No Pink Ribbon For Me
When I went in to get that scar, I remember, it was cold & they gave me an extra blanket. They wore green robes & masks. But I saw one, who took her mask off & then put it back. Beautiful smiling Irish face, she told me that my scar is on his way & we gonna be just fine. I have a flash-back, my GP calling me & telling me to sit down...Mammos came in, something strange, looks like calcifications, lots of them, but they couldn't get a clearer picture. They want them removed. I am concerned. I have a good reason for being that way. My dearest friend, my mom, had been tried with a stage two. She has a scar now. And she has a wig somewhere in her closet - a small reminder of her big ordeal. Well, my masks were concerned too. Remember that - truth is out there..somewhere? So they went in to search for that little personal truth of mine. Bye-bye, sweety pie, mommy will be right back! She couldn't walk back then, she crawled at my cart right before they were about to pull me through the doorway. Kisses, hugs...I love you, sweet heart! And you, my brave man, I LOVE YOU TOO!!!

Reflections on “Engaging Islam…”
Islam has been defined by some as ‘engaged surrender,’ an active definition which points to the way which one approaches submission to divine reality, to the practice of the din or religion of Islam. Perhaps no time is this vigor more apparent than during the month of Ramadan. This past Ramadan I attended a conference entitled: “Engaging Islam: Feminisms, Religiosity and Self-Determinations,” at the University of Massachusetts in Boston. This conference consisted of a five day submersion within an environment of listening and learning about Islam as a religion, a social code, a mode of governance and law. What emerged from this experiment was a picture of an Islamic religion which contains a multitude of perspectives, inspirations and judgments. As one of the guiding principles of the conference, scholars brought the rigorous interrogation characteristic of feminist critique to every topic, most especially towards a definition of Islamic feminism.

Letters from Hebron
Friday marks the third week for me in Palestine. It also marks the release of more than 250 Palestinian prisoners from Israeli jails. Out of more than 10,000 prisoners held by Israel, the release of 250 detainees including, 6 women, 12 under the age of 18 and the deputy secretary general for the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, Mr. Abdel Rahim Mallouh, sounds more like an insult and less of a sign of goodwill.

Notes on an Islamic Education
A woman’s piety is her chastity. That is the entry point to heaven. Faith itself is a man’s game. The rules are there to keep us in that theater, happy with the fiction and oblivious to the fact that movie stopped playing long ago.

The "G" Question
"Mommy, what if there isn't a God," Ali recently asked on our drive home from Bingo night, his elementary school's umpteenth fundraiser. I raised the volume on the radio Disney station Ali listens to when I need some down time. "What if there isn't a God, then what?" he shouted over one of those midriff-baring pop singer's vocals. My diversionary tactic hadn't worked. This time, I heard the fear in his voice. It was the same tone he used when he was three, asking, "What if the monsters get you and Baba at night?"

My Road to Wisconsin Was Paved With Good Intentions: A Muslim-American Reflection on the Civil-Union Ban
It was a simple question, did I feel strange being here as a Muslim? Did I feel strange doing this? And what was this? This was my commitment to social justice, as a Muslim, as an Indian-American, as a person who believes in human rights. This was my desire to prevent the government from dictating the expression of faith and sexuality. Although I believe that homosexual acts are not permissible in Islam, I do not want the government to espouse or express these religious views. Such entanglement with religion is dangerous. After all, marriage is culturally sacred, and for many, it is a recognition of a monogamous commitment between two people in the eyes of God. The state should not dictate the nature of this process. It is that simple.

A Remembrance Day Prayer
Last week saw Remembrance Day in Canada: the Eleventh Day of the Eleventh Month, when we remember those soldiers who never made it home. We're taught never to forget them, nor the places where they died, the glorious battlefields of Europe, Asia, Africa. We watch on TV as veterans shed tears for their friends they'll never see again, and politicians wear poppies, and successive generations of children read "On Flanders Fields," with its grizly rhythm:

Because the Night
What am I doing to my body? This habit of smoking makes me feel nauseous and gives me headaches. This isn’t what I want. And yet, what else is there to do? I can’t stop the war or protect my family. I can’t have back the man I once loved. The thought of seeking temporary solace in the bodies of strangers is no longer exciting to me. I know that smoking is linked with infertility in women, with damage to the ovaries, lungs, and thyroid. I know that inhaling this poison, contrary to its surface mirroring of sex, is a negation of life. I’m crying when I open the Quran for the first time in years and read about Maryam, the woman who begged God for release from the pain of childbirth. In his distant mercy, God sent her nourishment, angels, protection from slander. I don’t see why I should care about fertility. My time to have children is running out and I am no Maryam. I used to hate kissing people who were smokers. Now my mouth tastes like ash and I think that it doesn’t matter, because no one is going to kiss me.

Are You Praying on My Team
When he reaches adulthood, perhaps my son will find a world free of religious persecution, a world where there isn't someone insisting his or her perception of God is better than his.

Why I'm a Progressive Infidel
Labels suck. In my case, religious labels suck. "Hi, I'm Natalia, I'm a [fill in religion of choice]" means nothing to me. People say they're this and that all the time. It doesn't help me get to know them any better.

Cookies and 120 Bookmarks
When my son's first-grade teacher asked during "meet the teacher night" if I would talk to the entire first and second grade about Ramadan, the Tricia in me wanted to scream, "You're the teacher. You teach them about Ramadan!"

Invasion of the Taqwa-Punks: The 2005 ISNA Convention
By Michael Muhammad Knight Malcolm X’s grandson had told me to go read God’s Unruly Friends by Ahmet Karamustafa, which dealt with medieval Sufi groups that “real” Islam has swept under the rug: butt-balling Qalandars, genital-piercing Haydaris, boozing and...

An Elegy for a dear departed friend, Sayeed Beg
"Friends" Sculpture by Dianne Cannon. By Mirza A. Beg Sayeed Beg and I became friends when the days were long, the nights were bright and time was not in a headlong rush. We met because he felt that I...

Nazi Fathers and Muslim Sons
I don’t have to go back four hundred years to find the devil in my blood.

Remembering the Hijra
December 19, 2004—the 40th anniversary of Bilal heading to Medina to make the knowledge born—I went down to Mecca for Parliament, hoping to find some old Gods who could say how it all went down.

A New Year's Wish for 2005
The year 2004 is coming to a close, to fade into history. It is a time when many of us are prone to take stock and express our hopes and desires for the future.

Masjid Taqwacore: Introducing the Kominas
Basim Usmani’s most recent trouble started when the singer of Riff Raff (“a bald fat kid with Henry Rollins complex” as Basim put it) jumped off the stage and started pushing people, microphone still in hand. Basim was right in front and when the kid pushed him, Basim pushed back.

Miss Overtly Charming Barza Muslim Sister
Was this an "arranged marriage?" Yes. This was an extra special arranged marriage. The bride and her network of American Muslim peers arranged it very carefully so that the groom and his family matched the exact socio-economic, religio-cultural arrangement of her first generation immigrant parents.

A 'Creative Actualization' of the Qur'an: Is It Possible?
Is the Qur'an amenable to “creative actualization” or re-interpretation? Which Muslims might feel free to embellish or re-write Qur’anic passages to better reflect their own struggle with text and tradition? Are there any historical antecedents for such practices?

'Just Like Khadija': The Sisters Are Coming
I sat in the back of the room, looking around, trying to match faces with the names that have figured so prominently in my life over the past two years.

A Canadian's Eid in New York
Deciding to spend Eid in New York this past weekend, turned out to be a ‘joyous’ decision on my part, and while tradition has it that Eid last for three days, I celebrated in a variety of ways for the whole week.

What a Difference a Day Makes
Do not be depressed. There is work to do. There is light to make.

The Little Red Piano: Quest for Qawali
When they buried my father under a cold December sun in Toronto... instead of hearing Arabic prayers or the icy north wind whistling in my ears, I heard words from a Qawali that my dad sang to me, as he played my toy piano, in a place far away and long ago.

A Secular Muslim’s Take on Fasting During Ramadan (Don’t Forget Us)
Ever my father’s daughter I never fasted a day in my life. Live simply was his motto and he practiced it all year long. But he was no saint. And he never aspired to be.

Husband and Hijab
"Oh, no, you don't have to do that! You will be living in America; we are free to practice our religions the way we want. You can still wear it."

Mixed Prayer
Walking toward the stairway something caught my eye in the men’s section. I didn’t think much about what I’d seen until about half way up the stairs when it hit me—there was a woman sitting in the men’s section!

The Voice of God is Hamza Yusuf: The 2004 ISNA Convention
This year the ISNA people gave me complimentary registration and an invitation letter from Secretary General Sayyid M. Syeed. And my books now had smooth covers, perfect binding, bar codes and an ISBN number. So yeah, punk is dead.

Eyes
Eye contact is a strange phenomenon, handled differently in different cultures and potentially carrying all kinds of contradictory implications.

Writing and Dancing
Like any other art, calligraphy is not just about mastering a technique, it requires soul: you have to ‘feel’ the words as you write them. You must aspire to reach the truth in the streaming movement of lines that transcend the physical world and arrive at tawheed, Divine Unity. Becoming One with the Word. Your rivers of ink must find their way to the Ocean. A form of worship; a spiritual dance of the qalaam. In pursuit of understanding truth through beauty.

Madonna and the Mullah vs. Madame Rose: On Art, Sex, and Love
Stringent laws and traditions evolved to remedy what the Madonnas and Mullahs of our time have done, albeit in profoundly different ways, in reinforcing what should have long become the archaic notion that the human body is divorced from its mind and soul, and that its physical impulses have a mind of their own independent of its soul that must be set on either a carnal or cardinal course.

Chador and Toothpaste with Imam Reza
Twelve hundred years ago, Ma’moon finally gave up trying to manipulate his way into legitimized authority and murdered Imam Reza by forcing him to eat poisoned grapes. Once Reza died, his corpse was brought from Marv to Mashhad and he was buried right here. His many followers attended his funeral. Oppressors and fascists take note: killing the leader of the opposition does not annihilate the opposition itself.

On Belief and Disbelief: The True Meaning of Idolatry
Though the western scriptures tell us not to bow to statues, is this necessarily the most common or dangerous form of idolatry?

My American Son
It was the beginning of the 4th of July weekend, and I decided to take my 4-year old son, Ali, to the Friday prayer at my favorite mosque, Masjid Al-Farah, the Mosque of Happiness, in New York City.

A Weekend with the Five-Percenters
He didn’t have to listen to Elijah or Malcolm or anyone anymore so he went the holy heretic way, changing his name to Allah, calling Harlem his Mecca and Brooklyn Medina, still playing craps, preaching on street corners to high-school and junior-high kids, telling fourteen-year olds that as Original Black Asiatic Men they were all Gods because Arm, Leg, Leg, Arm, Head made A.L.L.A.H.

We Should All Weep and Feel Ashamed: Rwanda, Ten Years Later
We had just walked out of the Kigali Memorial Centre, established this year, ten years after the holocaust that had devastated Rwanda, in memory of the 1,000,000 lives lost in 100 days of slaughter. Perhaps it was the last room in the Centre, the Children’s Memorial, that had done it for many of us.

White, Weird and Wonderful
‘I believe in one God, Allah, and that the rest of my life will be devoted to being less of an idiot than I am now’. That pretty much sums up my path to Islam.

The Desert
I am unaware of walking on this immense sandy plateau. I am literally becoming a part of it.

God and New York
It was the first sweltering, humid, muggy day in New York, at least since I had moved in January. 84 degrees on a Monday, and Manhattanites everywhere emerged from their apartments in airy blouses, skirts, flip flops featuring colorfully painted toe nails and a variety of shoes and accessories, like hot pink sneakers and bright yellow feather earrings.

Justice Is a Process—Not an Event
We must courageously rectify our double standards and hypocrisies before they continue to be employed as ammunition by pernicious characters to further a cause towards our “liberation.”

Cairo Journal: Happiness is a Relative Thing
“You can say I’m 60,” he mumbles from behind shy, hazel-speckled eyes. “Yes, say 60,” he repeats, nodding his head. “Or do you think that’s too little for me? Maybe 65 or 70,” he volunteers.

When Pakistan Hanged Its Prime Minister
April 4th came and went quietly. I am separated by more than 20 years and thousands of miles, so the day Pakistanis hanged their prime minister was like any other April day in Washington. It was chilly but pleasant.

Faith is Not a Formula
Walking away that night I was left with only one impression--that I am going to hell.

Bleeding for the Imam: Heartbreak and Catharsis in Muharram
Part of me just wanted to soak in some deliberate heartbreak, manifested through a man that happened to be Prophet Muhammad’s grandson. And part of me wanted to bleed again, because it had been a long time and I almost missed it.

Looking East: Observations of a Malaysian in Pakistan
Prior to making the trip from Berlin to Islamabad, I made the usual round of good-byes and was somewhat surprised by the reaction I received from my colleagues in Europe. Most, if not all, had offered me the same morsel of advice: “You are going to Pakistan for your holiday? Be careful!”

Journal of a Dumpster-Diving Sufi
My last time at a massage parlor, Savannah asked if I played any sports and I knew she was only looking for a way to talk about her kid—these girls always mentioned their kids because it’d make you tip more, or maybe just so you’d show them some manners.

Pure Predictability: Egypt and My Mother-in-Law
I know she will shout in English “hypocrite” to the young woman who walks by us wearing the hijab and a form-fitting shirt embossed with glittered English red letters LIPSTICK.

Of Lost Fathers and Broken Sons
My struggle to rediscover the past of Malaysia has as much to do with the desire to uncover the marginal aspects of our national imaginary as it has to do with piecing together the dispersed fragments of my own personal life. It has to be said that some of it was motivated by the need to re-discover the father I did not really have, much less know.

Heaven Is at the Foot of Your Child
Now that I’m three years into this whole mom thing I’ve decided that in my world, heaven is at the foot of my child. My husband and I have been trying, quite unsuccessfully, to have another child, and with each passing month we grow more and more appreciative of the gift Allah has given us with this one charming soul. We are sure that his presence in our life is a bit of heaven.

Is Allah a Banker or a Psychotherapist? My Changing Perception of Allah and Islam (Part One)
Of course, Allah was just a huge banker to her back then, and religion to her was a mere system of rewards and punishments.