My decision to wear hijab was a quick one. A sudden one. One that could only have been decided for me.

There is a thick layer of grime that encrusts the walls of my heart. I know this isn’t a great way to start an article, but for this piece I couldn’t come up with anything that was more apt. To be sure I’m a hijabi and I mostly offer salah with punctuality, but my inner self is an unfortunate combination of doubts, sins, ego, self-love and love of dunya.

Forgive my trespasses and replace them with good deeds.

Days turn to nights, nights to days. Awake, asleep; asleep, awake.

Some years ago, I was sitting with a friend of mine and she started telling me about her struggles with hijab after becoming Muslim. She had grown up Christian and accepted Islam while she was in college. “For me, hijab was the hardest thing,” she said. “I just didn’t want to wear it. So I made every excuse I could. ‘It’s too hot.’ ‘I can’t breathe’.” She shook her head, remembering. “But the funny thing is, I didn’t realize I didn’t want to cover.”