Just read the author's note at the end, that's all I ask. (:
"So this is what it feels like, I think. To let your soul free." -- Maysa Malik, Confessions
Chapter 20
Freedom of the Soul
☼ Maysa Malik ☼
“Kids, Eid al-Adha* is coming up next week!” My dad exclaims as he sips his coffee and looks at the lunar calendar hanging on the fridge door.
This is news to me and Nazia, and evidently our mom as well. “Yahya, what?!” She asks.
Dad solemnly nods. “It’s in nine days. Today is…Thursday. Eid is next Saturday.”
Mom is up and running around upon hearing this news. “Oh my God, oh my Allah!” She smacks my father on the arm like a teenager. “Yahya! Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?!”
My dad shoots her a bewildered expression. “Since when am I the harbinger of when Eid is? The calendar has been on the fridge for weeks.”
Mom continues to bustle about. “Oh, Allah! I thought it was in two weeks! I wanted to have an Eid party at our house! Yahya!”
She’s obviously in full-on freak-out mode. “Zakariya! Zakariya!” My mother calls. Zak comes down the stairs a couple seconds later.
“What, ma?” He asks, slightly confused.
“Eid is in nine days!” She blinks all of a sudden. “Wait a minute, is that a bruise on your face?” Nazia and I stop chewing and exchange startled glances. My blood runs cold as the food in my mouth suddenly tastes like paper. Squeezing my eyes shut and then opening them again, I turn to face Zakariya fully.
It’s true. The early tinges of the coloring of a bruise are evident on his face. He doesn’t respond to Mom’s question, just stands there. Dad walks up and stands beside Mom. “Son? What happened?”
My brother’s right hand wraps around the banister so hard that his knuckles turn white. “Uh…” He looks dazed all of a sudden. “It’s nothing.” He swallows loudly. “I just slammed into someone’s open locker today.” He’s lying. It’s so obvious he’s lying. He begins to blush, and that somehow oddly illuminates the bruise even more, calling more attention to it.
The tension lies so thick in the air, like heavy cement on bricks. I feel like I can’t breathe because of it. Eventually, Dad speaks up, because Mom looks too sick to. “Nazia, Maysa, please go upstairs.” Obediently, like zombies, Nazzy and I head upstairs. I grab her hand as we head up the stairs and drag her into my room. We sit with our backs against the doors, our hands clenched so tight that my muscles begin to ache.
“What…do you think…happened to him?” Nazia chokes out. Her eyes are glassy and wide. I squeeze her hand tighter.
“Breathe. It’ll be fine, inshallah. Just breathe.”
“Mays…why? What happened to him? Did he get into a fight at school? He…he never gets into fights.”
“I don’t know, baby girl. Just breathe.” I rest my lips on top of Nazia’s head, wishing I didn’t know as much as she did. Ignorance is bliss.
☮ ☮ ☮
After a headache-inducing night which ended in Zakariya storming off and my mother sitting for an hour at the dinner table with her head in her hands, her plate of food untouched, I wake up the next morning ten minutes late.
I rush over to my bathroom as quickly as I can. Vigorously brushing my teeth, I freeze when I see my complexion. I have broken out horribly on my left cheek. Three angry red dots make a line around the shape of my face. I finish brushing and washing my face and walk out.
In my room I try to avoid the mirror. I can already tell this day is going to be like, extremely crappy. It’s raining heavily by the time Zak and I get out of the house. What is with bad days and heavy rain?
The car ride passes by in tense silence. When we get to school, I reluctantly get out of the car, knowing that whether I go or stay, I’m not going to be happy. My morning classes all pass in a blur; my pounding head can’t process or remember anything after I’ve done it.
As I’m about to walk into Chemistry class, I’m stopped by Niall, who seems like he’s out of breath. “Maysa!” I turn reluctantly.
“Hi, Niall.” A hopeful expression crosses his face as I greet him civilly. I don’t have the energy to muster a better response, or rather, a worse one.
“So…I was thinking…” He trails off.
“You were thinking…” I prod. He thinks? That’s news to me.
“Um…you like M&Ms…right?” He asks hesitantly.
I nod again, still not understanding. “Yes…the regular ones. Not the peanut kind. Why?”
Niall brandishes a pack of plain M&Ms from behind his back. I stare at the chocolate brown packet, not knowing or processing anything. I signal at him with my eyes to explain himself. “I…some kids were selling them last period so I bought two. I don’t really want this one, so um…do you want it?” He’s rubbing his neck awkwardly.
After five long seconds, I finally smile widely. What can I say? It’s like a sweet turn to my sour morning. “Thanks, Niall. I never knew I told you I liked them.” I beam at him and walk inside. He looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t.
Shrugging it off, I muster the courage to get through lunch with a frail smile on my face. Farah and Noha sense my mood and both go to lengths to make me feel a little better. I sigh; it always feels like something is going on in my life.
I sometimes wish life was like a roller coaster – not because I enjoy the twists and the turns and the bumpy ride, but because at least there’s the hope of being able to get off.
☮ ☮ ☮
Coach Montoya looks like she’s about to burst; her pregnant belly looks like a full moon. “Hello, class!” She greets tiredly. Even she looks like she’s not having that great of a day. And then I remember. Today’s her last day. I mentally smack myself for being so forgetful.
“Today’s my last day here…I won’t be back for another two months. So I want y’all to meet the new girls’ coach who will be filling in for me, ok?”
On cue, the door swings open and everybody’s eyes turn to the stiff-looking woman who enters. “Everyone, this is Coach Todd! She’ll be the coach while I’m gone. She will also be coaching the remaining soccer practices and games.”
All the girls exchange hesitant glances; this woman looks tough. She hasn’t smiled since she walked in. Her back is ramrod-straight, indicating that she doesn’t like any nonsense. As Coach Montoya and Coach Todd exchange a few whispered words, the class bursts out in a flurry of whispers, conversations and rumors snaking around as everyone talks quickly.
“Adam…she’s the new coach?” I whisper worriedly. The woman just looked at me with her beady grey eyes. I want to curl up in a ball so badly right now.
“It’s ok, Mays. You know it’ll be fine. If you could survive Hadley’s class, you can survive her.” Adam whispers back, referring to my first Precalculus teacher.
I hesitantly nod, and begin rubbing my arms. I feel like there’s something buzzing between us, between our two bodies. At that moment, I want so desperately to be comforted by him, but I resist the urge.
God. I’m such a loser. And a delusional one at that. There’s no way that Adam Ali would ever look at me in a different way than he looks at Noha.
As Adam continues to whisper reassurances, Coach Todd rests her beady eyes on me. As she continues to stare, I feel queasier and queasier in my stomach. I reach my hand down to grab the cold metal side of my chair, just to have something to focus on instead of the uneasy feeling in my stomach.
My hand doesn’t make contact with cold metal, but instead with a warm hand. Adam and I both simultaneously look down at our now intertwined hands. Our heads bang together as we both jump in shock and pull our hands away; me, rather reluctantly.
We both stare at each other and my face begins to get hotter and hotter and I’m painfully aware as to how bad I look today. Coach Montoya blows her whistle, ending the intense stare-down, and orders us to start doing drills in the gym.
In the locker room next to the gym, I quickly change out of my jeans and throw on sweatpants, opting to leave my long-sleeved hoodie on. Alexandria and I start to kick the ball back and forth once we leave the locker room and enter the gym.
After five minutes of dribbling the ball and kicking it into the goal, I feel a pair of eyes on me. Coach Todd looks at me with a troubled expression on her face and begins to walk towards me. I gulp; it’s not like I can go anywhere but awkwardly wait for her to reach me.
“Ms. Malik, I presume.” She says in greeting. Well, who would consider that a greeting?
“Yes, Coach Todd.” I’m not feeling confident but the one thing my mom always taught me is that if you don’t feel confident, fake it. Eventually it will come to you.
“Is this…your usual attire when practicing?”
I nod and square my shoulders. “Yes. There isn’t any particular dress code for practice.”
Coach Todd smiles, but it’s strained. “Oh, so you wear the regular short-sleeved jersey and shorts for games, I assume?”
I look at her and study her face. She’s waiting tensely for my response. “No. I wear a long-sleeved shirt underneath my jersey and I wear leggings along with longer shorts. Or I wear long pants. It depends.”
She nods stiffly. “And what gives you the permission not to dress like the rest of your teammates? Ms. Malik, this is a team, not a fashion show.”
“I know that, Coach Todd. This is my third year playing for this team. I dress differently for modesty reasons. I’m also not the only person on this team who doesn’t wear the uniform as it is usually worn.”
A nerve throbs in Coach Todd’s forehead. “I see. And what might these reasons be?”
I look past her at Adam, who’s dribbling a soccer ball, his legs so quick that they’re a blur. I telepathically plead at him to do something, to help me.
Like he’s read my mind, he turns and flashes me a beautiful smile. He winks and gives me a thumbs up. And suddenly, in that moment, I feel a surge of strength.
I turn back to Coach Todd. “I’m a Muslim woman, and following Islam’s basic principles, we believe in striving for modesty in the way we dress and act. Coach Montoya knows this and she respects that I am doing this for religious reasons, and not as some sort of fashion statement.”
After stiffly ending the conversation, Coach Todd walks away. I continue dribbling the soccer ball that I have, my thoughts consumed by the feel of Adam’s hand on mine.
☮ ☮ ☮
The weekend rolls around, and my mother continues to hurriedly make arrangements for the annual Malik Eid party that is to be held at our house on Saturday night. God knows why she invited over fifty people, including children. She says it’s because you can never celebrate Eid with too many people.
We have officially reached the one week countdown, and home life is consumed of nothing but making sure that everything is perfect for Eid.
Nazia and I still don’t know what took place between Zakariya and our parents on Thursday night, and I know it’s not in my place to ask Mom, Dad, or even Zak.
Thoughts of what could possibly have happened consume my mind as me and my brother clean the patio in preparation for next week’s party. Silently, working side by side, we scrub the tiles of the outdoor deck, straighten the furniture, and weed the backyard.
Our footsteps are like an intricate rhythm, one that is distant but close at the same time. I silently remove weed after weed from around the rosebushes out back. The sun beats down on my back, but the floppy sunhat I’m wearing is enough to cast a ring of cool shade around my head. In the silence, I hear only two things: the chirping of birds, and the angry rap coming out of the headphones in Zak’s ears.
He’s fully immersed in weeding his side of the garden. I decide to be a creeper and observe him. I laugh to myself humorlessly. It’s amazing how you can spend your whole life with someone and have them change in an instant. It’s amazing how two people’s lives can be so intertwined, yet they can feel so distant from each other.
“Zak.” I call. He’s five feet away but he can’t hear me. It’s those goddamn headphones. “Zak!” I say louder.
Still no response. Growing impatient, I go over to him and yank the headphones out of his ears. “What have Mom and Dad told you about using headphones! You’re going to ruin your hearing by the time you’re twenty!”
He doesn’t even bother looking at me. “What’s it to you?”
“Everything.” I retort.
“Get the hell off of my case, Maysa. Now hurry up so that we can get this done. I have somewhere to go.”
“No, you know what? I’m not going to get off your case. I’m tired of your crap. It’s affecting me too, at school and at home. You’re not doing a good job of keeping me out of your life. So stop with the freakin’ attitude right now, Zakariya. I’m so sick of your stuff.”
Zakariya squares his shoulders. “Instead of talking about me, let’s talk about you. What the hell have you been doing in school lately? Rumors are flying about you and a bunch of other guys.”
I clench my jaw and tremble with anger and frustration. “Who did you hear that from? Because Shazia’s not a believable source.”
Zakariya’s face is full of frustration. “No one said it was Shazia.”
“Oh yeah? Well then why are you two getting all close lately? It’s like she goes like a ping pong ball between you and Adam. And she drags me into it.”
“Just shut up, Maysa. Don’t bring Adam into this.”
The volcano is erupting in…three…two…ONE. “Adam has everything to do with this! Don’t you GET IT?! Adam is the reason Shazia is starting all this stuff! How do you NOT see that, Zak?! Have you been too caught up being all buddy-buddy with Aiden to see – ”
The minute I gauge Zak’s reaction I see that I’ve done some real damage to the whole situation. “What the hell did I tell you?! Didn’t I tell you to stay away from Aiden?”
I grit my teeth and I feel the muscles of my jaw go taut. “I have.” I hiss.
“You know what, Maysa? I’m doing this all for you and Nazia. So seriously, don’t give me your two cents because you sure as hell don’t know anything about me.”
And with those final words, Zakariya walks away. I stand there for a few minutes, mesmerized in my own fleeting thoughts. In the silence, I feel a faint rap on a window. I look up to see my mother knocking her knuckles against the glass window of the kitchen, the one that looks out into the backyard.
She motions for me to come in and I comply. “Where did your brother go?” She asks, confused.
I swallow the lump in my throat as I do something I’m not proud of: I lie to my mom. “He went to go do the front yard. I told him I could take care of the back.”
“Were you too arguing?” She asks hesitantly, like she doesn’t really want to hear the answer.
I smile as convincingly as I can. “Nah, just one of our little fights. I wanted to do the front. We figured it out though.”
She nods and busies herself with dishes. “I’m so glad he’s acting like his old self again.
Alhamdulillah.” I look at her for a few long seconds and pray to Allah to forgive me for unintentionally causing Mom’s false happiness.
These days, I don’t even know what’s wrong and right anymore.
☮ ☮ ☮
The next week at school is filled with impatience as the anticipation for Eid al-Adha grows. Academically, my week is exhausting as I try to get ahead with my homework so I’m not stuck doing it all on Sunday night.
The Jummah** right before Eid is a busy one at that. Since going to the masjid to pray Jummah namaz is not mandatory for women, I did not go with Farah and Noha. Instead, I arrived home to help Mom with party preparations. Who will have time to do it all tomorrow?
You know how when you go to sleep after a long day and your entire body is aching and sore? Well, there are two types of soreness. There’s the kind that doesn’t make you feel like a fatty, the one that fills you with good feelings towards yourself, because it’s a mark of how productive you were that day. And then there’s the other kind of soreness. The one that causes you to mentally beat yourself up, the one that keeps you awake all night because it goddamn hurts.
Soreness through the night melts into excitement in the morning as we all bustle around, trying to get ready in time to make it to the prayer. It’s an unofficial Malik family tradition to somehow always be late, but every year, Mom is determined to break that.
Even Zakariya is cooperative today; I guess messing things up on Eid is a big no-no, even for him. There’s something sacred about an Eid morning, you know? It holds a happiness you hold dear to your heart, and everything about that morning makes you want to sing praises to Allah for giving us everything He did.
As we all stumble out the front door, I can’t help but feel like the trees look straighter, the leaves look greener, and even the birds seem to have neatened up their nests. Even the air seems fresher. I smile widely as I take in the crispness of everything in nature around me.
There’s, of course, a traffic jam near the fairgrounds. The fairgrounds are literally a huge grass area which the Muslim community rents out for a day. Sheets upon sheets of tarp are secured into the ground and people bring bed sheets and prayer rugs, and the Eid prayer is held outside, followed by the kutbah***.
We manage to get out of traffic and into a parking space seconds before the namaz starts. We all stumble out of the car; Zakariya and Dad go off towards the men’s section with a prayer rug, and Mom hurries me and Nazia along. I can’t help but laugh as Nazia trips over her long maxi dress – she definitely isn’t used to dresses.
I soak in and relish the feel of Eid all around me. It’s evident in the peace between everyone in the community. It is evident in the way everyone lovingly greets one another. It’s obvious in the way that babies smile and gurgle, flashing their gummy smiles to all that pass by.
This is what Eid should be about: that peace, that feeling of oneness. Not the superficiality in the way some obsess in looking good. Not the obsession of keeping up appearances. Just setting aside all differences and going back to what we all are on the inside: the same.
☮ ☮ ☮
The melodious sounds of some verses from the Quran ring in my ears as the prayer comes to a conclusion. I keep my eyes closed, trying to soak in this feeling, trying to just enjoy this moment, this moment of being close with my Lord.
All too soon, the moment is over as people start milling around me, greeting each other and wishing each other a happy Eid. I reluctantly get up and look around for Noha. I feel a tap on my shoulder and it’s Rubina, looking gorgeous in her full sky-blue dress with yarn flowers stitched on it. “Bina! Mashallah you look beautiful!” I exclaim.
She smiles shyly. “Thanks. Noha is looking for you. She’s with Farah.”
I nod. “Thanks so much, Bina. Eid Mubarak! Nazia is over there talking to Sara.” Rubina smiles and hugs me, and then goes off to join my sister and Sara.
Farah and Noha’s colorful outfits catch my eye and I make my way over. I tap them both on their shoulders and as they turn, Farah grabs me in a huge hug first. “Maysa! Mashallah you’re looking hot, girlfriend!”
I smile self-consciously. “Are you sure it’s alright? I was feeling kind of nervous about wearing it. I didn’t want to look like a freak.”
Farah shakes her head firmly. “You look beautiful and your outfit is unique.”
Noha nods. “God, you look gorgeous mashallah. Where did you get the pants?!”
I look down. I’m wearing light-wash blue jeans that gradually melt into darker blue and finally to a pale purple around the ankles. I also have this sky-blue and indigo dress that I found at some hippie store. I’m not one for wild colors, so I have on a mustard cardigan on top, which tones down the bead and feather necklace that adds even more color to the patterned dress.
“At some hippie store. They’re actually kind of cute, huh? Where the hell did you get your outfit? You look like a super gawgeous Pakistani girl!” It’s true; she’s wearing a beautiful yellow and pink anarkali - an Indian outfit composed of a high-waisted like dress, skinny pants and a scarf thrown across the shoulders (or wrapped around one’s head in a hijab) – which is truly breath-taking.
Noha grins. “Some Indian lady was selling them at the mosque and Dad somehow agreed to buy it for me. Now I think the real question is, Far, where did you get your outfit?”
She shrugs casually. “I don’t know. I bought it and made some…minor adjustments.” I marvel her dress, wishing I had the ability to do what she does. She looks like a tropical princess, with her silk black, blue, and green printed dress.
“Oh! Arab cutie at three o’clock.” Noha suddenly says. By reflex, we all turn but stop ourselves.
“No! Don’t be so obvious about it!” I whisper.
Farah looks at me. What are we going to do then?”
I think for a minute. “The hijab pin trick.” Noha and I nod.
The hijab pin trick is a classic. When you want to look at someone without being too obvious, all you do is pretend to look around on the ground for your hijab pin. Then, when it looks like you’re completely oblivious to the person you want to look at, you quickly look up. It’s a Muslim girl classic.
I pretend to look around for something small on the ground (the hijab pin), and casually lift my head to steal a glance at the Arab guy. Seven out of ten.
“Seven.” I whisper to Noha. She nods and looks up quickly.
“Eight in my opinion.”
We all grin at each other. Maybe it’s stupid, but hey, I see it as admiring what Allah gave another Muslim brother. Niyyah, or intention, is key.
After chatting for a couple of minutes, all three of us go around and greet all the aunties. I approach Mrs. Ali with butterflies in my stomach. “Salaam, Aunty Aaliya. Eid mubarak!”
Her face lights up as she greets me. “Maysa! Mashallah, my dear, you look more beautiful than ever today! Eid mubarak to you too!”
We chat for a minute or two, and she asks me how school is. “I hope your brother is doing ok.” She says this with a note of sadness in her voice. She’s always liked Zak. We stand in silence after she says that and I offer her a small smile. “Where is your mother? I haven’t seen her in ages!” She changes the subject, for which I am grateful.
“Mom’s standing over there, talking to Juwaria Aunty.” I point at where my mom is. Mrs. Ali nods at me and hugs me one last time as she approaches Mom.
Since I had split up with Noha and Farah to greet Mrs. Ali, I turn to look for them. Just as I turn slightly to my right, I catch sight of him, and suddenly, I can’t breathe.
He looks gorgeous today, but there’s something about him that makes me feel like someone has knocked the wind out of me.
I sweep my gaze over the length of his body, starting with hi tops and going upward to his button-down shirt stretched over his broad shoulders. The world suddenly comes to a standstill, and nothing around me is relevant anymore.
I don’t hear the crying toddler on my right, or the old men chatting away in Arabic to my left. I forget all about finding Noha and Farah. I don’t process the hundreds of Muslims chattering around me. I forget my name at that moment because something holds me in place.
I know he sees me because his hands still as he breaks off saying whatever he was saying to the boy next to him. He turns and looks directly at me, and in that moment, his eyes shatter me, shatter my composure.
His eyes cut through every denial, every precaution I’ve taken to guard my heart.
You know how in Aladdin, there’s this part where Princess Jasmine sets free all the doves? And how she longs to be set free herself? And then how she takes the plunge and runs away?
That’s how I feel right now, like someone suddenly opened the door to my caged soul, and it’s flying out as fast as it can.
And I have a confession to make. Adam Ali is special to me. And you know what? I’m finally able to admit that to myself.
So this is what it feels like, I think. To let your soul free.
*Eid al-Adha: Muslim holiday celebrating Prophet Ibrahim's willingness to sacrifice his beloved son for the sake of God
**Jummah - Literally means "Friday" which is special for Muslims because it is the day they all gather to pray as one community (much like Sunday is special for Christians)
*** Kutbah - sermon
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Long time, no upload! So sorry :( Gawsh, anyway...SHOUT OUT TO MY BESTIE, who listens to my rants (Potato Sak, I love you).
Adam POV will be up in a bit! Oh! And comment. Please. I love to hear all y'all's thoughts.
PS: I know not all the outfits to the right are in proper dresscode. But use that imagination that Allah gave y'all and make them modest in your head! A'ight?
PPS: The pictures by no means suggest whether or not Noha/Maysa are hijabis. It's up for you to decide ;)
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Adam Ali Interview
Me: Salaam Adam! How are you?
Adam: *smiles* I’m good, allhumdulillah. How are you?
Me: I’m doing fine. Gosh, there are so many readers that want to know so much about you!
Adam: *bewildered* Why? I’m not that amazing, guys. *laughs*
Me: *gives him a you’re-an-idiot look* Well, firstly, what’s your full name?
Adam: Adam Jibrayil Ali.
Me: Wow, you were named after an angel?
Adam: *blushes* Yeah. My mom said that when she saw me for the first time I reminded her of an angel.
Me: Gosh, that’s amazing, mashallah. Ok, another one for the readers’ sake…what’s your take on girls and marriage in general?
Adam: *thinks* Um…well, let’s see. I don’t date at all. I do notice girls, yeah. Well…just one g– ok, never mind. Anyway…well, I don’t know what else to say.
Me: Alright, how about this? What three things should a marriage consist of?
Adam: Love, understanding, and trust. If the couple doesn’t have trust, they have nothing, you know?
Me: Ah! True, true. So on a more serious note…what are your dreams? What do you want to do in life?
Adam: I actually didn’t know what I wanted to do till like…seventh grade. I want to be a neurological physical therapist.
Me: Damn…what do they do?
Adam: You know people who have neurological problems? Like maybe they just had a stroke or something. Anyway, their neurologist refers them to a physical therapist that helps them start moving again. That’s what I want to do.
Me: Wow…what gave you the inspiration?
Adam: My grandfather died of a stroke. He had one when I was in fifth grade, and he was in physical therapy. That was the time he was truly happy, you know? But he had another one and he died…and I guess whenever I think about doing it as a profession I just imagine that he’ll be really happy.
Me: Gosh, how admirable.
Adam: *looks down* Thanks.
Me: Well, that’s all we have for today…oh wait! One last question.
Adam: *nods* Go on, Ash.
Me: *swoons* What are your flaws?
Adam: *thinks* God…I have so many. Ok, so I’m not the cleanest person in the world. I’ve been told that when I’m sleepy I get really whiny.
Me: *shocked* Really?
Adam: *grins* Yeah. And I’m bad with emotions. I mean, Noha always tells me that girls don’t like it when guys can’t communicate their feelings but I’m actually really sucky at it.
Me: Wow. Alright. So, is there one last thing you’d like to say to the audience?
Adam: Um…all you girls are so crazy. I read your comments and I seriously don’t get why you guys think I’m that amazing. I’m really not.
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How many of you are swooning? Anyone lost their heart? LOL xD
Much love,
aSh ♥