Imperfect

Imperfect September 23, 2012

I wear too much makeup

I like to change my hair.

I wear sleeveless shirts and tank tops.

I always paint my toenails, and often my fingers too.

I sing out loud.

I dance.

I read a lot of fiction.

I love to watch movies.

I like having a tan.

I rock out at concerts.

And I think boys are cute.

I wish I had curly hair.

My heels are too high.

My clothes are too bright.

I cannot tie a scarf so it won’t fall off my hair.

My knees are showing.

I know you’d rather I was more like the mothers of your friends, the ones that wear hijab and know all the rules.  They pray right next to you and try to teach you how to be muslimah.

If I could speak Arabic without sounding like an American, I could help you read Quran.  Maybe you wouldn’t be so embarrassed, and it wouldn’t be so hard.

But if I changed all those things.  And I changed all that I am not.  Would you be less embarrassed?

I would not be me.  I would not be the one.  You would not be you then, you would be someone else.

I would not know the joy of you, nor you the joy of me.

I promise, one day, you will see the joy of me and celebrate that I am not like all the other mothers.  I am yours.

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