I haven’t written in a while. I didn’t even get a chance to share this yesterday! But, this is a piece I wrote one year ago about my naanami (maternal grandmother) who passed away on 9/11/01. It’s probably one of the most emotional pieces I have ever written.
Fifteen years ago today, our world was changed forever. Though I had no personal connection to the victims or the perpetrators of that tragedy, as a Muslim woman living in America, I did not come out of the ordeal unscathed.
Thankfully, this country has made some progress – Muslim Americans finally feel empowered and safe enough to share their stories – but we have not come far enough.
The 9/11 story that I will be sharing with you today, however, won’t be adding to this narrative, at least not in the way you might think. Because despite everything that has happened – Muslim men facing surveillance simply because their beards don’t look like the one displayed on a box of “Just for Men,” or women’s headscarves being pulled off because some outsider feels the need to “liberate” them, and countless other horror stories – 9/11 doesn’t bring to my mind…
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