Doomed for Hell

My grandmother's thinning hair used to cascade past her hips, always neatly pulled up under a turban and hidden from prying eyes, especially from those men not related to her by blood. Her holy book didn’t have a word about her practice, but growing up, she was told by her elders that this is how it was supposed to be. She firmly believed that if she were to face hell in the afterlife, her hair would shield her from the flames of damnation. She meticulously followed every religious obligation and was the embodiment of kindness. Her unwavering devotion to her religion's requirements was unparalleled. As a kid, it always puzzled me that someone as virtuous as her could harbor such fears. Even more baffling was her conviction that her hair would serve as divine protection in the afterlife.

 Growing up, I was fortunate to have open-minded parents who didn't pay much attention to hearsay religious obligations. However, I wasn't short of adult supervision that had a lot to say about the damnation of hell and how we were heading for it if we didn't listen to what they had to say. “If you weren't Muslim, you were in for some serious afterlife chaos,” my middle school theology teacher declared to the class one day. Now, born into a Muslim community, my initial reaction was, "Jackpot!" I felt like I had a golden ticket to afterlife safety. “But if you’re not a good Muslim, doing all the necessary obligations, you’ll end up in hell,” he added. I was a good kid, but then there was a wildcard in the game—my Grandma. If she couldn’t even secure a good spot in heaven, how could I ever?

My move to the US brought a whole new set of trials. Suddenly, I found myself surrounded by folks swearing that the only escape route from eternal damnation was accepting Jesus as my savior. And just when I thought it couldn't get more complicated, I made Jewish friends who kindly reminded me that I wasn't the chosen one, signaling another ticket to the fiery pit. Perhaps my Grandma was onto something after all; maybe growing out my locks was the ultimate salvation strategy.

Doomed for hell, I embarked on a quest for truth. My journey took me across the globe, chasing mythical dragons (See 'I See Faces'), seeking solace in shadowy realms, and praying and meditating in the hope of encountering God. I gazed at the stars, attempting to connect with other creations and sense their ethereal presence.

During my journey, I came to a realization that the nature of my ultimate destination isn’t determined by strictly following specific religions or their obligations. There are no cosmic referees calling the shots. Every belief system, whether monotheistic or polytheistic, conveyed the same message, if only we could set aside our human ego and listen with a pure heart. God, Allah, the Universe, or Creation—Made of Love—is the eternal essence within all of us. Denying that aspect of ourselves, which is pure love, feels like hell, while embracing it is heaven. Our actions and thought systems are the architects shaping our personal hells and heavens. The good news is that we have eternity to reshape our path and attain our divinity because being created in God’s image implies that we are eternal beings, part of an endless, always-improving cycle of existence.

Had my middle school teacher taught us the true meaning of God's omnipresence—that it's being everywhere and in everything, and also within us, experiencing the human form—would things be better for me? Such wisdom might have spared me many sleepless nights. But hey, who am I to judge? Perhaps it was his comment that led me to search for the truth throughout my whole life, and finding it on my own - that I’m the God- made me a stronger person.

Freed from the looming threat of hell, I boldly gave my hair the chop. With satisfaction, I took a hearty gulp from my sweet lemonade, raising an unspoken toast to my Grandma in my prayers.