Author Archive

Sometimes… There Is No Glitter.

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Sometimes… There Is No Glitter.

Racking my brain for the past couple of weeks as I looked for something touching and inspirational to write about for IGIC this month, I came up with… absolutely nothing. No moving encounters with strangers (which happen quite often), no recent epiphanies, no major changes from my friends to write a post about and dedicate it to, nothing. With finals approaching in a few days, life is pretty dull and monotonous. Weekdays slur into one another so that I constantly have to check what day it is on a calendar.

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And Roses on Our Chairs

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And Roses on Our Chairs

I was having what you might call a very lazy morning. At 7 A.M. (late, in my world), I was just rolling out of bed about to dash and zoom to catch my 8 A.M. lecture. I made it, at 8 A.M, exactly. Rushing in, I distributed quick, generic smiles to my friends and hastily found a seat. Focused on my mission of finding a seat, I didn’t take in the details of my surroundings – and that’s how I missed it.

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Voici mon secret…

33
Voici mon secret…

Walking into the prayer room of the library’s basement yesterday, I heard an unmistakably soft and beautiful recitation of the Qur’an. Every letter was pronounced clearly, and every verse flowed onto the next. And then I saw you, the owner of the voice, wearing a navy blue jilbab and a light blue scarf, sitting with a noticeably large Qur’an resting upon your lap. Your fingertips swept across its pages, line by line, verse by verse.

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And Corn in our Cassadia

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And Corn in our Cassadia

Whenever my hands are cold, she takes them and quickly rubs them between her hands until they are nice and warm. She has a similar way of warming my heart. We often joke about how alike we are. We both live away from home and find comfort in our similar circumstances. We both have eerily identical thoughts and always blurt out the exact same things at the exact same time to the extent that we lost the concept of a dialog; it is just a conversation of mutual agreement.

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Or Separate With Kindness

9
Or Separate With Kindness

Haya slammed the door with all her might. The hinges of the door were starting to wear off from all the slamming. “Why can’t they just leave me alone?” she thought, “I am a grown woman.” Their constant questioning was less merciful than the interrogation that criminals on C.S.I endured. “What happened? What next?” She mimicked their nagging questions in her head. “Just leave me alone,” Haya thought, wishfully. “At least long enough for me to figure things out.”

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