Don’t Feel Sorry For Me.

” Aww, I feel sorry for you. You still have to wear the thingy in this heat”.

“Oh, I bet you’re boiling under your scarf”

“How do you feel wearing that in this heat?”.

You see, I am a Muslim and I wear hijab. No, I wasn’t forced to wear it. I did not just pick it up after my marriage. In other words, my hijab has always been part of my life.

But with the temperature soaring above the bearable comes the same old look, gesture and utterances I felt quite uncomfortable with.

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The Life I have Lived

I clocked 44 on the sixth day of July according to the Gregorian calendar. I am not a big fan of birthdays nor do I give too much attention to the number I am on the life ladder. However, sometimes, I do look up checking the grip I have on this ladder.

For me, life has been a mixture of experiences. Poverty had been a staple, but the joy and laughter of my childhood gave no rise to sadness.

The constant worries that come with poverty made me decide as a young girl never to be poor. I wanted something different from what I grew up in. I had a plan to work to perfect my life no matter what it took.

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