Post-election God Consciousness

This morning, on November 9th, after I had woken up, eaten a hearty breakfast, processed the election result from the previous night, gone to my computer science class (and listened to the teacher, who’s been teaching for 12 years, deliver a short and emotional speech on treasuring the differences in his class, and valuing the various perspectives we bring), left my class, trekked to a nearby cafe on campus, and was in line waiting to buy a cup of chamomile tea, my phone vibrated with a text from a friend, “Can I ask you something?”

I told her, of course! Go for it. So she asked, “How can you still have faith? How can you believe in goodness in people and the universe and a god if this happened? I can't pray I just feel empty.”

She was referring to the election. To the man we have elected as our leader for the four next years. To the man who overtly hates on practically every marginalized community in this country. To the man who has promised to enact disgusting and dangerous policies that would target Muslims, punish Muslims, surveil Muslims etc.

I am a Muslim. Political identity, cultural connotations, spirituality, hijab, ritual and all. I am a 19-year-old college student, who tries to actively identify as a Muslim. Who looks visibly Muslim. Who tries to be the best Muslim she can be.

And part of that is feeling at peace with this result. With what has happened. Submitting to God, and God’s will. “Muslim” is, literally, someone who reaches peace through submission to God. When I read the result last night, I told myself, “Indeed my Lord is with me. He will guide me through.” And I know that might not be a common or intuitive response to what happened. A lot of us want to grieve or be angry, a lot of us feel scared and threatened. And that’s all valid. But I think before we turn to despair, we should turn to God.

That’s why I told my friend that for me, faith is something that’s so much bigger than any politics or any problems. Because God is greater than all of those. God is so absolute – nothing in existence can happen without His permission. Have we wrapped our minds around that? Nothing happens without God’s continuous involvement in it.

From the smallest thing to the biggest. From a tiny ant that’s part of a huge colony, who’s carrying a tiny crumb back home in the dark of the night under a rock, to entire galaxies, to black holes, to stars, to supernovae, to asteroids, to entire concepts of existence like “time” and “space.”

All of those things exist with relation to each other. They are all interconnected. The universe has to be a certain way for an apple to grow. Not just the sun, the air, the nutrients in the soil, but also in macro and micro universes – everything has to happen according to some order. Just to produce a simple apple. The germination of the seed, the replication of the DNA, the inner workings of a flower that becomes a fruit. AND also the inhabitability of the Earth, our distance from the Sun. The atmosphere, the element percentages of the air. They all have to be the way they are now for us to have apples. And we have had apples for millennia. We have had life, we have had order, we have had “laws” for billions of years. And they all continue to exist.

I continue to be able to write this post. Gravity remains as it always has. We are still in orbit. The weather is perfect. My brain and my hands and my body are all working in tandem. Every instant. Every synapse – fired in a fraction of a millisecond. It keeps happening, and it keeps happening perfectly.

How can I look at all of that, and not believe? For the Creator of one apple must be the Creator of the entire universe, of all that exists, to make that apple exist. And if I believe in such an absolute being, what is Donald Trump gonna do to me? What is a person? What is, even millions of people? Who might be threatening me. Who might hate me. What power do they have when they can’t even make a simple thing. When they can’t create anything. When they have no power over anything. When people are so weak, so powerless, that they fall sick to microbes they can’t see, and are so affected by everything around them. When they can’t control even themselves sometimes.

No matter how powerful Trump might look, he’s nothing. He’s powerless. He might have an immense amount of money and he might have hundreds of millions of supporters. But at the end of the day, is he in charge of rising the Sun every morning? Can he make anything from nothing? Can he control anything that’s not superficial – that doesn’t give him only the illusion of power? He says it himself, he is prey to his own feelings. He can’t even control how he reacts to some things. Disgustingly so. Why should I be afraid of someone like that? When the God of the entire universe has my back?

And so, that’s why I still have faith. And as much as there are people who hate me, there are as many, if not more, people who love me. And everything happens for a reason even if I can’t pinpoint it at the moment it happens. I am small and weak. I can’t see or know of anything except the present. I can’t look at the universe except in linear time and space. But God transcends the bounds and limits of Creation. And God is all knowing. And that gives me security. He knows what will happen. And He never tests me with anything I can’t handle. And God loves me. God loves me so much. God loves me so much that He created me and keeps creating me every instant of my existence, He feeds me, He surrounds me with people I love, He puts His love in my heart. And really, that’s all I need.

Being a Friend to Myself

“You need to start being a friend to yourself.”

“…What does that mean?”


I see a psychologist every Wednesday for 45 minutes. I have been seeing her for a month now. I finish up my physical science class at 12:20. Catch the 6 bus downtown. I arrive at her office a little before 1 PM and I press the little button that tells her I am there. She comes and gets me. I sit on a comfortable, oversized couch, move the Kleenex tissues closer to myself, and tell her things that are on my mind. She asks me questions, follows up with things I said before, watches me cry, and gives me a task at the end of each session. 

This past Wednesday, one of the things she told me was that I had to start being a friend to myself. 

I do not know what being a friend to myself means. 
I do not know how that manifests. At all. 

I came to the States in 2008. I was 11 years old. I started middle school here, in Fairfax, Virginia. My brother was born two years later. I am 19 now. I am in college. I haven’t been a friend to myself in 8 years. 

Perhaps, things would have turned out differently if I hadn’t come here and if I had continued living in Turkey and I was still an only child, or maybe if I had a twin sister, etc. There are a countless number of what-if’s in my head. But what matters is what I am living now, and I am living this. 

I never had to be a friend to myself before I was 12. At least, I don’t think I did. I was myself, I was happy, I felt loved, I felt worthy, I felt strong. I made people laugh. I led people. I was sure of myself. As sure as I could be, when I was 11 and 10 and 9 and 8 and 7, and 6 even. 

It all changed obviously. I came to a different country with a different culture and a different language. Had no friends, and not even a sibling. Whatever. Life was hard. I was resilient. I survived. That’s what matters. Right? That’s what I am supposed to say? I finished middle school, I learned English, I got into one of the hardest high schools in the country, and now I attend an elite institution for higher education. I am almost done with the checklist, no? I will graduate, get a job, an MS, a PhD, a few awards, a few publications, a family somewhere in there, a nice house, and a car, and then, before I know I’ll be retiring, and I’ll have money to retire safely, and it’ll all be okay. It’ll be over. 

To say that I am hard on myself is an understatement. The relationship I have with my ‘self’ is rather complicated. I don’t hate it. I don’t love it either. I have a fundamental problem with its existence – in how it exists and how it continues to exist – but I don’t know what to do about it. 
That doesn’t make sense. 

I respect it the same way you would respect someone’s right to freedom of speech. On principle. That’s a good way to put it. Anything I do that gives the impression that I am confident, self-loving, or with a strong sense of self – is calculated and on principle. Let’s think about it like that. 

When someone is rude to me, I know to be offended. I know how I should react. Ideally. So I do. It’s like this: my sense of self is like the Big Bang theory in science. Everything depends on it being true, but in the end, it is but a theory. If it were to crumble, it would bring down entire fields with it. It would shake the foundations of scientific method. It would collapse reason on itself. Etc. 

So we just operate on the axiom that it’s true. It’s the best we got, and we don’t want to dig too deep into it. That’s my sense of self. I know I have to balance an entire universe on it, so I don’t dig too deep into it. I let it exist in theory and be supported by observation. What works for the majority and what doesn’t. And go on my merry way. 

(That is – I don’t.)

The whole reason I am seeing a psychologist is because I am tired of living as a theory. I am tired of trying to uphold this tower that’s my life, when it’s been built on sand that’s slowly giving way. 

And so my first task should be to prove that my self exists, so that I can build on it. And my second should be to befriend that self. And to befriend anyone, you have to get to know them. 

So… all of this long-winded, choppy, and unpredictable block of writing is to tell you (and me) that I am trying to make changes in my life so that I can develop an authentic sense of self, first – and then become a friend to that self. 

Practically, this looks like further elimination of useless media I consume. Thus the deletion of my Twitter and Pinterest accounts, as well as various Tumblr blogs. The bittersweet goodbye to my Snapchat friends (& streaks). The restart of my IG feed. Rearrangement of my daily routine to enable more reading and writing, and less dependence on my phone and electronic devices.

My reason for these changes is that I have felt uninspired and resentful of my art, in any medium, in the past two years. Just today, going through some old photos I had taken, and poetry I had written – I felt an extreme sense of anger and disappointment. I have made art in the past that made me proud. I don’t claim them to be objectively good art, but rather art with a unique voice and vision. I seem to have lost something. 

My camera, Barnabas, is a sad example of how things have changed. There was a point in my life when I put everything on the line to get that camera. A point where I carried it everywhere with me. A point where I would take interesting objects and go on spontaneous photoshoots. I named it, for God’s sake. I named my camera. There was a point in my life where I did that for all the things I loved. For all the things near and dear to my heart. And now? People have to tell me to bring my camera. And each time it happens, preemptive dread fills me. I imagine the weight of it around my neck, all the blurry shots I’ll have to delete, what people will think of the photos that end up being usable. Even the little technicalities overwhelm me. I’ll have to make sure to charge it, and bring the right memory card, and transport all the photos etc. etc. 

I haven’t written a poem in almost a year. What happened? It’s not as if I stopped feeling things. What did I lose?

I had fun projects, and interesting ideas, and things I enjoyed doing for myself. 

Am I in a constant state of performance? Perhaps. Am I trying to live through other people? Person X does photography, and Y does art, and Z is a good writer. And they are all better at it than I am. I’ll kill my own passion, cloak what I am doing as collecting inspiration, and then be miserable but not show anybody. A perfect plan.

In any case. I hope this will help with the calibration process. God willing.

Life Updates & Manifesto of Some Sort

I had quite the summer in these past three months and I am coming into this school year with a lot of new understandings and realizations. So here are some relevant updates, outlooks, ideologies, etc.

Just as a recap, after school ended in mid-June, I traveled to Turkey and I hadn’t been there in six years so it was definitely a remarkable experience. I was there for a month and a half and I had a bunch of epiphanies and also lived through an attempted coup, an airport attack, and a two-week long panic about how I was going to get back to the States. After (ultimately) making it back to the US, I helped my parents move, stayed with them for 35 days, and then came back to Chicago to train for a weeklong pre-orientation program in which I had a leadership role. And tomorrow, school is starting, so… busy summer.

Last year was my first year in college and it was overwhelming. I did a lot of things and got involved in a lot of stuff that I had no experience in. Towards the end of spring quarter I realized how emotionally and mentally drained I had become. I thought about this during the summer and reached the conclusion that I needed to change some things in my life so as to not burn myself out.

I was involved in a lot of student activism and organizing on campus – and as much as I admire activists and all they do, I have realized that it is, in the end, not for me. Not everyone is fit to be an activist, not everyone wants to be one either. I never considered myself an activist in high school and I never had a goal in life hoping I would become a radical revolutionary. I have friends I can’t relate to who wish to get arrested for doing righteous things, but alas. After a year of being engaged in all sorts of activism, I see myself taking a step back from the scene and leaving it to people who are sincerely passionate about it. This has come in the form of unsubscribing from political news, news outlets and sound bites; not publicly sharing every article and blog I read with reactionary commentary; being more conscious on social media; and not having opinions on things I am not fully informed about. 

I am, of course, not becoming apathetic – I feel things deeply and am easily affected by any kind of an emotional overload – but I am choosing to reassess what I consume, how I react to it, and what I regurgitate.

After I came down from the high of the past year, I think I was packing my clothes to move out of my dorm room when the Orlando shooting happened. Shortly after, Huffington Post and AJ+ started a live stream of Donald Trump giving his public statement on the tragedy. The election cycle had already been hurtful enough but that was kind of the tipping point for me. For about 20 or so minutes he bashed on Muslims and Islam and got praised and lauded at every sentence. I realized that I no longer had the emotional energy to listen to or deal with Trump and that I also just didn’t have to. Because I also understood that trying to battle Trump and co. is not my responsibility.

I have always believed and continue to believe that people do terrible things due to a lack of morality and integrity. Therein lies my field of interest – aka. looking for the meaning of life, the philosophy of our being here, how we interact with each other, with our surroundings, what principles govern those interactions, and all the existential questions we can think of.

I once had a heart-to-heart with a friend who told me that their identity was so linked to a certain thing that there would be no them without this thing. I think for me God symbolizes the same thing. Meaning that my identity and who I am as a person is so inextricably connected to God, and my (hopefully) lifelong quest/journey to know and understand God, that there would be no me as I am today without God. (I mean, also literally there would be no me without God but I digress).

Getting into the topic of identity, first and foremost I consider myself a Muslim. For me, this doesn’t mean that I am part of the second biggest religion on earth and do XYZ acts like fasting and praying five times a day, but rather I am someone who is always, actively, trying to believe in and submit to the oneness of God, in every instant of life. I want to explore this further and calibrate my life according to it. I want this to be the foundation for how I build my life. And it's kind of a hard thing to do when I have hours and hours of emotional strain on me every week.

In addition, while I have a great respect for big projects that start at the grassroots, my philosophy is to start change within myself, and then my family, and then my friends, and then my immediate social circle, and grow from there. An exponential growth. I wrote about this way back in 2013 (get ready for a cheesy as heck blogpost from 16-year-old me). I hold the same belief today. If I can change myself, and three other people, and those three people change three other people, we can change a million people in just 13 iterations and so on.

There is a saying in Turkish that’s along the lines of, if everyone cleaned their own doorstep, all the streets would be spotless. And in the spirit of Malcolm X, people work better within their own scopes, and within their own spaces. A collective responsibility in all of humanity would fix all our ailments (God willing).

Trump and all the white supremacists, racists, misogynists, bigots, etc. like him belong to certain communities and it’s those communities that need to take care of them. To resist their rhetoric and to stop it from spreading.

It’s not on me to solve people’s unfounded problems with me. It is not my responsibility to humanize myself or justify my existence. It is not my duty to go out of my way to educate other communities in how to be decent people.

I have myself and my communities to improve first.

I think it all comes down to self-awareness. We need to be self-aware of ourselves, of our people, of our communities, of all the identities we don and all the associations we make. We have to be aware of all the problems our communities have and work to solve those problems.

I do not mean solve problems that only concern members of our communities but rather solve problems that we have within our communities. As a Turkish Muslim woman who is living in America, I belong to many different communities. And I believe that my talents and convictions are best put to use when I am working with the people I relate to. The Muslim community has problems – whether it be with domestic violence or with LGBTQ+ friendly spaces – I am much more effective battling these problems within my community, where I know the people and the culture, than going out to communities I have no relation to, and preaching to them.

Making this decision, writing this post, going through the actual mental process to come where I am now, made me feel really anxious all these months. I fear that my friends might disapprove of this decision and judge me/unfriend me. Obviously they have the right, but in the end we all want acceptance of some sort so I hope and pray that I retain all the beautiful friendships I have made over the last year.

People change. I’m changing the direction and flow of my life to be more conducive to my soul-searching (even though now I sound pretentious… oh well).

So here is to a new me. May this new year bring good moments, good conversations, fulfilling experiences, and supportive friends.