Unique Muslimah

It was only yesterday when I believed the cobwebs in my mind would never clear. I was wrong.

It only took a few hours for a little clearing to be made, enough for me to see a little light, a little hope, a little happiness. That is why I have to dedicate this post to the person who helped make that clearing, however small, it is a significant clearing that might help the process of returning to my writing a little easier….a little sooner rather than later…

It was only today as I read all your amazing, encouraging comments that I came across a website that was mentioning my blog. I didn’t think anything of it until I read the paragraph and gaped at the screen.

In an interview blogger Abdul Kargbo was asked a question….

“Who are the two bloggers you read the most and why? Include their links and tell us why we should subscribe to their feeds.

Despite being a blog writer, I’m not a dedicated blog reader. I guess I’m just not big on commitment. I read news and opinion articles online and the odd blog, but I’m not a dedicated reader of any one site. One of my favorite sites, however, is Unique Muslimah, written by a young Muslim woman. She’s a great writer, very insightful, spiritual, and soulful. Her posts are intimate yet pure. As a modern, Westernized male, I find her perspective enlightening and her writing uplifting…..”

I am speechless. In this time of great need, where my writing is considered like my breath and I feel like I haven’t been breathing for months, I find someone I don’t know encouraging me, supporting me, believing in me. The tears flowed – happy tears – to receive what I feel like is a sign…a sign for me to continue.

The tears flowed, like rain, making a clearing in the cobwebs of my mind.

Thank  you.

Photographed By Unique Muslimah.

I remember being ten years old. I was being bullied by someone taller, older and stronger than me.

It would happen everyday. I would be playing with the other kids in the school yard in our corner, only to have it  seized. Before I knew it, I was towered by this great beast of a boy. Only to be cornered, only to be humiliated and starved of freedom. In this cold, desolate corner, my bully would create his blockade.

When I was hungry, I wasn’t allowed to eat. My friends would not even be allowed to sneak in my packed lunch for me.

And so strengthened the blockade.

When I was cold, I was not allowed to seek any warmth from the brutality of the winds, rain and snow. No one would be able to save me from the pain.

And so tightened the blockade.

When I was hot, standing in the brutality of the sun, I was not allowed to seek shade. Not a single soul could sneak in aid.

And so heatened the blockade.

When I was beaten to the ground for trying to escape, I was not allowed to lick my wounds or cry. No one could save me then.

And so heightened the blockade.

When I was desperate for freedom, for an end to this pain, I would talk to my bully, to this human blockade. I would try to reason with him, try to make him understand, that I was born free, I was not supposed to be a victim in his brutal plans.

But things only worsened. And that’s when I tried to resist. I would fight back with my tears, if not my fists. I would kick and scream, to get attention from those in sight. But it was all in vain. I could see no hope, no light.

And so darkened the blockade.

He would only get stronger. He would only punish me for trying to resist. He would tell me I was different, and so I wasn’t meant to be free like the others to play. He would punish those who tried to help me, he would lie to those in power and tell them I was the one who was guilty. They always believed him.

And so toughened the blockade.

It didn’t get any better. My parents were called in and so were his. But I was the one branded guilty. I wasn’t to sit in the meeting between the two.  I wasn’t invited. My bully, however, being older and cleverer than me, sat in that meeting. There he spun a web of lies to the blind ears of those who were meant to protect me. Shouldn’t I have been invited inside, to tell my side of the story? A statement was made and my bully got away with the hurtful games he had so intellectually played.

And so worsened the blockade.

My screams and tears would go unnoticed to those in charge. They probably knew how influential my bully’s parents were. They probably knew messing with him meant having to deal with them. So I continued to suffer, despite everyone’s knowledge of my pain.

But then came the day I was saved.

And so weakened the blockade.

A group of kids older than my bully could see my plight. They witnessed the many fights. They fought for me, believing that no person should be oppressed. It took many weeks, I thought it would never happen. But their pleas were heard.

I was free. I was saved.

And so crumbled the blockade.

My bully was expelled. Those in charge, who so adamantly believed there was no such thing as bullying in their school, were forced to act.

And just like that, I was free. I was able to play. I was able to be a child again. I was able to soak up in the warmth of freedom in the wonderful sunshine…

From that day on, I knew how precious freedom was. If a person woke up free, then they had the world in their hands.

And so vanished the blockade.

My true story is an analogy of the plight of the people of Gaza, though it is no where near the suffering and torment they endure night by night. I was like them, existing peacefully until my bully took over my life and created his towering blockade. Because I was ethnically different, I did not belong in his world. I was meant to be emotionally tortured. That was the reason for my existence.

My bully created a blockade, just as the oppressors created their blockade on the Gazans. Those in power did not invite me to a crucial meeting to hear my pleas, just as the democratically elected government that plays a huge part in the peace process was not invited to the summit in Sharm El-Sheikh.

Even those I thought were friends could not save me; they turned a blind eye. Only strangers, like the international community to the Gazans, started to fight for my cause, until they returned my rights.

But my story had a good end to it. There was closure.  I was able to experience the pure, exhilarating taste of freedom again. I am not sure if that will ever happen to those oppressed in Palestine.

I am not sure if like in popular films the oppressors will be overthrown and the oppressed will have their justice.

I am not sure if those who turn a blind eye on the heinous crimes committed will ever have the courage and strength to stop these oppressions from happening.

I am not sure if people will continue to support those who are oppressed, just like those kids helped me until I got my justice. They didn’t give up. They strove until I was free.

I am not sure of any of this. The world is unpredictable. And humans even more so.

But what I do know is that every oppressor has their day coming. Every person wronged will have their rights returned someday. Every cowardly bully will find something more powerful than their strength and lies.

They will find people with principles, people who will not stand for heinous crimes. People who will condemn them till the very end. Maybe then will those oppressed find justice over the oppressors.

Just like the day my bully lost and I won over the human blockade.