Chapter 8
Syed hadn't been to the mosque since the day he'd moved in. Recently, he'd even stopped praying, Christian noticed.
"So, why aren't you going to mosque any more?"
"Christian, I'm gay and a Muslim. And I've accepted that. I went through six months of hell - we both went through six months of hell because of my anguish about who I really am. It's not possible for me to think about this issue any more than I already have. I've been through every argument in my head, back and forth, inside out and upside down. I've had a therapist trying to make me straight, a woman trying to make me straight, my parents trying to make me straight. None of it worked and, agonising as it was, at least it showed me that nothing was going to change who I am. I know my own mind now. I'm gay and I'm Muslim and, no, it's not easy, but I can live with it."
"But Sy… how can you…"
"I'm living with it, Christian. Every day. Five times a day in fact, as that's the number of times I'm supposed to pray."
"I just don't see…"
"Look, everybody lives with their own private pain and torment. Look around the square. Find me the person who isn't carrying some kind of agony – a broken relationship, a bereavement, a failure to make their way in the world in the way they dreamed of. I'm luckier than most of them." Syed's hand reached up to Christian's face and his fingers brushed gently against his lover's mouth. Christian's lips automatically closed against the tip of his thumb, sucking gently.
"I'm lucky because I look forward to waking up every morning with the man I love. Yes, it hurts that I can't go to mosque without the whispers starting, yes it hurts that my parents have shunned us, and that lots of Muslims condemn the way we live and love. But that's my torment, and I can live with it."
"But I see you, Syed! I see you with your head in your hands. I hear you tossing and turning at night. I watch you looking out of the window towards your parents' house. You can't be a Muslim and a practising gay man. It's tearing you apart."
"No, Christian, it's not. It's tearing you apart, not me. You're so obsessed with my religion you can't see past it to who I really am. Who doesn't put their head in their hands, from time to time? If you're aware of me tossing and turning, it's because you're not sleeping either. I am a Muslim and a practising gay man. You've helped me to be proud of being gay. Now I need you to be proud of the fact that your partner's Muslim."
"I am proud of it, Sy. For God's sake, I think I'm more proud of it than you are! I'm the one who bought you a Qu'ran, who remembered it was Ramadan, who nags you to go to mosque. But you just seem to have dropped your religion like a stone. I don't understand, it used to be your life."
"Well, there's other things in my life now. I haven't stopped being a Muslim. It's just that being with you… makes it more complicated, that's all."
"Surely that's why you need to pray, and go to mosque and stuff? Isn't religion supposed to help you out with the complicated bits? Provide answers and all that?"
"Yes, it is, and it does, but being gay and being Muslim…. I know I can be both, but not many people in my parent's community would agree."
"How do you know unless you test it out? Why don't you go to mosque and see?"
Syed looked at the earnestness in Christian's face. "This really means a lot to you, doesn't it?"
"It means a lot to you, Sy. That's why it means a lot to me."
"Ok, I'll go. But only once. I won't promise more than that."
"That's enough for me. By the way, we're out of eggs and milk again. I want breakfast in bed, and it's your turn to go to the Minute Mart."
