Author’s note: I had this from my Facebook Notes. I don’t remember where it came from, but I still think it’s worth sharing.
I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes, I walked to the door and knocked. “Just a minute,” answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940’s movie.
By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
“Would you carry my bag out to the car?” she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. “It’s nothing,” I told her. “I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.”
Author’s note: I have followed Thought Catalog for a couple of years now, and this is the first time such a poignant article on Islam (that I’ve found) has made it through the editors. I have fixed most of the grammar and spelling errors and inserted a few explanatory links, but I leave this girl’s message intact. Any anti-Islam comments will be removed. Here is the source link. Cover photo from NBC
It has taken me a long time to write this. It is very personal, difficult, sensitive, and extremely controversial.
Sitting here, typing this, I am still not sure whether I can, in fact, put it all into words that, in some little way, express how I feel and why.
But enough with the preamble – let’s just get into the heart of the matter:
I am a Muslim and i want to take off my hijab. there. I’ve said it.
I remember the day I wore it. I was thirteen. My best friend and I had been talking about wearing hijab for a while because everyone’s been doing it. Duh. It was the coolest new thing. We decided we would soon. It was in Ramadan; after iftar, I went to her place so that we could go to our aunt’s wedding. She dressed up and put on a hijab. I decided to do it then and there. I borrowed a hijab from her mom. With both of us wearing it, we went to the wedding hand-in-hand, extremely proud of ourselves.
(Note: Technically a reblog, but I didn’t want this lost in my Facebook wall, because it’s far too sweet. Edited for minor errors. ~GY)
The phone rang.
She was sobbing badly on the other end of the line.
“I’m going over,” I told her and hung up before she could protest.
1am. It was going to be a long night ahead..
She was still crying when she opened the door. She looked so broken, so vulnerable. I didn’t have to know what was wrong, I just held her in my arms. She cried even more.
“He broke up with me,” she finally said.
I just kept quiet as she let it all out… questions, tears, anger, hurt.
“Why does love have to hurt so much?”
“No, love… doesn’t hurt,” I said gently.
“So says the guy who’s been single forever? What would you know about love,” she jabbed.
“So says the guy who’s been your friend though Mr. Now-ex-#4,” I grinned. “Love doesn’t hurt you.. it’s the person that doesn’t know how to love or appreciate love that hurts you. But love never hurts.”
“You won’t understand, Matt,” she sighed, “you’ve never been in love…”
“That’s not entirely true, you know…”
“Wait what- so who’s this girl I’ve never heard abou-“
“What did you love about #4 anyway?” I interjected.
“I don’t know… he is just perfect. And I love him so much.”
“But you don’t know what it is that you love about him?”
I thoroughly enjoyed this author’s article. I hope you will too!
(Photo credit: mrmondayn1ght via Tumblr)