The trials and tribulations of an American hijabi

My Jezebel friend Effie definitely helped me out with this one, so she gets co-server credit!

What, another post about Muslim women wearing hijab? I've already talked about it here, here, here, and most heart-wrenchingly (trust me, my heart was wrenched as I wrote it), here.

I've talked about my problems with loved ones not being able to come to terms with my hijab (which I believe has since happened, as there haven't been any more confrontations or talk about it from either of us), about how special and secure and comfortable hijab makes me feel, about how it's helped me to spread awareness about Islam, about how people automatically think I'm not American because of it, and about how I love that hijab makes me visibly Muslim.

But there's another side to this, a far more frustrating side, and that's what I want to discuss candidly here: how difficult it is to be a visibly Muslim woman in America.

Muslims: Trust more, forbid less.

This is mainly about adoption, but will go into other things.

For my non-Muslim readers, when you adopt in Islam, the children aren't considered your blood relatives - thus, the rules for non-blood relatives still apply, such as women covering in front of men, no touching between the genders after the onset of puberty, and so forth.

This started with me being irritated that I get flack for being honest with my Muslim friends and telling them that I want to adopt and/or foster --- mainly this comes up when they ask for what qualities I want in a spouse; I'm not just randomly offering this information. A lot of them have brought up that I'll need to cover around male children, or that if my daughters choose to cover, they'll have to cover around my husband. Also brought up is the question of, "What if your husband develops feelings for the girl?" Also, probably what if I develop feelings for a boy. That's probably implied. These are put out as examples of why I shouldn't adopt and/or foster, despite the fact that adopting and fostering is a very Islamic thing to do, as evidenced by Zayd, the adopted son of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be with him).

To the one I love: Back off my hijab.

I love you.  You are amazing.  You are intelligent, you are funny, you are inquisitive, you are strong, you are sassy, you are beautiful.  You are one of my favourite people, and I love telling others how much I love you.  I love, have always loved, and will always love, that you are a part of my life.

But I need you to back off my hijab.  I need you to stop asking why I wear it, because I've explained it to you several times.  I need you to not insinuate anymore that women who cover their heads because they believe that God wants them to haven't yet come into the 21st century (Catholics, Muslims, Jews, anyone).  The idea that I'm somehow stuck in the 7th century simply because I, and I alone, choose to not show anything but my face and hands to men who aren't related to me is insulting, rude, and, depending on how you're phrasing it, hurtful.

Love (because I do love you), my intelligence, strength, sense of humour, and strength don't diminish every time I put my hijab on.  My IQ doesn't diminish point by point with every layer that goes around my head.  The tightness of my hijab doesn't squeeze out my individuality, nor my sense of self, nor my self-esteem --- though sometimes it can make hearing and/or breathing a bit difficult, depending on the thickness of the material and how badly I've wrapped and pinned it.  Also, I'm just deaf sometimes.

Why I don't care about people depicting Muhammad (pbuh) in pictures.

Throughout the past few years, there have been numerous examples of people depicting the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) in artwork, be it Danish cartoons, International Draw Muhammad Day, or South Park --- which, ironically, portrayed him as part of a group of superhero-esque prophets, and not negatively.

Simply put: The Muhammad that's depicted in vile cartoons, showing him with a bomb in his turban, or as a pig, etc., the Muhammad that was depicted during International Draw Muhammad Day, isn't my Muhammad.

My Prophet didn't kill for pleasure or gain; he went to war because he was attacked, his people oppressed.  My Muhammad didn't call for the killing of innocent lives; he expressly forbade it.  My Muhammad wasn't a paedophile, either.

Well, that was a bust.

Apparently sending someone unwanted PMs and texts after they break up with you, despite them telling you repeatedly to not contact them, following them to their karaoke bar, making friends with their friends, talking to all the guys they talk to, leaving them unwanted gifts and then refusing to take them back, texting them more, leaving them alone for a couple of weeks and then starting up again ... Yeah, apparently all that isn't stalking, and if the person you're "not stalking" tells people that you're a stalker, then they're making up heinous lies about you and deserve to lose all chance at your friendship.

Gee, and I thought that after almost two years, we could move on and get over this ordeal and maybe be friends again.  I guess I was wrong.  And it irritates me that the textbook definition of stalking apparently isn't stalking, and that I'm wrong and a bad person because I could have sworn that consistent, unwanted attempts at contact despite requesting to have none, unwanted gifts, being followed around ... I could have sworn that those actions constituted stalking.  It irritates me that I finally gained the maturity and bravery to offer some peace and friendship, only to be shot down like that.

No, it doesn't matter that he doesn't want t help with my family; he's not obligated, doesn't have to.  I was trying to make amends.  I gave it my best shot.  And unlike him, I'm not going to push the issue now that it's been made clear he wants nothing to do with me.  God bless him and soften his heart.  My part here is through.

Communicate with your servers, please!

What happened last night?  I'm trying to remember.  Argh, I hate it when I want to update and then forget why I'm updating.

I worked for Gina-Bean last night, 'cause she called me yesterday morning sounding very dead.  It was fairly uneventful, except for the man who wouldn't even look at me when I was trying to take his order and check up on him, and mumbled everything.  I asked my manager to check up on him, and Jeff said he did the same thing, so the guy was just rude and it wasn't me in particular.

Oh, and the girl who refused to actually say what she wanted.  It was all "I want this," with pointing.  So I did what I always do.  I asked which one, and told her that I couldn't see what she wanted because my contacts were fuzzy.  Her friend ended up saying what exactly she wanted.  It wasn't even like she couldn't speak English (you non-English speakers get a break in that department, so long as you, you know, actually try to communicate with me).  She just wouldn't say the name of the meal she wanted.  When customers try that thing with me, I play dumb.  It may be rude of me, but there's no need for me to play Twenty Questions when you can freaking SAY you want the Smoked Chicken Quesadilla, rather than pointing at the tiny print that I have to lean over the table, and nearly across the lap of the guy you're sitting by, just to read.

Oh, also, please don't mumble, and use clear gestures.  If I'm not sure what you're saying or gesturing, I'm going to repeat myself.  If I keep repeating myself, it means that I can't understand you and you need to be more clear.  Don't give me a dirty look because you aren't communicating clearly with me.

In other news, a guy said he had a question for me and it was kind of personal, so I immediately fired back with, "Yes, I'm Muslim, yes, I was born in America.  I converted a month ago."

Yesterday was my one-month anniversary of converting, by the way.  Send Twinkies.

Anyway, then I asked, "Is that what you were wondering?"  It was.  ^_^  Another guy asked pretty much the same thing, so I said the same thing, but it turns out he remembered me from the last time I worked at the RoA (Restaurant of Awesome, if you don't recall from previous posts), and wanted to know if it was me or not.

The night was going good until my coworker Judy came in at 6, when I was supposed to be off.  Turns out Jeff put the wrong person in the cash register, so I had to stick around until the manager came in at 7, but hey, it's more money for me.  And .02 hours of overtime, lol.

So I skipped class today and slept instead.  Then I went and got my check-up at the optometrist for my contacts and then paid my storage unit.  The guy said he accepts payments of Chipotle, lol, so next time I need to pay I'll bring him some.  ^_^