Young Muslims Talk About the First Time They Got Wasted

In the Wild West, having a beer with your dad is a rite of passage. But for most young Muslims—like me and my friends—this dream is a taboo fantasy. Taboo, but not unthinkable. Because as much as the boys on the righteous path love to deny it, the majority of Muslims I grew up with all indulged in a sip or two before they became all about the "ummah," their "deen," or on the "haq."

In fact, most of my youth was spent partying with Muslims. Their drinking might've been motivated by the allure of forbidden fruit, peer pressure, or pure hedonism. Who knows? Who's judging? Not me. But my nosey curiosity has encouraged me pursue those who strayed from the path, and to ask about their sinful flirtations. Why did we drink? What was it like? And how did everyone feel afterwards?

The first time I drank was when my older cousins took me out for my 16th birthday. My dad gave me the pass for the night and we were on a car park rooftop opposite the KFC on Chapel Street. I drank a Corona. I remember being so nervous before my first sip, I felt like the whole world was going to slide out and explode beneath me. I took a sip and it tasted like shit. They told me to put a lemon in it for flavour. It still tasted like shit.

Anyway, I kept necking them down. I was about four deep and I remember walking across the road to Chasers nightclub focussing really hard to walk in a straight line because I felt like my legs couldn't support my body. I just wanted to roll around and lie down. But I was trying to act hard in front of the older boys. They snuck me in through the back, and when we got inside my cousin Hakim introduced me to his girlfriend. I thought she was the hottest girl in the world, she had blonde hair and was wearing a boob tube. She talked to me like I was cute and I didn't give two shits as long as everyone in the club saw me talking to her. I don't know why I was acting like she was my girl.

Anyway, Hakim asked me if I wanted to "do shots." I was still acting like a sick cunt in front of his girl so I was like "why not?" the shots were like 100 times worse than the beer. I think they might've been tequila or something. Whatever it was, it went projectile style all over his girlfriend's boob tube. There were bits of the KFC from before, everyone was laughing. She wasn't. And I just left with puke all over my brand new Cotton On sweater. We had to go past my cousin's friend's house on the way home, they got me changed and dropped me home in a hurry so they could go back to the club.

I remember being disgusted when I came home and looked in the mirror. I felt like such a disgraceful bastard. After that incident, my dad didn't let me stay out past 12 until I was 21. I prayed five times a day for a couple of years, purely out of shame. I never wanted to drink again. Although I have had the odd wet pussy shot over the years with the boys.

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The first time I drank was after footy. We went back to my Egyptian mate's house and all the boys thought they'd have a few drinks and get in the spa. I didn't want to embarrass myself and tell the boys I didn't drink for religious reasons. So I buckled to the pressure and smashed a couple of drinks that tasted like lemon squash. Got a bit tipsy. Then when I got in the spa we started doing shots. The boys convinced me to call the hottest girl at our school but she shut me down. I tried to save it by saying I thought her best friend was hotter. It was so sad. It was fucking embarrassing. She shut me down and hung up on me in front of the whole team so I kept drinking.

For some reason, it never occurred to me that at some point I had to go home. The whole time I just didn't want it to end, I was so happy. Then reality hit me. Everyone was going home, one by one. And suddenly it was time for me to go back. I remember talking so much shit about my parents and my religion too. Everyone was getting around me, as if they were supporting me but the next day I realised everyone was having me on.

Anyway, when I got home I was obviously slurring and stank because my sister who was sitting next to me just stood up and moved. Then my dad politely told everyone to go upstairs. It was like 8:30-9 PM. Nobody in my house slept that early. So I knew I was in for it. My only option was to go out like a coward. So as soon as my dad came back downstairs I just started crying. Cried my ass off. Told them I was depressed and I didn't know what I was doing with my life and that everyone hates me. I think I was genuinely still a bit upset about the girl shutting me down so it actually wasn't that hard, being pissed and all.

The first time I had a drink was when my friend Sarah got her Ps. We went driving and because she just turned 18 we naturally we went through a Drive Thru liquor shop. She ordered a four pack of vodka cruisers and we went back to her house. Her mum was really cool and even made us like a funny cheese board when we got back to her house. We put on a movie and cracked them open. I remember thinking it was going to be like poison, like as soon as I take the first sip I was going to be pulled down into hell. I remember tasting it and really liking the flavour. It was really sweet and sugary. I remember feeling kind of empowered. Nothing happened. No one got hurt.

We had a great night just hanging out, messaging boys and talking shit. I didn't feel ashamed or guilty at all. I felt responsible and more like an adult. It felt a bit naughty but it really made me rethink my religion and it kind of made me upset, that my parents would never share so many different experiences the world has to offer because they were raised in cultures that told them bad things would happen to them when they die. Who cares about what happens after you die, if you're a good person with chill morals I'm sure you'll be fine.

Can you believe I used gear way before I ever had my first sip of alcohol? I grew up with my dad always talking about how much he hated drinking, so it was ingrained in my head. So while everyone was out drinking, I'd be in the cubicles racking lines of speed. It had a weird effect because suddenly I was watching all these pissed cunts while I was in a hyper-alert state. Probably talking their ears off too. One night I had a massive blue with my girlfriend, we broke up and my speed dealer was out of the state. So I went to the bottle shop, bought a bottle of Johnny Red, sat in my car outside my house and downed the whole bottle. I could feel it burning my throat, but I just wanted to write myself off. Halfway through I remember thinking what the fuck is this? How do people drink this for fun? I got really pissed and vomited all over my car.

I woke up the next day in my bed with the worst hangover. I thought thank god I made it into bed in one piece. But then my mum came into my room crying. I thought someone had died. Apparently, I had passed out in the backyard. They found my wallet and phone outside my car, the car doors were left flung open. It was a fucking scene. They had to wake my dad up in the middle of the night to help lug me into bed. I felt like I'd betrayed my whole family. I don't think my old man spoke to me for like a year. I cut him so deep. He still takes jabs at me and throws me the dirtiest look whenever anyone mentions alcohol. Better stick to speed aye?

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