Short Story- Untitled #1

I wrote this April 11, 2017.

 

“I remember. I always remember.

Abi used to teach us about how we had to listen to and respect Ummi. But he didn’t like her. He didn’t respect her.
She would ask him to take the garbage out and he would yell at her for disturbing him. That’s how it all started. Or maybe I was just noticing it as an 11 year old. Maybe I hadn’t paid it enough attention before.

Eventually the yelling turned into hitting. Ummi tried to hide it from us, from her two children. Aamal and I had noticed a little bit though. We saw the bruises. We heard her crying when Abi was at work.

She stopped cooking for us. The last meal I remember was off brand boxed mac and cheese. It was salty from her tears. When Aamal complained, Ummi ran to her room and locked the door. We ate nothing but ramen noodles, McDonald’s, cereal, and granola bars from then.

She stopped making us clean up too. She only did the bare minimum so that Abi wouldn’t say anything. He still did though. He said a lot with his fists.
She even stopped teaching us Quran and Islamic studies. Sometimes we went to school. More often than not we stayed home.

Even though Aamal and I noticed things like the blueish gray bruise on Ummi’s arm, we didn’t know. We didn’t know that Ummi had her 4th miscarriage since our birth. We didn’t know that Abi blamed her for it. We didn’t know that sometimes he raped her. We didn’t know that he was abusive. We didnt know that she was depressed because of her abuse. We didn’t know that she reached out for help and people were telling her to “be patient”.
We just knew that she was different but she was still Ummi. And he was different but he was still Abi.

So when she murdered him one night, in front of us, with the most crazed but free look in her eyes, we didn’t understand. When Child care services came to take us away, we didn’t understand. When Ummi was sentenced to 40 years in prison, we didn’t understand. When our foster parents wouldn’t let us visit Ummi, when they deliberately took us to churches instead of masjids, when they stopped us from wearing khimars or reciting Quran, we didn’t understand.

But now at age 30, while I watch my children play and I think about how I would do anything in the world for them. While I contemplate murdering my abusive husband. While I think about how many times I’ve called the police on him or how I never wanted to end up like my mother. While I think about how vicious life is in this cycle. Now I do, now I understand. And I just pray that Aamal or my children never have to understand.”

Advertisements

The Circle of Sadness

I’ve been feeling empty again.

So I’ve been trying to read more.

I’ve also been wanting to write more but it’s like my creativity is stuck, or locked up. As if there’s an imaginary roadblock. It’s been that way for the last couple of years but this year it’s very pronounced. Kind of like my creativity is sticking it’s tongue out and taunting me about it’s absence.

Writing takes thought and effort but reading doesn’t. So, in my quest to find Islamic Fiction and escape to other worlds, I came across a WordPress blog called Muslim Biker Chicks. Come to find out I had an account on WordPress.

I’d completely forgotten this was here.

I started this as a lonely, confused, and sad 16 year old and ironically I’m back as a ‘slightly depressed but not sure why cause I have things to be happy for’ 20 year old.

It’s a circle of sadness.

School? NOOOO

Bismillah hir Rahman ir Rahim.
Well I haven’t written anything for a little while. It’s not like anybody is actually reading this though.
Sooo school is about to start again -.- Im soooo not ready for this. Yes it’s gonna be my 11th grade year but honestly at this point Im bored and tired with this year to year crap. And this summer was sooo weird. It went by waaay to fast. But at least I had a summer.
In other news I have the most extreme case of writers block. I have no more ideas for my story on wattpad and I haven’t updated in months. Since before Ramadan. Im a horrible person, I know.
Oooooh and Ramadan was…okay. I kinda wish everyday was Ramadan because it’s so much easier to intend to do something good and stick to that plan. During the rest of the year Im always planning or knowing I should do something but when the time comes there’s always this evil little voice inside of me that goes “Oh it can wait five more minutes.” Then five mins become 10 and 10 mins become 10 years and 10 years become a lifetime. So this year was kind of a challenge for me because for some reason there were so many distractions and I kept hearing that evil little voice. Actually it scares me because everytime I listen to it, it gets bigger and bigger until maybe im never gonna be able to ignore it. This year didn’t feel the same at all.
I just pray that the Shaytan doesn’t lead me astray even though im immensely proud to say that Im trying to stay firm to my deen more and push that nigga away. If ANY muslim or even nonmuslim is reading this and has any suggestions that you think might help me with staying on ALLAH’s straight path PLEASE IM BEGGING YOU, PLEASEEEEE, leave a comment so that I may take heed and stay on the path leading to Jannah.

Author-ity

Okay so Im like an author or something (yea or something). I write lots of stories, poems etc. I put some of them on websites like Wattpad.com. When I post my stories it’s so people can enjoy them…so that I can enjoy people enjoying them. Im a mean person but I like when Im the source of someone’s happiness. It makes me feel good and the person who I’ve made happy. So I kill two birds w/ one stone (which doesn’t make the birds happy). Anyway, i don’t mind people giving their little comments here and there ex. “Oh I really like you’re story”, “Im starting to enjoy it”, “You’re writing is weak and you’re story seems unrealistic”…I welcome constructive critisism. It makes my writing better for both me and the people reading it. It gives me minor instruction and fresh new perspectives.
But I despise when some retard tiddlybot comes along and gives some retard comment.
For instance “I don’t like you’re character’s name. Her name should have been Kelly.”
Um who the hell are you?? You don’t get to decide my character’s name.
Or how about this comment “Your character’s too young!”
Listen hoe, this is my book, my story, my imagination, my character. I am the author of this story. Meaning I and I alone have the author-ity (see my lil play on words lol) to do as I please with anything that has to do with MY storyline. Now if you don’t like the goddamn age, name, hair color of my character go elsewhere and make your own effing character.
Sheesh I can’t believe people have the audacity to approach me with such bullishedness.
Okay rant over lol
……Btw Im trying to improve my control over my filthy mouth and what better way to do it then here -_-

School Out….?

Omigoshhhh! Alhamdulilah im sooo glad that school is almost over. Technically 2-3 more weeks but im just gonna say 5-7 more days because we have regents and blaah blaah lotsa tests that I dont really have time for. I cant waiiit until Ramadhan and Eid (Yesshhh!) My sis is supposed to be coming back from that godforsaken country that she’s in and Im hoping that I can go back to NJ.
Sooo Today was weird…I have this one AIS (I have no idea what that stands for)  teacher who doesnt like me, we’ll call that butthole Mr. Yo. I’ve come to the conclusion that Mr. Yo doesnt like Muslims in general. He’s arrogant, rude, ignorant, disgusting, horsefaced, and an all around a**hole. Just thinking about him males me angry because Im Maryam and Im just that dramatic. But trust me Im not being dramatic about this lol.
So Mr. Yo told all the kids in his “history” class last year that all ‘moslems’ were radical extremists, terrorists, blaazay blaazay…the whole nine yards. Some of those kids came to this year like “Are you a terrorist?”
Being the passionate, outspoken person that I am…Im like “Wth?! If I was a terrorist all of you stupid people would be dead from the moment I set foot in this building.”
And they’re just like “uggghh” looking and sounding stupid w/ drool escaping their mouths.
Now i sound meanish but w/e.
But anyway Mr. Yo refuses to let me go to the bathroom…like ever. My school has a policy that for the first and last 10 mins of class people arent allowed to use the bathroom and im cool w/ that. But once those 10 mins are up the teacher has to let us use the bathroom. He will give everyone else permission and refuse to let me go…every…single…time. The first time he did that I told him off, every time after that I would ask him (out of respect -.-) and just leave when he said No. He is/ was not about to sacrifice my bladder, kidney, or liver because he’s a butthole. Shoot I walk straight out the class and come straight back when im done…Like A boss!

Just Me

Well, hello there. salaams…howdy. Im maryam, 16. trini and african american, MUSLIM & PROUD. I decided to start blogging because Im a pretty opinionated person and I like letting people know those opinions…whether they want to hear them or not. So I figured..why not let them read them ^_^ (I love this lil face ^_^).

Besides I like reading, writing, literature <–( did I spell that right?) the works. I’ve kinda always wanted a blog anyway. Another reason Im doing this is to show this hard headed, big headed, ugly faced world that muslims are regular people too. So im basically gonna be discussing what ever is on my pretty lil mind.

The best part is I can basically say w/e I want on here because who ever is reading this doesn’t know me…and if you do…Aw well :/