Can’t remember if I’ve mentioned it, but I have been trying to cut white flour out of my diet. Lower carb diets are thought to be good for PCOS, and more fiber is pretty good for everybody. I’m not doing this in any real fanatical way, but I don’t want it to me the mainstay of my meals any more. Since I basically lived on pasta, it’s been a challenge. I’ve been eating a lot of bulgur, and vegetables lately, and surprising quantities of protein.

It seems to be working. I’m losing weight again, despite eating plenty of calories, and I seem to have more energy. It’s weird – a couple of years ago, this would be the last thing I could imagine doing. My eating habits have changed drastically over time. I was a semi-vegetarian for five years, eating only seafood. Then for about six months I went strict vegetarian, but that sucked because I love shrimp so I went back to eating seafood. And then I moved to Uzbekistan, and started eating chicken again, and then beef and lamb. Which was nice, I have to admit – I always liked meat, especially chicken.

Then, after lots of thinking, I decided that I wasn’t Muslim. (I guess I should remove myself from the Muslims diaryring). It’s not something I have talked a lot about, but it’s the result of a long thought process. I’ve never been much of a Muslim – I don’t know much about Islam, and I don’t consistently believe in God. But I was trying – doing my best to learn more, and thinking about what I did learn. A slow process, but a process.

But I came to the conclusion about six months ago that there is something wrong in Islam. There is nothing wrong with the core of the faith, but its expression here on Earth has gone wrong. Islam is leading people the wrong way; a good religion is causing bad things. It is not leading people to hope and a decent life.

So I decided I didn't want to be part of it. Someone else, like my friends Mike and Suspect, might have decided to change things from the inside. To be part of the force for good in the faith. My I’ve always been a half-assed believer, a pseudo-Muslim, and I decided to give it up. I don’t want to take the time to learn Islam and then try to change it. I’ll leave that for someone else.

And how does this relate to food? Kind of a heave topic for a discussion of low-carb diets. But I have recently started eating pork again. Not in a big way – a bite of bacon here and there, or a bit of ham from Kir’s plate. It’s a surprisingly emotional process. My brother is actually mad at me about my change in eating habits. He doesn’t eat pork, despite being an atheist. I think he’s upset I am giving up something we grew up with. Betraying the family somehow. But, you know, if you are not Muslim and eat meat, why not eat pork? What value is there in avoiding a food for no reason?

I have been avoiding pork products for my entire adult life. It is disconcerting to stop. There are habits to unlearn – I can order soup or dumplings without quizzing the waitress first on the precise contents. Kir can stop using his magical pork-sensing abilities to protect me from suspicious meatballs. (he’s from Iowa; he knows his pig products)

It’s a strange kind of journey, this eating. We all know that food is tied, deeply, into your emotions, but I am realizing just how deeply the tie goes. I am unlearning a lifetime of pork habits; I am unlearning a lifetime of Muslim habits. Every bite of pork reminds me, firmly, that I

have decided to give up on being Muslim.

I still love Islam. I want to defend it from those who attack, and explain to people who want to know more. I still love a whole bunch of Muslims – my father’s family, my friends, people I grew up with. Am I still allowed to defend a faith I no longer claim as my own? And what do I tell these friends? Do I tell Mike and Gulnara I am removing myself from a faith they would die for? What about when strangers ask me in taxis? Do I answer that I used to be Muslim and I stopped? Do I lie?

I learn to order ribs without asking what animal they came from. I learn to stop saying a Muslim prayer in shaky elevators. Sometimes, I forgot I’m not Muslim until I’m confronted on a menu by sausage lasagna.

This giving-up of religion should be easy. It is, after all, a release of limitations. I can eat pork. I can drink, I can eat all day during Ramadan if I like. If I were gay, it would be okay now. I don’t have to feel guilty about not praying because that its no longer something I am supposed to do.

Nonetheless, it feels like a loss. Possibly even a sacrifice.

A sacrifice that I think I have to make.

<<|>>

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USAID is one of many donors for the project I work for. The views expressed herein are the author’s own views and do not necessarily reflect those of the author’s employer or especially those of the United States Agency for International Development or the United States Government. And I mean it. I probably give the US government heart attacks.