A revised girl

As I walk upstairs the same smells greet me from when I was but a girl. Memories of my time in a pleated skirt, white blouse and most likely pink or white hijab. I can see my friends and I giggling in sujood while Anse (teacher) reprimanded us later.

I also recall:

The trailer classrooms and how I used to think there were most likely tarantulas under there.

The silver cluttered wudu wash station.

The tiny gift shop downstairs; I used to buy dates and gifts for mom with my lunch money savings.

The chandelier in the prayer area adoring God’s 99 names. Al-Bari is the first I always see.

The pistachio and beige carpet, smelling something of a mix between feet, masala, and tears.

Today I am a revised woman who no longer giggles in prayer. I go through the motions of preparing for prayer in the same spaces but with a reinterpretation of the world around me, with an appreciation and deep pursuit to understand the Natural, with the Natural before me.

That is between me and God, you see.



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