A few days ago I found a new female islamic discussion in a mosque close to my place. I was really happy. Partly because I wanted to listen and learn Islamic knowledge, but mainly because I want to find a community, somewhere to belong.

I’ve been a Muslim for four years. During these four years, I’ve wandered a lot around communities. First, I started with the Turkish Muslim community because they read the Risale-i Nur, the collection that I enjoy reading and reflecting on. It was fun at first; people welcomed and showed me a lot about the Turkish culture. I still remember that when I was 18, I was really fascinated with anything Turkish: the tea, the mosque, the baklava.. For me, it was a whole new world that I, who barely knew anything about the Islamic world, was curious to explore. However, soon that fascination died out. I still admire the Turkish culture, but ultimately it’s not what draws me to the group: I joined because I wanted to be with Muslims, because I wanted to become a part of a community that learned, worshipped and loved God. Yet, no matter what I do, I never feel being accepted as a part of the community simply because I am not Turkish. Yes, when I came to the meeting, they smiled and greeted me; they added me on Facebook. But that was all about it. When they hung out, they never thought of me. When they had a gathering, I was not informed.

Then I decided to be more active and be involved in other Islamic community. I started with my university’s islamic society by volunteering to be their media officer. Again, I knew more Muslims: Malay, Sri-Lankan, Arabic, Pakistani, Afghanistani, Syrian, Palestinian, and so forth. I came to most of the committee meetings and did all the works I was required. Yet, when I left the committee this year due to busy schedules, I also lost contact with all of them. They simply ‘removed’ me from the committee page and I didn’t hear anything from them. Only when we saw each other accidentally at university did we have a short chat, or only when they had weddings did they contact me to ask me to be their photographer for a cheap price.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful that they trusted my capacity to videograph/photograph their weddings, but it hurt me when I realised that I was never in the invitation list, that in their eyes, I was no more than a person who can take photos well.

I remember that one time when I complained about the ethnic division of the Muslim communities, a friend of mine argued that it was also a revert’s responsibility to be active in the community. I held her words deeply, and thus I decided to be more active: to actually get out there and be involved with Muslims. That’s why I joined my university’s Islamic society; that’s why I looked over the Internet to look for volunteering opportunities or group discussion around my areas. I didnt want to wait; I wanted to actively seek for my community.

Yet, despite the efforts, I am still here, crying and wondering who I should contact to talk and discuss. I have become used to doing things alone: reading alone, thinking alone, listening to podcasts alone.

Probably the problem is me: my cultural difference, my taste, my social awkwardness and my timidity in social settings. Probably I haven’t tried enough; probably I’ve not been friendly enough. But what can I do?

Whatever the reason was, my tears couldn’t help pouring out. I thought of Mum and Dad, but what came to mind was their long sighs and coldness because of my embrace of Islam. I thought of my two best friends in Vietnam, who became distant because each of us had our own life that no longer crossed. Then I thought of my few close friends in Australia, who have moved away either because of marriage and job. You know, it’s not healthy to be overwhelmed by these thoughts. You come to loath yourself so so much.

In the end, the remedy to all these negative thoughts is still God. It hurts to be lonely; it hurts to witness this transient world passing by like a wind. But there is a sense of solace when you know that God is there, and that everything perishes except Him. (What would I be like if I dont have faith?)

That’s why I continue my search for a community.  That’s why when I hear of a new Muslim project, a Muslim group discussion, or anything like that, my heart is filled with hope. When prophet Muhammad (pbuh) said we need communities, it demonstrates the importance of unity, brotherhood and sisterhood. Thus, I am willing to get involved again even if it means one day I might return to this state again – the lonely, confused, pessimistic state.