Hijab: A Love Story

"Why do you wear that?" she asks as she traces invisible circles around her face, referring to my hijab.

Whether its at a da'wah table, or while I'm standing in line at a 7-Eleven, or even during group projects at school, the question always comes up. After being a hijabi for ten years (going on eleven), I've learned to anticipate the question. I've gotten so good, I can almost predict when it'll come up.

You'd think that answering this question would have gotten easier over the years, but it hasn't. To me, hijab is my most loyal friend; my hijab is part of me, it makes up a good portion of my identity. I can tell you why I wear the hijab, but I can tell you what the hijab has done for me so much better. But I guess in order for you to understand that, I'd have to start at the beginning, when I first began my journey.

Alhamdulilah, I started wearing my hijab around this time, when I was in seventh grade. At the time, we were living in Egypt for a year and my parents were on Hajj, so my Aunt, who wasn't married yet, was staying with us. I woke up for school one morning and BAM! puberty. My Aunt pretty much asked me, "Do you want to start wearing the hijab?" I said yes, and that was the end of that. It wasn't anything I really thought about. I was raised all my life in an Islamic school, and I knew that once a young lady hit puberty, hijab becomes mandatory. All my other friends were wearing it, my teachers wore it. My mom and aunts wore it, as did my cousins. It was a no-brainer for me. I never went a sleepless night because I was up thinking about how people would start treating me once I wore my hijab. Hijab just wasn't something I worried about.

Looking back at that segment of my life, I now realize that I took that comfort for granted.

I didn't start becoming aware of my hijab until I was entering eleventh grade in high school. My parents transferred me from Ghazaly to Marist High School (long story) and just so you know, Marist is a catholic school. Obviously I was extremely upset with this decision (and I took advantage of every opportunity possible to illustrate this), and that was before I even digested the fact that this was a catholic school and I was coming from an Islamic school. Let's just say that it wasn't really the smoothest transition. Ghazaly was my entire life, it was the bubble within which I existed; I knew nothing beyond it's pecan-green (I wonder what color they are now) walls. If you asked me to recite a Surah in the Quran, I'd recite it to you and even give you the Tafseer in a jiffy. If you asked me where in the Sunnah it described the steps to Tayammum, I'd rattle off the hadith, no problem. If you needed a du'aa for something, I'd give you two. But if you asked me why I wore the hijab, I'd tell you, well duh, because it's fard, and I'd expect no further questions after that. Obviously, this isn't a sufficient answer for a non-Muslim; I didn't understand that. If you asked me my views on the trinity, I'd have no idea what you were talking about. Point is, I had a solid Islamic education, but when it came to giving da'wah, I was all stammers, blank face, and baffled stares. In a way, I knew everything (not even) and nothing at the same time. But anyway, I digress; if you wanna read a little more about my experience at Marist, just click here.

Entering college was just another step on the journey. I liked the college atmosphere much better than I did the high school one. People were more mature, less judgmental, all that good stuff. And in the occasional event someone did make a snide remark about my hijab, the first few weeks at Marist had already hardened me against that, and I didn't respond with anger or tears; I was more rational, alhamdulilah. Hijab did that for me; it showed me the real world and it made me stronger, and above all, it made me fall in love with my deen over and over again.

Walking into a lecture hall on the first day of classes and seeing another hijabi is a very comforting feeling, you men don't even know. It's like I automatically have a friend in the class, because it's totally cool for me to go and sit next to her, smile, and introduce myself. She'd automatically know that I chose to sit next to her because she was also wearing the hijab, and it wouldn't be something weird. It's like the hijabi code. That's part of the reason why hijabi's tend to "flock" together. We're all on the same journey, and yet, we're on different ones. It's really somethin' else.

Hijab has made me a better person, too. If my years at Marist taught me anything, it's that if you wear the hijab, you're automatically labeled as a Muslim. I mean, it's different with men and the Sunnah beards, because that's not necessarily exclusive to the Islamic faith. Hijab, on the other hand, is. My hijab is the reason I make sure to take the extra few seconds to hold the door open for someone. My hijab is the reason I'm patient with rude people and women drivers (joke, ha ha). My hijab is the reason I really try to bite my tongue when I'm angry. My hijab is the reason I volunteer to do things even though I reeeeally don't want to (y'know, to get the image out there that Muslims aren't complete hermits).

My hijab is a constant reminder of who I am, and of the religion I am following. It has done nothing but improve my character. But you wanna know somethin' else? My hijab changes the people around me, too. Sometimes a classmate will refrain from cracking a dirty joke around me because I'm Muslim (as evidenced by my hijab). Sometimes people will apologize profusely when they curse in front of me for the same reason. My hijab has taught me to respect my religion, and myself. And consequently, when you have respect for yourself, people start having respect for you, too.

Hijab is so beautiful, just absolutely beautiful, and I can't see a hijabi as anything but the reflection of that. Is it really a wonder why I get so aggravated when girls use sub par analogies to describe their hijab? Enough with the "hijab is like a shell, and a hijabi is the pearl" nonsense. We can do so much better than that!

Makes me that much stronger,

Makes me work a little bit harder,

It makes me that much wiser,

So thanks for making me a fighter.

Made me learn a little bit faster,

Made my skin a little bit thicker,

Makes me that much smarter,

So thanks for making me a fighter.

I love my hijab, alhamdulilah.

Choose Your Own Adventure: Hurricane Sandy

Nothing makes you feel more uneasy about an upcoming storm than going to a Home Depot and finding out that they're all out of sand bags, generators, and flashlights.

I mean, this whole thing started off as "Tropical Storm Sandy" and then before you know it, phrases like "category two hurricane" and "coastal flooding" and "damaging winds" flooded the local news station, and everyone is split evenly down the middle between "It's no big deal" and "OH MY GOD GET IN THE CAR, WE'RE EVACUATING".

I stood in the long line at the cashier with the last two packs of AA batteries (one of which was open and missing a battery) and 7 feet of chains in my basket to tie stuff down, still trying to decide which side I was on. In front of me, I could hear the conversation of two teenage boys with identical mops of brown hair.

"I'm telling you, this is just a conspiracy to get people distracted," the shorter one said.

"Distracted from what?"

"I don't know, more important stuff. The elections. It's slowing us down."

The taller boy shook his head. "I'll start taking it seriously when they cancel school."

The shorter one snorted. "Yeah, like that'll happen."

In the next lane over, I watched as a Home Depot employee helped an older couple with their cart. Behind them, a father with a his brows knit in a worried frown tugged at his toddler's sleeve, who kept trying to grab at the candy by the register.

My peripheral vision caught sight of something moving on the ceiling. I looked up and stared at the hanging light. Either it was moving very subtly, or my eyes (and mind) were playing tricks on me.

"You saw that?"

I turned around and looked into the wide, cerulean eyes of the young woman standing behind me. "What?" I asked.

She pointed at something above us, and without even looking at what she was pointing at, I knew she was talking about the hanging light.

"You saw it move?" She asked.

"I'm not sure. I thought I might have been imagining it." I felt uneasy.

"I don't think so." Her wide eyes shifted from mine and settled back on the hanging light above us. I saw her touch two fingers to her right shoulder, then her left, then forehead, and finally the center of her chest. She was crossing herself, and for some reason, her fear was contagious. I turned back around to face the front of the line, and in spite of myself, I glanced one last time at the hanging light above me. I wished people would just hurry up so I can get out of here.

And that's when the lights flickered and then went out. Aside from the wind howling outside and a sudden "oh my God" muttered by someone a few lanes over, an abrupt hush settled over the occupants of the store as everyone held their breath and stared at the lights hanging from the ceiling. I could hear the young woman behind me reciting Hail Mary frantically. The sudden darkness inside the store made me acutely aware of how dark it was outside as well. I looked at the glass doors at the front of the store and saw angry clouds rolling in, fast.

The lights came back on just as suddenly as they had went out. The two high schoolers in front of me laughed nervously, and the girl behind me paused in her recitation briefly. People didn't resume their conversation though. Everyone was warily eyeing the lights above, which swung slightly every now and then - this time there was no doubt about it. The tenseness in the air was thick enough to cut through with a butter knife.

As soon as the cashier rang up my items and bagged them, I made a beeline for the doors, hurrying to get to my car. I wasn't really prepared for what I was about to witness.

As soon as I stepped out, the wind whipped at my clothes, pushing me back towards the automatic doors. I gasped and gripped my plastic bag tightly. I clutched my sweater closed and hustled to my car. The wind slammed the door behind me, and as I sat there behind the steering wheel, staring at the sky, I was suddenly overcome with fear.

The clouds were unnaturally dark, and they lingered low in the sky, heavy with rain. It reminded me of the way the sky would darken in the Harry Potter movies when Dementors were about. Just along the horizon, I could see where the dark clouds ended, and it made me think only NJ was going to suffer the brunt of this disaster. The wind nudged the side of my car, screaming at me through the window panes. There was so much paper and leaves and empty chips bags flying around in the air, swept away by the violence of the gusts. Lightning lit up the sky, turning the darkness into the brilliance of a morning in July, if only momentarily. I counted seconds until I heard the thunder, and when I didn't get past four seconds, I started laughing hysterically. What was it, three seconds to a mile? So this, this thing was only a mile away? The thunder was loud, and I saw two women crossing in front of me crouch down in a knee-jerk reaction and stare at the sky as the thunder ripped through the atmosphere.

I could go home. I mean, would it be safer than here? Bayonne is surrounded by water. But I was fine during Hurricane Irene. Maybe this would be the same.

I could leave, too, I guess. Head more inland. Blairstown maybe. Or I could leave Jersey altogether. Go to Philly or something. But would I make it there in time? What if I got caught in the storm?

...to be continued.

If you chose to stay, click here.

If you chose to evacuate, click here.

[I'll update soon. In the meantime, think about your path.]

Untitled Feeling.

I've been feeling this way for days, on and off, but it just won't go away. I don't even have the perfect way to describe what I'm feeling like. It's not something convenient enough to explain in a word or two or twenty. I wish I could just bottle this up and give you a drop.

I feel like a book that someone forgot on their back porch overnight in an unexpected thunderstorm, and then the next day placed it in the sunlight to dry, but last night's rain still left some chapters stuck together and big ugly craters in the pages.

I feel so indecisive. Like when you're driving at 2AM on a deserted highway with no GPS and an uncharged phone, and you're not sure if you already passed your destination or if you still haven't gotten there yet, and so every time you approach a U-Turn, you slow down. Do I take it? Do I keep going? What if I take the U-Turn and it turns out I just missed my destination by a quarter mile? So you keep driving. And you tell yourself, Okay, if I don't get there in four more miles, I'll turn back. And after you finish the four miles and you still haven't arrived at your destination, you still don't know if you're turning back too early. For all you know, it could be just over there. Should you turn back now? And it tears you apart, the indecisiveness. And it frustrates you, the darkness, and the way you can't see beyond the brink of your headlight's glow. And it makes you realize how small NJ really is (there's that dreadful "LAST EXIT IN NJ" sign), and how you're not as good with directions as you thought you were. And it makes you wonder why more people don't drive around at 2AM?! Oh yeah, because they're not fools like you.

I feel so tired. Like I went to the gym and the personal trainer that was there that day was the ex-marine with a buzz cut, a permanent frown, and a shirt that is stretched so tight across his chest you could see the breath fill his lungs every time he inhaled. Except it's not attractive, it's gross. And then after the gym I ran fifty miles to a beach where I swam against the current in my gym clothes, so that every time I tried to kick, my sweat pants would threaten to either come off completely or weigh me down so that I sink to the bottom of the ocean. And after I made it back to shore with my arms limp and my eyes barely open, I had to walk home in my wet clothes, and my sister had finished all the hot water during her bath, so I had to squeeze myself into the corner of the shower, shivering under the stream of cold water. And then I couldn't go to sleep afterwards because my ruffled thoughts make an uncomfortable pillow.

I feel like staying home all day and reading, but every time I pick up a book, I find myself uninterested, and I go through my entire book collection trying to find something that will satisfy me but I keep coming up blank. So I settle for some mindless television, which is a little better, until I realize that I've seen this episode of Friends way too many times and that this episode of The Twilight Zone reminds me of my tenth grade history class, and I hated my tenth grade history class. So I settle on something animated instead, maybe some DBZ, but then I remember that I can't even talk to anyone about it because no one I know likes DBZ. So I just lay there on the couch and stare at the television screen, without really seeing it, and when I reach for my cup of coffee, it's empty because I already finished it two hours ago.

I feel so fed up with people. Everything they do aggravates me. Or makes me want to burst out in tears or stifle a crazy laugh or pull out my hair. Or pull out their hair. Like the way the boy that sits in front of me in class always stretches his arms so that I have to either lean way back in my chair or duck so that he doesn't touch me. Or the way the girl sitting next to me in lecture always puts her handbag too close to my feet so that I can't move without moving her bag first. Or the way people ask me if I'm sad just because I'm not smiling; there are other emotions besides "happy" and "sad" you know. Or the way people can't just let the silence be; it's not always an awkward silence, and you don't have to fill every gap with words. I don't feel like smiling to be polite anymore. I don't feel like sitting through another MSA meeting anymore. I don't feel like chuckling at someone's joke just to be nice even though I don't think it was funny. I don't feel like agreeing just to keep the peace anymore. I don't feel like taking the time to see something your way anymore. I don't feel like being patient anymore. I don't feel like tolerating the company of people I don't get along with anymore. I don't feel like taking my ear buds out to make friendly conversation at the library anymore. I don't feel like talking to anyone anymore. I don't feel like listening to your "words of advice" anymore.

I don't feel like explaining myself anymore, because you still won't understand. I just need some space, and I think you do, too, because even I wouldn't wanna deal with myself in this state.