The Rain in Spain
[I was trying to be clever but there was no actual rain - rain meaning my tears LEL. I want to share contents of the lessons too inshaAllah but this will come slowly and surely. Bc there was really A LOT. This post is dedicated to my unsorted-out feelings â an attempt to rationalize and understand why I felt what I felt and to attempt to move forward with clarity of heart.]
Came back to SG from Granada to find myself plunged into deadlines and unfinished work. Grappling with jet lag, acne, a worn out yet, invigorated soul, and an unsettled mind, I dragged my body to work for the past 4 days trying to refocus and get myself into my comfortable SG work routine.
I havenât had the time to reflect properly on my Ramadan and then, the 2 weeks Critical Muslim Studies â on what Iâve learnt and about myself. Why was I crying so much everyday? I mean, I cry occasionally but Spain was something else. I felt like I was ALWAYS crying lol. I couldnât speak without tears bubbling beneath the surface. The garden behind the school became a regular witness to my tears (and on one occasion, the whole class but Iâd rather bury that in the depths of my mind.)
I did not fully understand it at that time, but I concluded in Spain that it was probably for four reasons:
1.    PMS is real.
2.    I came to learn about decolonial theory and largely expected âhead-workâ about Critical Muslim Studies. Instead, there were discussions about dealing with the metaphysical catastrophe of coloniality, the counter to that being weeping and praying (Fanon), embracing other ways of being (the soul as a way of decolonising) and that Iâve been approaching the Qurâan or my faith (something I hold so dear to and I thought was the anchors of my always changing life) incompletely, maybe even self-indulgently. I realized that I usually leave my soul out the door when I enter âsecularâ spaces. Of course, I hold on to prayer and duâa but the reminder that the soul is there with your mind and body as a way of understanding and communicating was such as shock to my system. As I realise this, my body was so still but I felt so moved. Therefore, the tears.
 3.      I felt inadequate. What was I doing in this space? Neither activist, content producer nor scholar, I entered the space positioned as a student, only to be overwhelmed by everyone else. I felt that I was not fit to talk about decolonisation or liberation theologies. What limited struggles have I gone through as compared to everyone else in the space? I shut my mouth, I listen, I took in everyoneâs pain. I felt so much guilt that I did not have my own pain (or I thought I didnât). What have I done in my life? I have nothing to share that is important in this space. Bc of these negative thoughts, I brought up all my weaknesses as excuses not to engage. I am not critical enough, not eloquent enough, my heart beats too fast when speaking in front of many people. Anyway, everyone needed to speak so I shouldnât, whether inside or outside class. I concluded that I shouldnât be here. I felt even more guilty because itâs Allahâs will and plan that I was in Granada and I felt that His plan was wrong. I retreated. Therefore, the tears.
 4.      Another level of inadequacy was from the fact that I was from Singapore. I have nothing to contribute coming from Singapore. Who cares about Singapore anyway? Was I even Singaporean, being away from Singapore for 5 years of early adulthood. What does being Singaporean even mean?? *Existential crisis* Other experiences seemed more valid, more pressing, more outwardly violent. The need for social justice in other parts of the world was more pressing because people are constantly dehumanised and stripped of dignity. What is Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo to Singaporeâs ISA and prisons? What is racism and white supremacy in the US and UK/Europe compared to racial politics in Singapore? Was my experience not important? Or was it relegated as unimportant? Did I do this myself or was this another power dynamic that is playing out? I was confused but also, I am not a personality who insists that my voice be heard. (WHY MOO? I need to examine this more?) I was frustrated. Therefore, the tears.
As the classes come to an end plus the long trip back home, I realised that I was crying because of all those reasons and then some. I was mainly crying because I was so uncomfortable. I realised through the classes, my reflections, my interactions with the other participants and with my interaction with Granada as a place, that I am still colonised. Itâs not just a theory I use in my research or studies. My self, my being and thoughts are so unchecked and itâs suddenly being called out in Granada. The process of decolonisation of the self, that the summer school was pushing me to do, was/is an extremely uncomfortable one. Therefore, the tears.
Colonial domination is often understood as a historical process that has ended with independence of nation states. It is easy to recognise that there are legacies in our political, education, economic systems but I donât think I understood the far-reaching creeping fingers of coloniality â it is in the domination of mind, body and spirit. But coloniality didnât end in 1963, when the British left. It is not just concerns of âunfortunate Third Worldersâ and diasporic communities in distant lands, battling corruption and poverty because they lacked the vision and the statecraft of a Lee Kuan Yew. The logics, practices and legacies of colonialism disrupted our local/faith/indigenous epistemologies (ways of seeing, being and understanding), our social orders and norms and forms of knowledge.
Singapore was colonised but emerged as âcrown colonyâ. Someone from Guardian even wrote a whole article about how we âbenefitedâ from colonialism LOL: https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2018/jan/04/colonialism-work-singapore-postcolonial-british-empire Weâre so good at being a âmodern nation-stateâ with our policies based on race and hierarchies created by meritocracy â but always framed as having the promise or intention of equality. We (or rather, I will say I myself, Idk about other people) just internalised coloniality (the colonial mindset) so much that we became model global citizens. White masks, yellow, brown, black skins. Wanting to be âmodernâ, to imitate. But as someone who has multiple levels of otherness (global south, woman, muslim, brown, introverted etc), when I imitate, I never feel enough or belonging to anywhere.
Discussions came up about how we should not to compare issues, but to be relative. And thatâs when I realised: The logic of coloniality remains the same â whether we are talking about clear individual acts of Islamophobia in the UK or the state control of our asatizah in Singapore. No matter how it is being framed.
So returning back to discomfort in decolonising the self. The solution was not to retreat to the soul or to some pristine, native state of being. I was called to recognise the narrowness of my âbroadenedâ mind: whose standards are you trying to meet? Whose questions are you answering? What are your own questions? What are the standards and values decreed by Allah? Why did I think or feel my personality, skills and socialisation not enough? Why do I think that I could not offer anything when everyone else could (especially those from the West?) How was I reproducing coloniality even in the way I was thinking about myself in relation to others? I was called to take my sensing and knowing beyond dominant ideas of what was natural, true and good.
Also, I donât think my highly introverted self was ready for how short of a time, intensely close and intimate spaces (physical, mind and heart) I would share with so many diverse women (mostly Muslim WOC from everywhere). Everyone was so loving, embracing, warm, spiritual but at the same time, brave, strong, eloquent, unafraid of their thoughts and femininity, critical and aware of power and power dynamics and so quick to call out BS and violence when they saw it. They are honestly so aspirational and I have so many conversations/advice embedded so deeply in my mind (or heart? Allahu âalam). So honoured and grateful to have met every single one. Farid Esack (an absolute legend) advised us: âour interactions with other people are sacred. No matter how you differ, do not pee [desacrilise] on this sacred space.â Jasmin Zine (or was it Amina Teslima?) also read this hadith at the start of class which explains why some souls feel inexplicably drawn to other souls: Â The Prophet (pbuh) said: "The souls are (like) an army joined (in the world of spirits) whichever souls knew each other (in that world) are attracted towards each other (in this world) and whichever remained distant and indifferent (there) are disinterested to each other (in this world)" (Saheeh al-Bukhaari)
It was truly a blessed group to be around. I regularly got advice and reminders that were so on point and poignant, I wish I had just took out a notebook to write all of it down. One of the ladies shared Audre Lordeâs concept of self-love as a radical act. I found the quote: âCaring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.â A few other girls too had a discussion over salty seafood paella haha that self-love requires us to accept our flaws and understand that as Muslim women, Allah is there to forgive us and complete us for anything lacking. Our flaws arenât meant to be overcome or pushed away, its meant to remind us of our humanity, how everyone is flawed. We can use what we think as âflawsâ as strengths. When our life isnât in alignment or we arenât what we expect ourselves to be, we shouldnât blame ourselves. Rather, it is an opportunity to grow and learn, make a change. Listen to yourself, how do you feel. How is your body responding? How is your heart? I need to learn how to cherish my authenticity and forgive the times I forgot my strengths and my power. Rather than treat myself as a blank sheet that can constantly be recreated everyday to be my âbest selfâ, I must realise that I have a history, experiences, pains and triumphs that make me complex and valuable, if not to society, then, to God. âMake your voice the clearest and centred in this creative spaceâ, another wise lady told me during the trip.
[Ok I will conclude for now]: Being in St Andrews as someone from âthe restâ (from Southeast Asia, Muslim and woman) in a distinctly white space, I never felt fully âintegratedâ. In a way, I am grateful I didnât. My sanctuary and solace was being with women of colour after uni and during Fridays. SOAS was interesting for me to dip my feet and see what using post-colonial and decolonial theory looks like in academia. But I think, if I am deciphering my thoughts and feelings correctly, Granada was a proper introduction for me into what a decolonial/liberation/social justice space looked like, it is not only a space for pain to be shared but also one of empowering resistance, love for each other and self-love. It also taught me that decolonising the self as well as histories, faith traditions, etc is going to be a long and uncomfortable process, with a lot of learning, praxis as well as reflection.
what about this theory.
the fear of not being enough,
and the fear of being âtoo muchâ
are exactly the same fear.Â
the fear of being you. (@nayyirahwaheed)











