As I was born, I was slipped into my Muslim 'skin'. I never had a chance to speak my piece of mind. Who would listen to me in a country where 99% was of the Islamic religion and the 1% that wasn't Muslim was not even heard of. To be anything other than Muslim was considered insane.

Fortunately enough, I had a family who didn't stress too much about learning the Koran, the holy book. You had to be able to read Arabic in order to read the Koran. I didn't even know the first letter of the alphabet in the Arabic language let alone be capable of reading it. Nobody forced me to learn Arabic. Whenever someone asked me, "What religion do you practice?" I'd just automatically say "Muslim".

That was history when I came to Australia. The large Somali community in Melbourne loved to nose in on anything that goes on within the community. They soon figured out that I didn't know anything about the Islamic faith.

They made it their business to change all that. The Mosque sent out a few ladies to our house to preach. They talked to me about what was religiously correct and what was wrong. In my opinion, almost everything they said sounded wrong to me, including the way they dressed.

They reassured me that I would gradually learn how to read the Koran, but first of all I had to 'cover up'. I knew what they were referring to, but I wanted to hear anyway what excuses they had for dressing like 'ninjas'.

They related an anecdote, which is too ridiculous to retell, that happened thousands of year ago, justifying these peculiar fashion statements. They expect me, above all people, to cover my hair with a headscarf and wear a shapeless, floor sweeping, extremely suffocating dress with sleeves all the way past my fingers.

My first thoughts was maybe they were right. But a little voice inside me said, "Do you believe this load of bull?" Then I came back to reality and was looking at them thinking 'how am I going to get out of this one?' I dutifully nodded my head and said, "Will do."

As soon as they left, I just let everything flow out my other ear and continued living life my way. I believed I'd got them off my back for at least a month, but I was mistaken. They were back within a few days to check up on me. To my misfortune, I opened the door unexpectedly, wearing my favourite singlet and some torn jeans.

Their expressions told me a million different stories. I had to hold myself back from laughing out loud. I showed them in and had to sit through the whole lecture, ordeal more like it, again. I stopped being a hypocrite. I shocked them by telling them I would cover up of my own free will and no one could tell me what to do, not my family and definitely not them.

They had nothing to add to that, so they politely said their goodbyes and left. Now they go around telling the story of this incident blown out of proportion. They claim I am the worst daughter one could have and that God will make me pay.

s, I will do so because I desire, not because other people demand me to; and definitely not because I want to get approval or fit in. I don't feel as if I have to justify my beliefs to anyone. God didn't say believe in me because others do.