My parents weren't pleased when I announced I was leaving Islam. But a polytheistic tattoo was the last straw for my mother
"Mum, Dad, I'm not a Muslim any more." My mother looks up sharply, bristling with annoyance. "Don't be ridiculous, of course you are." My father doesn't look up, assuming this is just the latest in a long line of pronouncements about religion that began with me age 10 spending a whole summer with a black scarf on my head to demonstrate my desire to become a Catholic nun. It was a phase that he was convinced would pass, like the Baha'i boyfriend or Bhangra-based Punjabi militancy. "You're still culturally Muslim," he said. I know the subtext of that: believe what you like in your heart but socially don't run around telling family and friends that you've renounced the faith.
In Islam a renunciate is much worse than an infidel. There is no place in heaven for someone who is born into the faith and decides to reject it. You couldn't say you didn't know any better, you purposely stepped away from salvation.
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