Post Graduation Developments, New Beginnings

‘These are girls growing up in a post 9/11 America,’ I think to myself as I listen to them share their stories with the group. ‘Their faces, demeanor and words tell me this is a world where there is little room for weakness.’

Dear Papaito,

It is past midnight, but I haven’t the slightest desire to go to bed. Instead, I wish to be seating on a wooden bench somewhere, looking out to a familiar lake, waters sparkling with the last rays of a setting sun. In lack of better means to transport myself there, I write.

Papaito, for the past four days, my mind has been occupied with a couple of new developments. Let me tell you about one of them this evening, and the other may have to wait till a next letter. So will join me on this bench? Nothing would please me more than to enjoy the silence as I anticipate an immaculately dark night, free of city lights. The honesty of an unambiguously dark sky would suit my spirit tonight.

Last Thursday I visited a Muslim school in Queens. My roommate, the religion teacher, invited to come speak to her students. I readily accepted the offer. Sharing some of my personal stories with middle school and high school students is something I have contemplated doing for a very long time. Hence, when Karima first brought this up, I immediately saw it as an opportunity to finally start working more seriously on shaping these ideas into a project. I would prepare one story, and see how responsive the girls were to the experience I narrated in it. Hopefully, we would also get a discussion going about these girls’ dreams for their future, and what they perceived as some of the greatest challenges and obstacles to accomplishing these dreams. We did not have much time, so my goals for this first encounter were simple, straightforward, and limited in scope.

I believe the sessions went well (four of them, and I spoke for about seven hours straight), and the experience was eye-opening to me. I think the groups that impressed (or should I say affected?) me the most were the seventh and the eight graders. It is one thing to read about the challenges of Muslim minorities in the West, and quite another to hear a twelve-year-old narrate a story about being called a terrorist on the subway train.

And yet, perhaps the most unsettling story of the day was one by another twelve-year-old, who had been asked by a random stranger in a park what she wanted to be when she grew up. The girl replied she wanted to be the president of the USA one day. The woman mocked her, saying she’d never get a vote dressed in the rugs she was wearing (the veil). Upon finishing her story, a few tears rolled down this young girl’s cheeks, which she promptly brushed away, her facial expression turning inscrutable and surprisingly hard[ened] again.

Graduation Ceremony, Marking the End of a Phase

“I do find it ironic that I have been this eager to move on to the next phase in my life when I spent so much time last December and January agonizing about it… I did give up security and predictability… But subhanAllah, what I have been enjoying the most for the past few weeks is precisely that same uncertainty I dreaded for so long…having no strings attached or ready-made plan is surprisingly empowering and exhilarating.”

Dear Papaito,

I graduated. You were in my thoughts during the ceremony, as were my parents and family. But don’t worry. I was not too disappointed that you could not come. I realize some things are just not in our hands. Perhaps you’ll join me next time (white roses would be nice, thank you).

My feelings that Tuesday (convocation) and Wednesday (commencement)? I felt ‘como diablo en botella.’ ‘As a genie in a bottle,’ eager to get out. I could not wait to be done with both ceremonies so that I could finally declare this phase of my life officially closed. I reflected on these feelings on my way to the Convocation, and this is an excerpt of what I wrote on my journal during that subway ride:

“Strange that I need to drag myself to this thing. It’s supposed to be my big day, sort of like a wedding, except that instead of a husband I get to take a framed paper home. That aside, we dress up, there are flowers, family and friends come, our names change, etc. Yet, instead of being excited, I just wish this whole thing was over. Not that my experience at NYU was bad or anything. Far from it. The past couple of years have been two of the best in my life, alhamdulilah. But still, I feel exactly what I felt when I graduated from High School in 2002, and college in 2007; that while the experience was great, everything comes to an end at its due time. Any additional minute would be

excessive.”