It was in my faint reflection of the Claire’s store window, breath misting the glass as I considered the previously-unattainable – strands of a glimmering customizable necklace on display, the promise of femininity and allure all wrapped up in an $8.99 deal – that I came to my decision. I had a few well-worn dollars in my purse, and I was ready to make a change to my identity.
It was a meticulously made decision, a conclusion from countless nights of confused reflection and days of frustrated reality. I was done allowing people fit me into a box. This was the only way I could see to circumvent the whole system.
+
I was born to a life already loaded with dreams and expectations. The first child of my young parents, endowed from birth with the fearlessness my mother passed down to me; her savior from the creepy-crawlies of the world that stumbled into our little apartment. My unruly hair was barely held back by baby barrettes as I toddled to the window with the newest culprit, Mama standing up on the table, as far away from hundred legs it possessed as she could possibly be, a phobia embodied – all the while cheering me on for my bravery.
+
I never had time for dresses.
Their frills were useless to me, posing nothing but an obstacle to my plans and adventures. Mama gave up on me after years of trying, her brow creased, full of frustration.
I was the eldest girl; why wasn’t I being girly? New mothers are supposed to be able to swaddle their little girls in the prettiest of pinks and purples, aren’t they?
No patience.
The world was out there for me to conquer, even if I was only eight. I could barely brush my hair into place, how was I going to fit yards of fabric into my life?
+
“How could you like to make jewelry? Aren’t you a tomboy?” My friend couldn’t understand my itching desire to create pretty things.
I didn’t understand.
+
My mother has always seemed invincible to me.
Creases always perfectly folded in each of her headscarves, each a symbol of care and strength. We weren’t allowed to touch them, but being awarded the responsibility to iron her scarves was something only I was given. I did the job best. It was the closest I came to being her. She stood down for no one, protests silenced by her glare and sharp words.
My Mama had no time for anyone’s foolishness.
+
“Why are you so weird?”
+
The pretty girls at the mosque wore their scarves pinned so neatly, the wispy edges of their dresses untouched by dirt or torn from the decision to run for no reason. They giggled and talked behind neatly festive fingers as the boys proved their manhood by throwing the basketball back and forth and riding on their skateboards in the parking lot.
My headscarf was elastic, a two-piece I carefully matched to my outfit, my one special skirt that I wore to the mosque. It didn’t glimmer in the same way the girls’ scarves did. But I was okay with that.
I didn’t understand why the boys didn’t look at me in the same way when I joined them in their sports. Or why the girls gave me a wide berth when I stumbled on them in the bathroom, interrupting their laughter.
I couldn’t get away from their looks fast enough.
+
“Tell us, Laila. Why are Muslim women oppressed so often abroad?”
The whole room is facing me, my throat suddenly dry. Their eyes are blank and full of questions; why didn’t I have the answer ready? This was supposed to be a Model UN simulation of the Security Council. I was representing China.
My fingers shook as I pushed a stray hair back into my good pink two-piece headscarf. It had an intricate lace overlay and I had felt so put together that morning carefully arranging it over my bun. I opened my mouth, closed it, feeling parched.
“Why are you asking the representative of China to speak for the constituents of the Middle East?”
The words left my mouth before I realized it.
+
“I bet you can’t do it.”
My Mama is looking at me from the rearview mirror; hand on the back of the seat as she backs the car out of the parking space. I glare at my hands, incensed by the doubt.
“Ayonna wears it. I bet you couldn’t wear it for six months.”
My impatience bursts. “I could. You can’t say I couldn’t. Can I wear the two-piece? I hate wearing your kind of hijab. I can’t run down hills with the pins.”
She laughs, amused. “It’s your choice. I have no say over what you do, Laila.”
I stare out the window, resentful, proud. I can do what I please.
I want to put on the headscarf.
+
“Ahh! It’s still alive!”
The girls kept screaming at the boys as I came out of the bathroom stall, the only calm amidst the chaos in the lobby of the mosque.
“What, this?” I swiftly cornered the terrified mouse with the dustpan, carrying it out proudly, scalded with the glares of the boys and heralded by the girls as their savior.
That was nothing.
+
She was well-intentioned, I repeated silently to myself as I walked out of the metro station, she didn’t mean wrong.
It didn’t stop me from feeling funny when the older white woman put a hand on my shoulder and confided softly, “You still look pretty, even with that on.”
“Thank you?”
Was I supposed to feel indebted to her?
+
The necklaces shimmered as the store attendant threw them in the crinkly white bag.
Three colors of stones, carefully chosen to match my outfits, my future.
The receipt was barely in my fingers before I ripped off the necklace’s price tag. It moved so smoothly against my shirt, the beads clinking together faintly as I took a step forward.
Maybe I could fit in with the rest of the girls now.
Mosque had never seemed so far away.
+
“Feminist. How can you be a feminist if you’re Muslim?”
He made it sound like a dirty word. My scarlet letter. I felt proud.
He didn’t think I fit at the mosque. Just because I had spoken out at an event in favor of the women. Weren’t we all in college?
I laughed it off. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He smirked: “I do.”
You don’t.
+
I broke a necklace climbing the jungle gym at the mosque in a skirt.
The beads dripped slowly off the strings. I scrambled for them before they disappeared forever in the dirt. I could put it all back together at home, I just needed the chance to take a breath and string them all back.
I had the tools to change it.
+
“Muslim. How can you be a Muslim if you’re a feminist?”
I don’t have patience for this. I didn’t even know her name. She didn’t even know my story.
I can. I am.
+
The necklaces stay coiled in my jewelry box.
Dust has settled between the beads from the months of neglect. I don’t wear them anymore. I don’t see the need for them anymore.
Who is the world to try and define me?
I refuse to join the necklaces in the box. I refuse to be boxed up with the expectations and stereotypes they hold. I refuse.
I define myself. Nobody can take that away from me.
Tags: femininity, feminism, hijab, i bet you can’t do it, islam, laila alawa, personal essays, religion
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This is beautiful.
That Model UN. Oof. People really are the worst.
“Why are you asking the representative of China to speak for the constituents of the Middle East?” Laila, I wanted to clap for you right there. This was a fantastic piece – thank you for writing it!
Same here. What a badass.
I literally clapped my hands. Swift, precise, perfect. APPLAUSE.
Incredible. I’ve tried to write something insightful in this little white box for the last couple of minutes, but all I have are simple words of encouragement. This piece was incredible.
Beautifully written. I’m an Orthodox Jewish woman and feminist, with a headscarf and a pierced eyebrow, and I can definitely relate. Oh the joys of being told by my friends in college that Judaism is inherently misogynist – I was the one Jewish person they knew, but they had taken Comparative Religion the previous semester so they knew, and clearly I was too oppressed to see the truth. And on the flipside, the joys of being told by my 7th-grade teacher that I was “too worldly” and that I should be more like a “giggly girl”. That’s when I started writing Bikini Kill quotes on the blackboard.
omg please tell me everything about your life and your piercing
7:38 pm on a Thursday, 1983. A shrill cry emits from the bowels of Washington Adventist Hospital in Takoma Park, Maryland. Fast forward 30 years, hi.
Piercing – I got it when I was 19 and living in Israel and feeling daring. When I got married and made the choice to cover my hair in public, it took on a new significance. My headscarf reminds me to be godly at my best or at least that I’m representing Judaism so I shouldn’t act like a dick, and my piercing reminds me that I am more than my headscarf. And the dichotomy confuses some people which I like.
PLEASE WRITE FOR US
Wait what? Shut up. You are.
NO YOU ARE SHE’S RIGHT
Please write your story. kthanksbye.
First and most importantly: I love your story, and love the meaning you assign to both piercing and headscarf.
Second and secondly: I am feeling INORDINATELY excited because CUC (affiliated with WAH) is my alma mater. Last thing I expected to see! 🙂
DID YOU GROW UP IN TKPK. DO I KNOW YOU.
Nope, sorry. Grew up in Baltimore. But Takoma Park is lovely!
I got to “Takoma Park, Maryland” and I thought “well, that explains it all”.
But yeah, I’m with Mallory.
Yessss. This is wonderful! And I really, really identify with the confusing struggle of being a tomboy feminist who loves making pretty things. I still don’t understand it.
We should all embrace our contradictory selves. That’s what makes us interesting, right?
WORD.
I don’t know that it needs to be understood! It just is, free of any outside expectations.
This is wonderful. So often pieces about growing up “different” are devastatingly awful, they make me feel terrible about the world. Somehow I felt triumphant, on your behalf, all the way through this, even when people were being awful to you. You are magnificent.
How beautiful, how beautiful.
I don’t know the significance of the two-piece headscarf. I did google it. I’d really like to know why Laila’s mother said she bet Laila wouldn’t wear it for six months, if it is appropriate to ask.
Hey Nicole! There’s no real significance, but it just means it can stay put while I’m moving through my day to day life, instead of the more fancy scarf I’m wearing in the photo above. My mom was just pushing my buttons, I knew I was up to the challenge but she was just teasing me.
Thanks!
Response to Why are Muslim women oppressed so often abroad?
Why are you asking me? Are you calling me an oppressor? Ask those responsible.
Laila, this is great! Clothes and accessories can sometimes be useful shorthand to understand the way people wish to be seen, but so much can get lost in translation– it sometimes amazes me that we try to assume so much about people from a few yards of cloth, a few ounces of metal, and whatever prejudices we already hold.
Less relevant: my husband recently gave me a pair of your tiny black stud earrings! I am wearing them today and they are perfect.
Laila! This is wonderful. So good to hear YOUR voice telling us about you. We are none of us curiosities to be explained by other people.
I laughed it off. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He smirked: “I do.”
THIS GUY. Why is he allowed to exist? ugggghhhhh
In Quebec, apparently a headscarf oppresses women more than barring those who choose to wear a them from working. They claim this is feminism.
That whole entire process was trash garbage from top to bottom. IIRC they banned people from using the word “racist” in court. Not being racist, just using the word to point out that others were.
It may be all beginner anti-racism, but this article was the best editorial I’ve seen against it http://globalnews.ca/news/1217808/opinion-the-ins…
I’d love to see the toast just absolutely shit on it.
AAAAGHHH That woman on the subway. OMG. The worst part is, she probably meant it 100% kindly and thought it was a nice compliment or something. Not that that’s any kind of excuse! You are amazing. Please continue being badass and schooling everybody who tries to limit what you can be.
We misfits have to holler out every now and again so the other misfits won’t lose heart. Thanks for that!
Viva las contradicciones!
This was beautiful and powerful!
I’m so glad to read about people who have the same frustrations and doubts as I do.
I’m always caught between wearing skirts or jeans?
Heels or flats?
Fashionable or sensible?
I’m still trying to figure out who I am (I’m only in my early teens), but things like this make it a little but easier to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Thank you for sharing!
skirts or jeans?
Heels or flats?
Fashionable or sensible?
ALL THE ABOVE, BB. ALL THE ABOVE. Says the 44-year old wearing a skirt, fluffy petticoat, altered thrift-store sweater and combat boots. To work.
You’re going to have the most wonderful time figuring out who you are. If you’re lucky, that experience lasts your whole life.
I was going to say something neat and cool about contradictions and identity, and maybe even talk about the part of my Protestant upbringing that still affects me, even though I no longer consider myself Christian, but instead I am just going to look at all your lovely jewelry. It’s AWESOME.
Hell yeah, this is awesome and so are you.
I really appreciate how you were able to distill so much about yourself in short anecdotes. It was almost like a series of haikus–beautiful job. 😀
[Also, beautiful jewelry! I’m going to pin them so I can remember them when I have a little extra disposible income.]
Laila this is awesome!! It’s been really great to follow your writing over fb/community! Who knew when we were dissecting minks, huh? -Katie
I cannot tell you how much your article has inspired me. I hail from Malaysia and in my teen years, I memorized the Quran. Due to this, people tend to judge me harshly for the YA fantasy I write, for the length of headscarf I wear, for the less-than-religious attitude I practice. I’m even criticized for wanting to watch a movie with my friends.
I love and respect my religion. At the same time, I hold a lot of modern concepts (i.e. gender equality) close to my heart. Your article reminded that I was not alone and that I didn’t have to be afraid to stand up for what I believed in.
This was awesome, you are awesome, your mother sounds awesome, and that lapis lazuli pendant will be the death of me.
Laila, this is so fierce and beautiful. I second all the comments so far and just want to say thanks! To you and The Toast both. This made my day.
I love this post. I love how you wrote it in such small vignettes. It takes a lot of work to write such small stories.
I also love how your world is so different from the one that I grew up in, and yet it doesn’t really feel all that different.
This was a really profound, elegant piece that was beautifully constructed. Thank you for sharing your truth, Laila. I have also bookmarked your Etsy store, you make some fabulous jewellery!
From an agnostic, ex-Catholic Irishwoman who has plenty of contradictions herself 🙂
Nope, sorry. Grew up in Baltimore. But Takoma Park is lovely!
Sounds like me when I was a teenager. I was muhajjabbah but not at all girly. I got bullied into wearing shayla-style scarves instead of the al-amiras or plain cotton triangles I preferred *sigh*
This was absolutely great! Much recognition and much new angles.
I often feel very full of contradictions too, being a femme lesbian, christian, feminist woman. I wear a bible quote as a tattoo on my left arm to remind myself of my religion in everyday life. When I started working as a schoolteacher I felt so utterly boring and modest, and got myself a nipple piercing. The second time I started working in school, it was my hair that I started dyeing purple, because I did not want to fit completely into the role people were giving me.
I got an atheist upbringing, and most of my friends are atheist, resulting in comments such as “I think christianity sucks because the bible teaches misogyny and homophobia”. To me, my faith makes me feel strong and loved, even though I’m a woman, and I’m a lesbian woman. It feels like being beaten double up, when people use my faith to tell me both that IT sucks, and that my god tells me I suck.
You are my hero.
Loved this, you are great.
This was a great read. Thank you for existing.
Beautiful.