggles is important, keeping in mind this is one man\u2019s experience. And he wrote with such candor while injecting subtle humour. I appreciated that as a reader.<\/p>\n I think I might have even teared up, which surprised me. I certainly wasn\u2019t expecting to be moved by an anthology of men\u2019s stories. \u00a0But that is where the stories on health really draw on understanding. When a person is explaining the difficulty of losing a loved one, one tends to forget their gender, race or religion. That loss is so profound and universal. \u00a0I can relate to loss and to health struggles. Not necessarily to \u201clove\u201d or \u201clust\u201d, as they are so many different variables, but to loss. It is the only thing we are certain of in this life: that there will be death.<\/p>\n In the story \u201cThe Promise,\u201d you read about the writer\u2019s devotion to his wife and his frustration with God as his wife battles cancer. There is something chivalresque about a man caring for his beloved wife and being infuriated by her pain, something so honest and pure in that love. Probably the main reason we all swooned after The Notebook. (OK, *I* swooned; many other probably did not.) It is a tragic love story that pulls at your heartstrings.<\/p>\n In \u201cEchoes\u201d and \u201cBecoming Family,\u201d the situations are intense as illnesses are being diagnosed and treated, so it is easy to root for the narrators, who seem vulnerable, reflective and trying to cope. Not only are they dealing with physical health issues; their emotional vulnerabilities also surface.<\/p>\n I have been in situations (I had an ACL reconstruction surgery last fall) where I had to rely heavily on my husband for physical support for a few weeks from every aspect from using the bathroom to dressing. It was taxing for him and it was humbling for me. \u00a0Looking back, I would have loved for him to write about how he felt, his frustrations, and how it was for him emotionally.<\/p>\n It is in the humanity of these stories, the passion and the feeling that we connect with storytellers and those sharing their raw emotions.<\/p>\n The machismo factor is strong in our community and other than Muslim singers and artists (and Rumi<\/a>) we don\u2019t hear of our men speaking of love and romance and sexuality. For a variety of reasons \u2013 be they imagined or not, cultural<\/a> or religious<\/a>.<\/p>\n The pieces in this book were all written very differently, which is expected with over 20 different contributors, some of whom I connected with more as a reader. I am glad I read Salaam, Love<\/em>, if only as a simple reminder that no two stories are alike, and that there are billions of definitions for what constitutes love.<\/p>\n Currently, I do not know any Muslim men who have read it. I am asking a few of my close friends and family to give it a try. It should lead to some pretty interesting conversations, something that I think was one of the objectives of Salaam, Love<\/em>: to start and continue important conversations and share experiences.<\/p>\n<\/body><\/html>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" When Love, InshAllah, edited by Ayesha Mattu and Nura Masnavi, \u00a0was initially published two years ago, I was thrilled. I may not have necessarily related to all the stories of those women but was happy to read them. And as cliche as it sounds, it was really challenging the notion that Muslimahs are a monolith. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1509,"featured_media":15364,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5,8],"tags":[2411,776,1634,2410,2412,2409],"class_list":["post-15363","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-booksmagazines","category-culturesociety","tag-ayesha-mattu","tag-love","tag-love-inshallah","tag-love-stories","tag-nura-masnavi","tag-salaam-love"],"yoast_head":"\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/wp-media.patheos.com\/blogs\/sites\/92\/2014\/05\/salaam-love-194x300.jpg\" "\\"salaam")
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