Author Archive

A Friend’s Correspondence: If Ever a Heart Could Fly

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A Friend’s Correspondence: If Ever a Heart Could Fly

What do you see when you look back on your youth? Are any of your memories recorded? The following submission from F—– (she asked that we keep her and her friends’ names anonymous) is a relic of her sixteen year-old self. It is a study of youth and friendship, of language and writing, and a tribute to the love of hijab…

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Lifting Weights

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Lifting Weights

… I was amazed at how quickly my friend recognized the shirt was not covering me in terms of what is properly required in Islam. I had known that she understood the terms of hijab, but I did not think she would immediately recognize the shirt was not covering me properly…

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Narrow Windows

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Narrow Windows

Looking at me back then, no one would ever have known I was a Muslim American. Stereotypically, people would assume I was the traditional garden variety Christian. Things started to get a little suspicious when I just so happened to marry an Egyptian. Strange things began after that.

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Flying While Muslim

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Flying While Muslim

As I board the plane, I look out the window, getting ready for the ride of a lifetime. I know there is something different about this time. For some reason everyone is looking at me, thinking I am different, thinking that I am “the weird one”. I have a window seat; the seat gives a full view of the wing. The wing is elegantly painted in red, with black letters. Letters that spell out the name, Terry. The name brings back memories, memories that are unique, and make me who I am today. Flying in this airplane today reminds me of when I was flying through high school. Flying, while Muslim.

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It is Who I Am

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It is Who I Am

The nightmares were so real. In them, I am walking around in broad daylight amongst the general public, when suddenly I realize something is wrong. I run around, hiding behind big structures, thinking everyone is going to see me. I make it to a deserted alleyway, and then run through the woods cautiously. I take cover behind the trees, my eyes darting about madly, trying to make sure there is no human life in the vicinity, only moving when I feel it is safe. Finally, I reach the precipice of the field and know it’s a few blocks until I can feel safe because the area is open, and there is nothing to hide behind. I’ll have to run as fast as I can and pray that no one sees me. So, I put my hands over my head, trying desperately to cover my exposed hair, close my eyes, and race blindly through the streets to the house I know so well. And then I wake up, feeling exposed, never knowing who may or may not have seen me without my hijab.

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