I have 15 minutes to get ready,
so I scroll on my phone for another five.
Skipping the bra, makeup, and hair,
I put on my shield that is loosely fitted black jeans and a red flannel,
buttoned down with rolled up sleeves. I slip on my moccasins one discomfort at
a time, toss my hair in a bun and slip on my Longines watch my dad gave me.
This is routine for Fridays,
where the men go out to the mosque to pray Jumu’ah. This is how we men dress.
My dad waits outside in the car,
and my mom waves goodbye at the door— I wave bye back to her and wave an
apologetic hello to the girl I left at the door the day I got back.
I hold on to my seatbelt to cover
my growing breast buds, avoiding any curiosity from the man on the steering
wheel. It is clear that something under the surface of my shirt is emergent, so
I shift focus and we start talking about my summer job. As we pulled up to the
parking lot of the mosque, he tells me, “Your
clear earrings. Take them out for the prayer.”
We enter and sit down, and as I
avoid every eye contact with the rest of the men in the mosque, I pretend to
focus on the chaplain of the service. A loud booming voice in such a hollow building,
with all eyes on him. Usually these services have a common theme: to stay on
the right track of Allah, and to not devote to bad deeds for the consequences
are immaculately abysmal.
Today, the chaplain’s sermon revolves
around Western influence on Muslims.
The first influence he speaks on
is body modifications, includingear
piercings. My skin tightens, my dad and I make eye contact without eye contact
and I could feel his quiet breath of approval for this strange man on the
podium and his disapproval for who he thinks is his son and his pierced ears.
He goes off on a tangent about the
sinners who are not straight. The only thing I’m thinking about is how much I
wish I could put him in the shoes of those who are humiliated and abandoned for
their sexualities. And maybe, just maybe, he would have some sympathy.
“Now you have men altering their private parts to become women, and
demand rights to the bathroom, putting our daughters in danger.”
In a state of invisibility, I
feel so vulnerable.
The chaplain’s voice takes up space
and I’m shrinking like drying sponge, absorbing his exclamations. And for a
while, it sticks to me like spilled honey, only far less sweet to taste.
There are so many moments where I
wonder if there is a possibility my father can work around Islam with love
instead of fear, but his imposing fear on me is a cycle. It is a way for him to
instill the trauma his teachers put on him on his children. This is not a
Muslim thing. This is a common religion thing.
Before we start praying, he ends
the speech with:
“Our religion is based on sincere advice.
Our religion is based on sincere advice.
Our religion is based on sincere advice.”
And for once, I start forgiving
my father by reminding myself: this is
all only advice.
We drive back home in silence,
and I put my clear earrings back in.
if you’re embarrassed by the person you were 5 years ago, good. bc it means you’ve grown. you’ve educated yourself and expanded your horizons. given half the chance, I’d deck 2011 me right in the face .
yeah. the stress of having your parents financially dependent on you since childhood, learning disabilities, mental illness, two divorces, and drug and alcohol abuse will age you.
not to say bey has had it easier since you know, racism. but bey definitely has class privilege and as far as we know, health/ability privilege over britney. but yeah, go on and say how poorly britney has aged. It’s not like she’s been working and paying her family’s bills since she was like 15.
I have to agree on this…it’s not fair to make racial comments about one woman in comparison to another. As women, we need to be trying to cooperate with each other, not tear each other down. It only perpetuates an endless damaging cycle, in my humble opinion.
Not to mention the fact that Beyonce, the woman who stood in front of the word Feminist in big letters on national television, probably would be really upset to see that people are saying things like this.
I walked to a deli and got a sandwich to go and a coffee and while I was waiting these two teenage girls ran up and were like OH MY GOD JESSICA HOW ARE YOU and then hugged me and the one whispered “that guy was following you and taking pictures of you” and then they walked home with me and that one guy stopped following me and hONESTLY THIS IS WHAT I AM HERE FOR
I’m speechless. This was just part of a very long message expressing to me a role I played in igniting this individual’s spiritual awakening/journey, and I’ve gotten a few messages like this before, but whether it be someone’s spirituality, outlook on life, or their general mental health, it’s always empowering to hear that I could have unknowingly been a domino in someone’s chain reaction to bring them to be better for themselves.. I have a lack of words right now that could rightfully express my appreciation and extreme gratitude for this message. I almost cannot believe I could’ve had such an impact on a stranger.
