That was somewhere we had an intersection, our parents having mistreated us growing up. He respected my hijab more than I did myself. I felt as though I was going against what I stood for; as though society would be disappointed in me for sleeping with the enemy, so to speak. He was turned away, scared, it seemed, that I was showing him my hair. An open letter to my natural hair. Slowly unraveled it, pulling the edges out from under.
I have never felt comfortable within the Muslim community.
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The irony is clear: If you met me, you'd never think I spent most of my life stoned. It was drilled into my head that all white men fantasize about Muslim women, the hijab being an extra layer of secretness — a present just waiting to be unwrapped. I have never felt comfortable within the Muslim community. From the very beginning of wearing hijab ten years nowhijab was not anything big. He was comfortable to be around, and I enjoyed his company. This is what happened when I didn't look in the mirror for a week.