“It’s too old-fashioned.”
“It’s too conservative.”
“It’s too long, it’ll cover my awesome top.”
“I like this short hijab style, so what if it doesn’t really cover the bosom? Fashion forward!”
“If I wear it . . . all I’ll get is stares.”

All I kept thinking to myself was, I have displeased my Creator, I have wronged myself. And soon enough the tears started rolling down my face. It was actually rare for me to cry like that; my friends use to call me a “cactus” because they never saw me being emotional.

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.

My journey to hijab was a roller coaster ride, having a lot of ups and downs. When I was in college, it was “in fashion” or “cool” to wear hijab amongst girls my age. So I too would wrap a piece of cloth on my head without knowing the true purpose of that “piece of cloth.”

Several months back I remember watching a group of niqabis and thinking to myself, masha’Allah how beautiful and graceful they look! I felt such an awe and respect for them. I adored them and aspired to be one of them. But worldly desires held me prisoner for a while.