Up until I decided I wanted to
dedicate my time to writing over wanting to be a lawyer, the majority of the
questions I received from people were all related to my hijab and why I chose
to wear it. It made a lot of sense to me for people to be drawn to the most
visible and “different” item I chose to display daily. I never thought there
would be another question that would take its place.
“Why do you
write?”
It’s incredible how many people I run
into from my past, high school acquaintances and community members, who either
knew or assumed I wanted to go to law school. After spending the majority of my
short life following the plan I had set for myself, to become an international
lawyer, I switched gears (or rather set old gears in motion) and went after what
I always had great passion. You can imagine their surprise when they run into
me years later and the conversation goes a little like this.
“What are you up to these days? You
must have just graduated from law school, right? International law, right?”
They’re always eager to hear a response affirming that they knew where I would
end up.
At first, telling people I actually
went after an MFA and having to explain it to them was difficult. It’s not that
I wasn’t proud of where I am today. It’s that I had to get used to the
confusion, surprise, or even distasteful looks of disappointment I had to face.
I’m not the kind of person to put up a defense-mode shield. I don’t believe in
having to defend the choices I make. I’ve never done anything so horrible that I’ve
regretted it enough to feel hideously embarrassed or disappointed in myself. (That’s
not to say that my life isn’t one big awkward moment, but that’s for another
novel.) In the end, I do what makes me happy and with the intention to please
Allah swt and gain His blessings. Other than that, it’s to see me put a smile
on my parents’ faces. I believe that everything happens for a reason as God
intended it to. Every situation and action I’ve taken must have meant to serve
a purpose, a lesson to learn. What I regret are usually the points of my life
that I have yet to understand the lesson I should have gained to better myself
in the future. I’m digressing here.
I always take a moment to reply,
“Actually I’m a writer now. I just received my MFA in Creative Writing. That’s Master
of Fine Arts…. Writing novels.”
I let that sink in and watch them
react slowly. I pretty much receive one of two reactions or both.
A. “Wow. That’s amazing! Good for
you.” They proceed to ask how they can get a hold of my work and writing.
B. “Why? Why do you write?” I guess
it’s better than the harsher responses of, “How do you expect to make a living?
How old are you now?”
(The latter question is usually tied to
checking to see if I’m married, because that’s clearly how I’ll gain stability since
I have chosen to be a writer.)
The reality is that writing does not
guarantee me a stable future and I was aware of that when I chose to go after
an MFA. I don’t write to produce the next New York Times Bestseller, although
that would be incredible, nor do I write to make money, hence my career goal on
entering the publishing industry as an editor one day.
“When I sit down to write a book, I do not say to myself,
‘I am going to produce a work of art.’ I write it because there is some lie
that I want to expose, some fact to which I want to draw attention, and my
initial concern is to get a hearing.”
George Orwell
I write because I believe in the power
of words.
“Why do you
write?”
Books, words, have always been my perfect escape. Words hold a great
weight. The first words I remember hearing were Allah’s words. As a child, reading,
specifically to memorize the Quran, was the first thing I was taught. The first
word ordered to the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) was “IQRA!” “READ!”
Words hold great power. As a Muslim, when you are born, your father or male
guardian take two actions. They recite the Athan in your right ear and Iqama in
your left ear. Both are the call to prayer, but the Athan is called at the
exact time that the prayer comes in and the Iqama is called when you actually
stand up to pray. The reason they must be the first thing a baby hears is
because of the specific words that are recited for each call. My father was in
Palestine when I was born. If you don’t already know, I was born in San Diego,
California. My uncle took the responsibility of reciting these words. The words
of the Quran have always given my heart the stability of peace.
Recently, at a writing retreat with friends, the Athan went off at
around five in the morning signaling the time for Fajr, or dawn, prayer. It
woke up the friends I was sharing a hotel room with. One of them commented that
it was a nice way to wake up. It definitely is. The Athan is the first wake up
call I receive daily. Better than any alarm, radio, or random song. The melodic
words that are recited are powerful and yet peaceful.
One of the
first hadiths, sayings of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH), that I heard as a child
was, "Acquire knowledge. It enables its possessor to distinguish right
from wrong; it lights the way to Heaven; it is our friend in the desert, our
society in solitude, our companion when friendless, it guides us to happiness;
it sustains us in misery; it is an ornament amongst friends; and an armour
against enemies."
I have lived my life by this hadith.
Is there anything more enriching that the constant intake of knowledge
surrounding us. I educate myself with the books that I read. Words are
powerful.
“Why do you write?”
Growing
up, I wasn’t allowed to watch television or hop onto the computer. Forget the
dial-up internet that could only be used in short spurts of time in case
someone needed to call us. I didn’t go to friends' houses and I have never had
cousins my age that lived near me. My parents were overprotective of their
first child. If there was anywhere my mom trusted aside from school to leave me
alone, it was the library. My library card was my ticket to adventure. I lived
in the library. I lived among words. I lived in a different world every day of
my life. I didn’t think it could get any more exciting than being able to
escape so easily. I still don’t.
As punishment
when caught doing something wrong, my siblings were always sent to their rooms.
Not me. My room held treasure: books. I would hide them everywhere and sneak a
couple chapters between my studies as a reward to myself. When I got in
trouble, I was sent to the kitchen to help my mom or sent to do chores. You can
see where my hate of the kitchen comes.
On Eid, I
would ask for books. Books were my source of adventure, mystery, and especially
knowledge. I wrote my own original stories and turned to my favorite novels
when I was stuck. I could never let a story end after turning the last page of
a book. I would write my own alternate ending and carry on the story. Years
later, I learned I wasn’t the only one. This thing called fan-fiction existed.
By then, I had stopped writing it down and kept it in my head. I went back to
writing original stories. I never thought it would take me anywhere.
“Why do you
write?”
There was
one LARGE problem with the books I read and stories I wrote. I was never able
to insert myself into any of the stories. I never belonged in any of them. I
could relate to the stories, sure, but only on the surface. It struck me as odd
that there was a lack of people of color, different cultures, and different
religions in the stories I read. When these diverse topics existed, I was
forced to read them as required reading in school and it was always for the
same reasons. Racism, war, violence, the Holocaust, historical events and yet
still nothing about Arabs or Muslims.
In eighth grade, I decided I had enough. I walked up to my English teacher, who was a
very open-minded woman, and told her I didn’t want to read Anne Frank’s diary
for the tenth time. I wanted a challenge. She said if I could find an equally
alternate book and as long as I completed every single assignment, I could take
on this challenge. She warned me that it would come with difficulty because I
would be the only one reading the book I chose, but still encouraged me to
take it on. I did some research and stumbled upon a book about a young girl who
experienced the gulf war while living in Iraq. To put things in perspective, eighth grade for me began in 2001, right before the events of 9/11. I was excited that
I finally had this opportunity and I’ll never forget my teacher for allowing
her students to grow by learning in different ways.
Here’s
where I feel guilty. I did all the work, presented on it, and still have my
project saved to this day. Unfortunately, I just spent half an hour looking for
the title of the book because years later, I sit here with no recollection of
what that book was called. I still couldn’t find it today. Why? Our school
curriculums are set up to teach to specific standards that basically lack diversity
and an understanding of multiculturalism. I can go on with a full essay on this. I
believe that even in our education system, as my tenth grade English teacher
let slip once, the United States doesn’t want to teach any history that doesn’t
involve us being the heroic savior in the end. My overall message here is that
I was raised in black and white bubble when the world is actually made up of
more colors than a rainbow.
Ignorance that exists in our world comes from the lack of tolerance we have in taking the time to actually educate ourselves about others. This lack of knowledge leads to horrible paths. My mom is
currently working on her doctorate dissertation. It involves researching the
challenges that Muslim women face in the Unites States and in educational
institutions. She shares a lot of the articles with me. Last night, she
reminded me of an article she read years ago. A young Muslim girl who wore
hijab was severely taunted in class. Instead of shedding light and providing a
bit of education to her students, the teacher reminded the girl that she and
her people were to blame for 9/11 and therefore deserves to withstand the
disgusting jeers of her peers.
I’m going
to let the sheer, what should I call it, ignorance of this “educator” sink in.
I know I don’t need to reiterate that what this young girl had to experience
still isn’t as horrible as other stories I have heard. Shocking? Yes. I know
for a fact that my own mother has been through just as harsh and difficult
situations as an educator and student.
Sometimes
the stories that I hear just sound like sick jokes. Like the guy that thought
racism ceased to exist in the United States when Obama was elected president…
Buddy, what rock have you been living under? Am I being too blunt?
“Why do you
write?”
Ignorance, hate, violence, racism, all sorts of misinformed forms of
thoughts reside everywhere. Let’s all be a little honest to ourselves. It
resides within each of us as well. I’ve learned that when I face someone who
holds hate against me, trying to educate them is at times a failed attempt and
waste of my time. They face me always ready with an argument and blinded with
anger. Sometimes they aren’t even sure why they’re full of anger and hate. At
times, it’s just because they need something to hold on to and someone to place
the blame on.
"Write
to set someone else free."
Toni
Morrison
Writing gives me an alternate avenue
to get through to them. When they sit across from a screen or paper, they can’t
face me. It would be a waste of their time to build up a blind argument when
they can’t shove it back at me in person or possibly online. They’re forced to
at least read everything and take it in. Same goes for a book. Now, if they
don’t want to hear the truth, I can’t control that. That’s for them to decide.
I have done everything I can. Words are a powerful form of education.
“Why do you
write?”
I do
write stories without color. I write stories with regular experiences that any
girl or guy faces growing up in the west. The reason I’ve dedicated my life to
writing is because I want my words to mean something to me and anyone reading
them. I write to educate, inform, and entertain. I write stories that I hope
many will feel connected to regardless of color, race, religion, gender, etc.
Underneath every story I write, it’s laced with knowledge.
At times,
I don’t intend on giving any sort of lesson or dispelling of misconceptions. It
just happens. It surprises me just as much as it does anyone reading my
writing. What I write is not meant to be shoved in anyone’s face. In fact, the
only place I openly tell you what’s on my mind is here, on my blog, where
everything I write is meant to be informal and honest.
I know
you agree with me when I rhetorically ask, what’s better than education that’s
also entertaining? Bill Nye the Science Guy, anyone? Genius.
“Why do you
write?”
When I
was first accepted into UCSD, my parents knew how badly I didn’t want to go to this
university and insisted I go to their Admit Day to check out the school and
meet other students who were excited about attending it. I went with dad. Even
after my surprise of how many Muslims attended the school (having never gone to
school or even lived around other Muslims or Arabs) and almost being sucked in
by the beauty and nature surrounding the campus, I still wasn’t convinced. On
our way off-campus, literally almost a few steps before leaving, I spotted a
white man, his wife, and son – who I presumed was also an incoming freshman –
coming towards us. My dad was checking out the handouts in his hand and
excitedly recapping our day. As the man passed us, he made eye contact with me
and slowly spelled out the F-word. INSTANTLY, I turned to face him and said,
“YOU” and gave him a steel cold look. I’ll never forget the anger, or maybe it
was shock, that flushed from his neck up through his face or the ashamed looks
on both his wife and son’s faces as they pulled him forward and argued with him
to stop. I made strong eye contact with the boy my age before he ducked his
head low and rushed onto campus. It took me a few moments to realize I was
still walking alongside my dad, still chatting with me, and I quickly began
worrying internally. Had my father heard the man or my reaction, as tame as it
was to his? My dad is a smart man and both he and my mom have become experts at
hiding their emotions in these instances to protect their children. If he had,
he didn’t show it. If he didn’t, well, he’ll know when he reads this.
The
reason I tell you this simplest of stories among MUCH harsher experiences I’ve
had is because this specific moment is one of four that sealed my decision to
attend UCSD. I had dedicated my life to fight ignorance and hatred across the
world by wanting to become an international lawyer and yet the same issues were
staring at me in the face in my own hometown. How could I begin to bring change
to the world if my own home needed it the most?
A lesson
our government needs to be educated upon, don’t you think?
I’ve been
through much worse and yet still nothing compared to others across the nation
and the globe. I could hold hate in my heart for every person who has wronged
me and those I love. I could choose to react irrationally and play by the
notion that “ignorance is bliss”. But then I remember anyone who has ever
proved that good does still exist like this man.
This soldier
is what a hero looks like.
Yes, this
clip made my cry… right in the middle of sitting in a coffee shop.
When I posted the link on Facebook,
the title came up as “WATCH: American
Soldier's Jaw-Dropping Response To Islamophobe”. He spoke the truth, "If
you're an American, you're an American. Period." His response should not
be categorized as "jaw-dropping".
I’ve seen
this video pop up everywhere for a few days, but only just convinced myself to
watch it this morning. I always have trouble watching or reading anything about
Muslims, especially around 9/11, a day that affected EVERY AMERICAN.
I do
choose to fight ignorance, hatred, and violence.
I choose
to fight with my words.
I believe
words are the greatest source of lasting power.
“Why do you
write?”
I love the smell and feel of books. I
love hiding my face in the pages of a book when I don’t want to be bothered.
“I believe
in the magic of books. I believe that during certain periods in our lives we
are drawn to particular books—whether it’s strolling down the aisles of a
bookshop with no idea whatsoever of what it is that we want to read and
suddenly finding the most perfect, most wonderfully suitable book staring us
right in the face. Unblinking. Or a chance meeting with a stranger or friend
who recommends a book we would never ordinarily reach for. Books have the
ability to find their own way into our lives.”
Cecelia
Ahern
Growing up and watching Disney movies,
I never wanted to be a princess. I’ve always wanted to be a warrior. I was
pretty excited when Princess Merida was created. Even though I didn’t want the
stuffy life of a princess, my favorite movie has been and will always be “Beauty
and the Beast”.
THAT LIBRARY! Faints
Anyone watch the television series "Once
Upon a Time"? (Spoiler alert!) You already know I don’t have much time to watch
television and I don’t own one in my room, but I did see the episode where Rumpelstiltskin
shows Belle to her new living quarters and he leads her to the library. This
grand library with a small bed in the middle. I had to pause the scene just to
take in the library. Am I jealous of Belle? Obviously! Being locked up with a
beast is not cool, but that library…
“Why do you
write?”
If you know me well, you know I’m not
a romantic. I wouldn’t call myself a pessimist or an optimist. Maybe a realist?
What is put into my books doesn’t represent how I live my life and I never
expect fiction to seep its way into reality. What I mean by that is that my
stories aren’t based on my own life. I do try to represent Islam in the same
way that I live it as a devout Muslim. Of course, what I write about comes from
real life experiences, but my characters are all a fabrication of my
imagination along with the specific lives they live.
I want my
readers to not just be able to escape and live new adventures and new lives,
but to also gain something in the same way that my favorite authors gave me.
“What really
knocks me out is a book that, when you're all done reading it, you wish the
author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up
on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn't happen much, though.”
J.D.
Salinger
I love writing
novels because I have a story to tell, but also to educate in the same way I
was educated. That’s why I want to diversify my writing, which is not how I
began originally.
I believe
and have faith that one day I will be able to take my writing to new places and
experience this world with my own eyes.
“Why do you write?”
Quite
simply, words are knowledge.
This life
is short and I want to live it fully and to my best potential.
“If you
would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead, either write things worth
reading or do things worth writing.”
Benjamin
Franklin
As promised to my family and friends,
my goal is to post here every Thursday. Stay tuned!
Tonight, I’ll leave you with this
entertaining link that my friend just posted online: http://www.buzzfeed.com/evalangston/10-things-writers-are-tired-of-hearing-elan
Salaam,
Hanoon
