Yes, I called myself fat. But why can’t I be beautiful, too?
One time, when I was home over break, my mom found my bowl.
Before I could get better though, I got worse.
I barely noticed the absence of heating in the house anymore.
My friends have a big brother who protected them and I have one who beat me to a pulp.
I felt alienated, on top of everything else I was feeling.
It was my mother who recognized me and my pain by looking into the dimmed light of my eyes.
I often dream of how much easier everything would be, if Islam was part of the culture.
It all changed only weeks after my seventh birthday. Life has not been the same since.
None of this would have been possible had I not made the decision to put my Muslim American identity out there and write.
We judge a society by how the women are dressed.
I’m in my mid-twenties and I still cry about silly things that happened to me in second grade.