Samra Habib

Triumphant and uplifting - a queer Muslim memoir about forgiveness and freedom. 'Revolutionary' Mona Eltahawy * 'Exquisite, powerful and urgent' Stacey May Fowles * 'I fell in love with this book' Shani Mootoo A memoir of hope, faith and love, Samra Habib's story starts with growing up as part of a threatened minority sect in Pakistan, and follows her arrival in Canada as a refugee, before escaping an arranged marriage at sixteen. When she realized she was queer, it was yet another way she felt like an outsider. So begins a journey that takes her to the far reaches of the globe to uncover a truth that was within her all along. It shows how Muslims can embrace queer sexuality, and families can embrace change. A triumphant story of forgiveness and freedom, We Have Always Been Here is a rallying cry for anyone who has ever felt alone and a testament to the power of fearlessly inhabiting one's truest self.

We Have Always Been Here

CANADA READS 2020 WINNER NATIONAL BESTSELLER 2020 LAMBDA LITERARY AWARD WINNER How do you find yourself when the world tells you that you don't exist? Samra Habib has spent most of her life searching for the safety to be herself. As an Ahmadi Muslim growing up in Pakistan, she faced regular threats from Islamic extremists who believed the small, dynamic sect to be blasphemous. From her parents, she internalized the lesson that revealing her identity could put her in grave danger. When her family came to Canada as refugees, Samra encountered a whole new host of challenges: bullies, racism, the threat of poverty, and an arranged marriage. Backed into a corner, her need for a safe space--in which to grow and nurture her creative, feminist spirit--became dire. The men in her life wanted to police her, the women in her life had only shown her the example of pious obedience, and her body was a problem to be solved. So begins an exploration of faith, art, love, and queer sexuality, a journey that takes her to the far reaches of the globe to uncover a truth that was within her all along. A triumphant memoir of forgiveness and family, both chosen and not, We Have Always Been Here is a rallying cry for anyone who has ever felt out of place and a testament to the power of fearlessly inhabiting one's truest self.

A Queer Muslim Memoir

4.8⭐️ udah otomatis 5 sih ini sebenarnya. 

😤🤯😰👁️👁️😭🩵🥹🤗

Begitu deh kira - kira emoji yang pas ngegambarin perasaan gue pas baca buku ini. Buku ini membuat gue sadar kalau gue masih sangat amat BERUNTUNG dibanding dengan Samra. I AM NOTHING🙏

Dibuka dengan cerita masa kecil Samra dengan keluarganya yang tinggal di Lahore, Pakistan. How her life have been corrupt since she was a child😭 Gue inget baca 3 chapter awal di TJ gabisa bohong ekspresi muka : 
🤯🙄😭😡😖💔⁣

Paling broken heart ketika dia akhirnya harus pindah ke Canada, karena situasi yang ga memungkin-kan buat dia dan keluarga tinggal di Pakistan dan orang satu satunya yang dia percaya malah mengkhianati dia 😭💔😞

Everything happen for a reason. Setelah kejadian *itu* that’s end of the beginning for her & I’m really happy seeing her journey smp akhirnya dia bisa nemuin siapa diri dia & skrg ngebantu sesama queer muslim🩵🤗 Hangat! Even perjalanan sampai kesana juga ga selalu la la la

Gue jadi sadar misuhnya gue yg selalu mikir everyone hates me & prsn excluded ga se berat yg di alami Samra dan teman - teman queer lain. Gue masih termasuk bagian yg msh bisa ngerasain exclusivitas yg ga didapettin sama Samra dan teman queer muslim lain.

ps: andai gue bisa post review ini di ig huaaa😔😭 gue masih blm move on sama buku ini

fatru tamzil

This book felt like a hug to me as a Queer Muslim. 

Samra Habib wrote their memoir as a Queer person who was also a Muslim, and though at times our experiences differ greatly, most of the time it feels like they're reaching into my life experience as a Muslim Queer person, as someone who wanted to exists in two identities all at once, not wanting to let go the other because both of them are my identity and also the part of me. Habib, raised as an Ahmadi Muslim person in Pakistan, left the country when the threat to their existence became clearer, but Canada didn't provide much grace, either. What Habib later experiences in this book was a journey of self-acceptance of themselves, of what it means to be Queer and Muslim in one single identity. 

In a way, they have always known--like many of us did--like I did. The crushes on other girls, the wanting to be near other girls. The desire to see, and be transfixed by other girls started in childhood. Then, we they grew up, they started exploring more, exploring what it means to be a Muslim, an identity they had since they were a child, exploring beyond the gender and sexual orientation spectrum. When Habib finally realized, it is like they said in the memoir: "There are many ways to come out. Sometimes the label comes first. Sometimes it’s through action or experience. Some people say they’ve always known, and for others the process of realization is gradual. It might not be a single big moment but rather an accumulation of little ones." This line was so important to me especially as I, like many who grew up in a religiously conservative household, realized my Queerness late. Reading other people's experiences, and realizing that I was not alone in experiencing this particular feeling is so important on so many terms for me. 

And as I do, Samra does feel the conflicting feeling of being a Muslim and also being Queer. Being a Muslim themselves, Habib says: "Islam felt like a parent dishing out conditional love: I had no right to call myself Muslim because I’m queer and don’t wear the hijab." And this was something that I felt continuously, either I am not Muslim enough (because I am Queer), or I am not Queer enough (because why would you be a Muslim when you're one? And I get the question--the Queerphobia in the Muslim community is rampant. When your existence is faced with judgment and hatred, I get why leaving or discarding it is the best thing you would've done.) Yet, like Samra, I seemed not to want to leave, there is this longing to come back, to have a version of Islam that accepts me for who I am. 

As they said when they felt the community in the first time: "I was emboldened to think about what kind of relationship I wanted with Islam—something that had never been an option growing up. You were born a Muslim and had to abide by certain rules and standards if you were to retain your membership. For so long, I had lived under the glare of disapproval. The heady realization that I could still have a place in a faith that had previously rejected me felt shocking. I was witnessing that which I had only ever imagined: a queer utopia of sorts. A fantasy of being accepted and being seen." 

And how I wish to have that kind of community to me also. Something to tell me that I wasn't always alone, that what I have been feeling is something that other people have also been feeling. Samra Habib was 100% right: if we had access to Queer Muslim media as a child, perhaps we would've been not as scared, because we have seen and understand ourselves more. 

"Being Muslim is one of the only absolutes about myself I can be sure of. It serves as an anchor when I’m lost at sea. It helps me come back to myself, and it leads me to others who’ve struggled to reconcile seemingly disparate parts of themselves. For me, it’s not something I can put on and take off, like a garment. There’s no denying that my identity as a queer Muslim is the lens through which I see and engage with so many aspects of my daily life: fashion, music, literature, social media, politics, history, activism, sexuality, gender, faith, art. Basically, everything."

and to that, who are we as Queer Muslims? What are we as Queer Muslims? Perhaps; 

"Maybe this identity—this label I wear that defines me—is my house. And my voice was in here all along."

"Not everyone is equipped for activism in the traditional sense—marching, writing letters to officials—but dedicating your life to understanding yourself can be its own form of protest, especially when the world tells you that you don’t exist." 

Got this copy after standing on the line for quite some time.. and I never regret to have this book on my arms. Oh, I wish I could say something more literary to define how do I feel for what I just read. It's short, yet memorable. It's so freaking meaningful. It's a whole compact learner that people should earn at least once in a life time. This book told you about the identity, the story of someone who is looking for their own ground to stand; even sometimes the world never see them as they are. 

The language usage! Please, please, please. It's like a structural diary since you will witness Samra ever since her younger age, discover the whole sky to see the world. The reality is that this identity has shaped the way we see the world, and the way others see ourselves, in a way that is beyond our control. being Muslim is one of the only absolutes as it serves as an anchor when we are lost at sea. As a Muslim myself, I keep finding many delicate diction about the purity that religion offered to us, and that feels... wholesome. You will also find a sexist or feminist dragged upon another in this book, as a woman, fertility, purity, and beauty were the only currencies we could exchange for a better life. We understood that any hindrance to my ability to find a suitable husband made us as undesirable and disposable as her stuttering mother... right? 

Like its title, We Have Always Been Here: A Queer Muslim Memoir is a biography of someone who looks for coming back to themselves; a notice that we always have been here. No matter which countries we are from, no matter how people tried to make fail of us, no matter the doubtful yet skeptical things surrounding us. It's a way to come home, a holder of here, my body wasn’t a problem; it wasn’t a cause for alarm or a tool to excite men—here I could simply, be. By the end of the school year I no longer feared the deep end. It's a handbook to those who wonder for the worthy being, like, we thought about what we wanted love to look like for us. Was it possible to be loved without losing ourselves? Was the absence of a partner we were spiritually and intellectually in sync with the price I had to pay for being uncompromising about needing the space to grow? If you are looking for islamic stereotype environment, I swear to God this book definitely made for you.

Amanda Schutz

I loved diving into Samra's story and was so moved by her experiences. Especially seeing the transformation of the relationship with her parents as she moved into her own identity. She spoke so eloquently about how her body carried her through her pain and could be a source of joy. My favourite quote was from her mother 'You're trying to make Muslims who are treated unfairly feel like they are a part of Islam. That's very Muslim of you'.

Lauren Attaway

This book reminded me why I read non-fiction, it is a fascinating look at personal history I would otherwise have never been exposed to. Intelligently written, carefully explained, a great read.

Jordan Heustis

This was a pretty quick and easy read. She of course has an interesting point of view and I was interesting hearing about decades ago through the present.

I can't really rate less than 5 stars because it is a memoir. I enjoyed it, but I didn't really get that invested in the life story so, for me, it was a slow read. I think that it didn't dive very deep, so at times it felt like important topics were glossed over. But again, it's a memoir and how the author wants to explain their life, so its not really my place to say how they *should* write it.

How do you find yourself when the world tells you that you don't exist? Samra Habib has spent most of her life searching for the safety to be herself. As an Ahmadi Muslim growing up in Pakistan, she faced regular threats from Islamic extremists who believed the small, dynamic sect to be blasphemous. From her parents, she internalized the lesson that revealing her identity could put her in grave danger. When her family came to Canada as refugees, Samra encountered a whole new host of challenges: bullies, racism, the threat of poverty, and an arranged marriage. Backed into a corner, her need for a safe space--in which to grow and nurture her creative, feminist spirit--became dire. The men in her life wanted to police her, the women in her life had only shown her the example of pious obedience, and her body was a problem to be solved. So begins an exploration of faith, art, love, and queer sexuality, a journey that takes her to the far reaches of the globe to uncover a truth that was within her all along. A triumphant memoir of forgiveness and family, both chosen and not, We Have Always Been Here is a rallying cry for anyone who has ever felt out of place and a testament to the power of fearlessly inhabiting one's truest self.

Laura Leila Marta

Lacey

I had to take some time to process my thoughts on this book. I received a copy of this book from NetGalley for review purposes and all thoughts expressed in this review are my own. 


This book left me in tears. Like, all out sobbing tears. I’m so glad that this memoir was written. I have gained a new perspective on what being a queer Muslim looks like. I truly believe in representation and own voices literature because it provides a way to bring everyone to the table and allows those marginalized voices to speak. 

This book also provides a warning to Canada to keep fighting for all LGBTQIA+ people: 

“ Witnessing politically minded queers in North Carolina, many of whom were also Muslim, was especially revelatory for me, because I often found people back home in Toronto to be apathetic and apolitical, perhaps a result of the comfort and ambivalence that advanced queer rights can breed. Many Canadians who enjoyed the fruits of decades of activism did not see any need to advocate for the rights of queer and trans people of colour. In my experience, progress in many circles had given way to passivity. When I launched my photo project, someone actually asked me if there was even a need for it, because “things are so great in Canada for queers. What’s left to fight for?”


One mustn’t sit back and think everything is great because gay marriage is recognized. 

My heart broke when I read “ When I photographed my subjects in Istanbul, they asked that I not show their faces because they feared for their safety.” It is truly devastating how some countries view being LGBTQIA+ as dangerous or something that isn’t okay. It’s enraging. 


The quote that sent tears down my face was when the author told her father that she is queer. Samra and her father had a difficult relationship since immigrating to Canada, and when she told him that she was queer, he responded “You can’t help it,” he said. “It’s just who you are.” Being seen for who you are is what we are all looking for. 

I recommend  We Have Always Been Here . I deeply recommend it to those seeking for a new perspective on LGBTQIA+ . This memoir gives a marginalized voice a seat at the table.

Sharon Steinman

I honestly didn't expect that I would enjoy reading this book. I felt like it was going to be a chore to get through it. I was pleasantly surprised. I enjoyed this book and thought it was well written. I am glad the GirlyBook Club had voted for this book.

We Have Always Been Here

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