I’m standing inside the train, trying to stay steady as the vehicle swerves swiftly across the tracks. From the periphery, I notice the glances and stares from the mostly Caucasian passengers. No matter how many times I’ve been through this, I guess I’m still not used to it.

On hindsight, now that I have taken that step, I find it puzzling that, out of all the commandments of Allah, wearing the hijab is probably the most discussed and often, the most resisted.

As she walked with slow but steady steps down the street towards he Masjid, she looked like the ‘ideal Muslimah’: gaze lowered, well-covered, tall, strong, and confident. She had come a long way to get to this stage; hers was a story of a rise, a fall, and a rise again. How did she get to this stage? This is how it all started…

I’m all alone, no one by my side
And this is my end, the one I denied.

A stolen glance,
A flicker of the eyes,
A gaze upheld
When better it is to be blind.