I’m a devout Muslim…and a raging alcoholic

I’m originally from Pakistan, where I lived until my family immigrated to New York when I was seven. Where I’m from, there is no drinking; even ingesting the smallest amount used in cooking is strongly condemned. I work at a big investment bank, where heavy drinking is part of the culture and a necessary way to blow off steam after working a 16-plus-hour day.

My family doesn’t know I drink and I’ll do anything to keep it that way. I’m the oldest male in my family and am expected to take care of everyone else. I have an open relationship with my mom and can talk to her about everything, just not this. Every time she comes to visit, I have to clear out my apartment of anything that references drinking—posters, pictures, mugs, bottles, empty beer cans—and you have no idea how difficult it is to rid a guy’s apartment of that stale beer smell. I hate having to lie to my mom, but it’s for her own good—I wouldn’t want to make her think she raised a failure.

Being a Muslim isn’t just a religion, it’s a part of my identity. Even though I drink, I do everything else right: I don’t eat pork, I pray, I give alms. I even fast for the month of Ramadan, which has proved especially tricky since I can’t eat or drink anything from about 4am to 8pm for 30 days. It’s meant to teach sacrifice, but I don’t think I should have to give up alcohol for the sake of a religious holiday when I never gave it up in the first place. So I just continue to have eight to ten drinks a night when I go out even though I’ve barely eaten all day and my tolerance is down. I really feel it the next morning when I’m hungover and can’t drink any water.

I love the social aspect of drinking. It makes everything more fun. I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon. I’m sure if I were still living in Pakistan I wouldn’t have had a sip of alcohol in my life, but it’s not my fault my family brought me here to this country where drinking is the norm. I simply adapted. All right, enough with this. Go get me another beer.

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