"We know too well that our freedom is incomplete without the freedom of the Palestinians." - Nelson Mandelau
Chapter One: Who Doesn't Love a Whipped Cream Facial?
Amira Awad
A tingling feeling on my face interrupted my dream of being dragged by my hair by my "beloved brother" Malik. That might have happened to me when we were younger but we will never know. Instinctively, I slapped a hand to my face. Laughter filled my ears as I felt something cool and fluffy. My eyes shot open to see Malik, clutching his stomach in laughter. Getting up from my bed, I walk into my bathroom.
"I'm going to kill you," I yell, trying to wash off the cream but failing miserably. Isn't it enough that I was already being tortured in my dream? It was probably my mind trying to warn me about what just happened.
"You like it? I call it the Whipped Cream Facial," I hear him answer back. I can imagine that stupid smirk smacked onto his face.
Finally removing every trace of whipped cream, I walk back into my bedroom. "You know, for a twenty one year old medical student, you really are immature." As soon as I see his signature smirk I want to claw his eyes out. Hey, at least I'm not going to bite his eyelids. Not that I ever did that to anyone before... Okay fine, I might have done that to my cousin once. In my defense, he was playing with my favorite toy and wouldn't give it back to me. Let's just say that he has been holding a grudge against me ever since.
"Hey, you know that it's my job to wake you up every morning, I'm just keeping it interesting," he defended, crossing his arms over his chest.
I know this sounds ridiculous but I never hear my alarm go off. I think it's just my phone doing me a favor. That's why Malik was given the job of waking me up for class and Fajr everyday. Good luck to my future husband, where and who ever you may be.
"Touché." What can I say? I love my sleep.
"Hurry up and get ready. We are going to be late for class," Malik yelled, closing the door on his way out. Does anyone else hate it when someone just leaves your door open? It irritates me to the point I make the person who did, come back and close it themselves. I don't care if it takes me less time to do it myself then drag my sibling by the feet to do it. I'm just stubborn like that, which I take after my father.
After picking an outfit that consists of a long black abaya, a leather jacket for this chilly autumn air, and a blue hijab, I jump into the shower and get ready for the day.
***
I run down the stairs and into the kitchen, instantly smelling the aroma of the delicious pancakes. Before I could go devour the food, I go over to my mom and kiss her on the cheek. "Good morning, Amira. Alhamdulillah, looks like you two won't be late for once," she says looking at Malik and I.
"Don't look at me. It's Amira's fault. I send my best regards to the poor guy who decides to marry her."
"At least he doesn't have to clean after me. I have never seen a human being lazier than you are. Remind me to tell her what a mistake she's making for agreeing to marry you."
"You two can't go a day without arguing, can you?" my dad asks as he walks into the kitchen.
We both shake our heads. As much as Malik and I quarrel, we are the closest out of all my siblings. As kids we were always attached to the hip. I remember this one time I made him try on a dress, after an hour of convincing him, he finally put it on. My mom still has a picture of it till this day.
I look at my family as they sit around the table. Malik has a stack of pancakes, that he spreads about a cup of syrup onto. That boy can eat two boxes of pizza and still be hungry. He still manages to keep the weight off with soccer. My whole family loves the sport. Amir, my younger brother, is making fun of Reema for not knowing how to pronounce something correctly. My little sister then starts whining about how Amir is being mean to her, and my parents are trying to calm the two. Yeah, a typical day for my family, I think.
I walk up to the coffee machine to pour myself a cup. "My love," I look at the cup of coffee lovingly. I look up and see Amir staring at me. I roll my eyes and say, "Not you, my coffee."
"Are you going to work daddy," Reema asks, chewing her food with her mouth open. My mom shakes her head disapprovingly as she flips the pancake like the professional that she is. "Yes I am, sweetie." My father works as a manager at the only bank in our village, Al- Birka. In Palestine, there isn't a lot of jobs so more than half of Al- Birka population lives in America. My family moved back about five years ago, after my dad got the job offer at the bank.
Once we finish breakfast, I help clean the kitchen a little before I go wear my hijab. I put my long brown wavy hair into a bun and wrap my blue hijab around my head. I've always been told that blue was my color.
Jumping inside my brother's car, I place my bag in the back seat. Knowing how Malik is a slow and safe driver, I take out a book to read for the ride to our University.
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Authors Note: I hope you enjoyed my first chapter! I want to thank you all for taking the time to read my story. This is the first book I ever wrote so I hope it's okay :)
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Published: October 20, 2015