Faith, Doubt, and God: My Journey Beyond Religion

But who am I really, in terms of religion?

On paper and by birth, I’m Muslim — because that’s the religion tied to my family and my name. That’s not something I chose, it’s something I was given. In practice, I don’t follow Islamic rituals or lifestyle. I’m drawn instead to Buddhist teachings and yoga philosophy — mindfulness, compassion, non-attachment, presence. I’m curious, I’m learning, and I’m even planning to do a temple stay and go to Rishikesh. That’s not surface-level; that’s a real pull of the heart.

I’m also not comfortable claiming “I’m Muslim,” because it doesn’t feel true. But I’m not calling myself “Buddhist” either, because I haven’t formally taken refuge or embraced the rituals fully. Right now, I am in that seeker’s space — open, exploring, shaping what belief means to me. And maybe that’s the most honest answer to “who am I in terms of religion?” → I am a seeker, born Muslim, walking closer toward Buddhism, but still writing my own truth.

In Buddhism, your actions matter more than your label. If you’re practicing mindfulness, compassion, and awareness — you’re already walking the path, whether or not you wear the name “Buddhist.” The Buddha himself said: “Don’t believe something just because I said it. Test it in your own life. If it works, keep it. If not, let it go.”

You know that in Islam, it never says something like this. It’s more of: “You have to believe what I say because I am the truest.” That is one of the biggest contrasts between the two.

In Islam, faith is built on submission. The foundation is: “You must believe, because this is the truth. And questioning it means doubt.” There’s little space for “try it, test it, see if it fits you.” It’s more about obedience and certainty.

In Buddhism, faith is built on experience — not blind acceptance. The Buddha said: don’t believe something just because a holy book says it, a teacher says it, or tradition says it. Instead, test it in your own life. If it brings peace, compassion, and clarity → keep it. If it brings confusion, hate, or suffering → let it go. That’s why so many people feel a sense of freedom with Buddhist teachings. You’re not forced into belief; you’re invited into exploration. And that’s what resonates with me — not being told what to believe, but being trusted to find my own truth.

In Islam, especially the way it’s taught here, doubt is dangerous. If you question, you’re weak. If you doubt, you’re already on the edge of murtad (apostasy). And that’s scary, because it doesn’t leave much space for honest human feelings. Everyone doubts sometimes. Everyone questions. But in Islam, instead of saying “explore your doubts” or “find your own truth,” the teaching often says: “ignore your doubts, push them away, or else you’re out of the faith.”

That’s why many people feel trapped: either silence yourself to “stay Muslim” in the eyes of others, or admit your doubt and risk being labeled murtad — which carries so much social, family, and even legal stigma in Malaysia.

In contrast, Buddhism treats doubt differently. Doubt isn’t sin — it’s part of the path. They even list it as one of the natural “hindrances” in meditation. Instead of punishing you for having doubt, they encourage you to look at it, sit with it, and test things for yourself.

And in this world where people use religion for their own benefits, believe in things that come from unknown sources… I don’t say Islam is bad. I believe Islam is a good religion. But people in it make it look bad. Tradition makes it look bad. And that leaves new generations feeling lost, with no space to question or evaluate. As if they’re scared we might find some faults, some lies. That’s why I don’t resonate with it anymore.

I do believe Islam is peace. But growing up with it, people made me feel as if Islam was caging me. That’s why I backed away. But I won’t say that’s my sole reason. There are other reasons too — parts of it that just don’t feel right or correct for me.

But one thing I know for sure: I believe in God. I do. There is God. There is a Creator. But which religion? I don’t believe God sits in only one. God is the truest. Religion, I don’t think so. At least not at this point of my life. With people’s interference and traditions, I feel religion has been smudged.

Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to Buddhism. Because it focuses more on the internal than the external.

I don’t see the Buddha statue as God. I see it as a symbol — a reminder of Buddhism. When I visited a temple in Thailand, I once prayed in front of the statue. Although I bowed, prayed, and showed respect to the statue — in my heart, I was praying to God. Wherever God is. Because I believe there is only one and only one God.

When I backed away from Islam and being Muslim, it wasn’t because I stopped believing in God. In fact, I believe in God even more than before. What I walked away from was the facade of Islam. The core — God — I still hold deeply.

It’s not God I walked away from. It’s the walls people built around God.

That’s why I’m drawn to Buddhism and yoga. They don’t tell me who God is. They help me create the inner stillness to feel God for myself. So when people assume I “lost faith” or “walked away from God,” the truth is the opposite. I only walked away from the cage. And in doing so, I found a God that feels more real to my heart.

The Buddha isn’t a god. He never claimed to be one. He was a man who awakened and shared a path out of suffering. The statue is a symbol — a reminder of peace, compassion, and the possibility of awakening in ourselves. It’s like how a photo of someone you love isn’t the person, but it makes you feel close to them.

When I bowed and prayed, I wasn’t betraying my belief in one God. I was expressing respect through the form of Buddhism. But my heart was still turned toward the One — the Creator I believe exists beyond religion. The statue was just the space that allowed me to bow in peace.

The Buddha never taught about one almighty Creator who controls everything. Instead, he focused on suffering (dukkha), its causes, and the path to liberation. So technically, Buddhism is non-theistic — meaning God is not the central idea.

But many Buddhists believe: if there is a Creator, that being is beyond human labels, beyond religion. What matters most is how you live — kindness, mindfulness, compassion — not which “God concept” you subscribe to.

So my belief — “There is one God, but not locked into one religion” — actually fits really well within Buddhism. Because Buddhism doesn’t argue against that. It simply says: “That’s not our main concern. Our concern is how you free yourself from suffering.”

So I don’t have to choose between “believing in God” and “being drawn to Buddhism.” I can carry both: God as the ultimate source, and Buddhism as the path that helps me live closer to that truth, without cages.

In Buddhism, there’s even this saying: “Don’t mistake the finger pointing at the moon for the moon itself.” The statue, the chants, the rituals — they’re all fingers pointing. But the moon, the real truth, is far beyond them.

Same as Islam and Christianity, Buddhism also has the Five Precepts. These are the everyday ethical guidelines that Buddhists (especially lay people, not monks) try to live by. They’re not commandments in the way Islam or Christianity has rules — they’re more like training principles to help you live with clarity and compassion.

🪷 The Five Precepts

1. Refrain from killing living beings → practicing compassion and respect for life. (For some, this means vegetarian, but many interpret it simply as avoiding intentional harm.)

2. Refrain from taking what is not given → not stealing, but also respecting people’s belongings, time, trust, and boundaries.

3. Refrain from sexual misconduct → living responsibly and respectfully in relationships, avoiding harm through sexuality.

4. Refrain from false speech → being honest, avoiding lies, gossip, or hurtful words. Using speech to build, not destroy.

5. Refrain from intoxicants that cloud the mind → traditionally no alcohol or drugs. But some Buddhists interpret it more flexibly — not getting drunk, not letting substances control you.

They’re seen as practices, not absolute sins. If you slip, it’s not about guilt — it’s about noticing, learning, and returning to mindfulness. If I ever take refuge, these precepts become the basic framework of my Buddhist life.

In Islam, the Five Pillars are about ritual practice — shahadah, prayer, fasting, zakat, hajj. In Buddhism, the Five Precepts are about ethical mindfulness. They’re not sins with punishment, but trainings to help you and others suffer less.

In both Islam and Buddhism, the body becomes a doorway to the heart. In Islam, rukuk (bowing) and sujud (prostration) are physical acts that express humility before God. The ritual movements are reminders: “I lower my body, I lower my ego.” It’s not just about words — it’s about shaping the body so the heart follows.

In Buddhism, bowing before the Buddha statue is also a way of softening the ego. Each bow is like a moving meditation — breathe, pause, humble yourself, center the mind. It’s not worship of a statue, but a way of aligning body and mind with reverence.

The core is the same: both traditions recognize that sometimes the mind follows the body. By moving, bowing, prostrating, you awaken feelings of humility, peace, and connection.

The difference is: in Islam, the bowing is directed toward God. In Buddhism, the bowing is directed toward the qualities of awakening (wisdom, compassion) that the Buddha represents.

In Islam, when we pray, we face Makkah — toward the Kaabah. But every Muslim knows the Kaabah itself is not God — it’s a direction, a symbol of unity. The Kaabah focuses the prayer, but the prayer goes to God, who has no form or shape.

Buddhists bow to the Buddha statue. But they know the statue isn’t the Buddha himself, and definitely not God. It’s a symbol — a reminder of awakening, peace, and compassion. The bowing is really directed inward, toward those qualities within yourself.

The parallel is strong. In both, the heart reaches beyond the object toward the greater truth — using a symbol to guide the body and mind, while the heart reaches for God or truth beyond form.

Truthfully, my biggest struggle in all this is not about faith, but about how others see me. Inside, I’m clear. I know what path I want, and I walk it without conflict. What weighs on me is the perception of others — especially loved ones, especially family.

I’m not lost inside myself; what hurts is carrying other people’s projections on top of my clarity. It feels like existing in a space that doesn’t fit, in a culture and society that expect me to wear a mold I’ve already outgrown.

It’s like wearing clothes that are too tight: the problem isn’t my body, it’s the clothes. But because everyone else is wearing the same outfit, I’m seen as the odd one out simply for wanting to breathe.

Until then, my struggle is not about being lost. It’s about being awake in a world that prefers people to stay asleep.

And if you’ve read this far, maybe you see a piece of yourself in my words. These are the longer thoughts I place here. The smaller ones — fragments, photos, questions I carry in my day — I keep for my quiet letters. If you’d like to receive them, you can.