Black Suede Shoes

Exhibit A: The ultimate power of a new dress. Circa 1989.

When I was a little girl, I remember having this butterflies-in-my-stomach excitement whenever Eid (the Islamic holiday) was approaching. Once upon a time, Eid had a magic to it, a spirit quite similar to what we see and feel around Christmas time. Remember those kids who awoke with joy and squeals on Christmas morning? That was my brother and I twice a year and I have to give full credit to my mother, who worked tirelessly to create the magical spark of Eid.

In our underwater themed pastel green bedroom (ah, the good old days) we would open our eyes to the sound of our mother singing in Arabic, “Eid is here! Eid is here!” an instant classic she created that is still proudly sung today. Bright white lights would illuminate the surprise that somehow continued to take our breath away each Eid, despite its repetition. Apparently, each Eid eve, my mother would be up in the middle of the night, with a helium tank and assorted balloons, filling them, tying them and then letting them float across our bedroom ceiling to create the colorful delight.

Fluorescent banners would be hanging from wall to wall, and our gifts—picture perfectly wrapped I might add—sat at the foot of our beds. And if all that wasn’t enough, my greatest memory is surely that of Eid clothes, perfectly laid out beside the presents. The ones I waited 30 long days for, staring at them each night, stroking their fabric and dreaming of when Eid morning would finally arrive, fantasizing about how beautiful they would look. How beautiful I could look.

There was this one Eid, when my mother finally permitted me to buy my first pair of heels, the shoes that revolutionized Dania forever. I was no more than eight or nine and one day, while running errands, we stopped by the shoes section and she said, “Okay, let’s pick out some new special occasion shoes for Eid and such.” Gleefully, I began the hunt for the ones, you know, those shoes that sparkle with your name. Aisle after aisle I browsed and then, there they were, the perfect gorgeous “high heels” on the planet of an eight/nine year old. They were these black suede shoes with a strap buckle closure, embellished with one faux glittering diamond. The best part? Their heel—the petty little one inch heel (my, how I’ve graduated with the now minimum of four inches) that clicked when I walked.

When we arrived home, I was holding them tighter than my heart. I asked my mom if I could keep them next to my bed instead of tucking them away in the shoe closet. She agreed as long as I don’t wear them out until Eid because, “Remember Dania, these are special occasion shoes and you don’t want to ruin them.” Oh mama, look at me now, lol!

Everyday after school, I would run up to my room, check on those black suede beauties and then wear them in front of the mirror. I remember being disappointed at the carpet for muffling the sound of their alluring click, so I took out a large board from a board game we had, laid it out and walked on top of it for ten minutes. My heart was going to burst from joy, excitement and anticipation, and each night after breaking the fast and doing prayers, I’d ask God for a quicker arrival of Eid to finally wear those shoes outside in the world.

It felt like going without food or drink or excess television was beyond doable in comparison to those gorgeous shoes, but what I didn’t realize was what gains I received for those 30 days of anticipation.

One of my favorite things about our holidays is that they are earned; we work diligently and struggle to do a soul revival and then God grants us the gift of celebrating our rejuvenation. In Ramadan, we fasted from more than food and drink. We asked for forgiveness, we sought mercy and peace, we mended broken ties, we felt the needs of others and exercised empathy. We fought the mental and spiritual battle to become someone better than we were right before Ramadan and finished the month (hopefully) anew. So we celebrate Eid-al-Fitr, the Holiday of the Fast Breaking. During the time of Hajj, millions of Muslims perform the pilgrimage in Mecca and pray daily for the entire world; and on that last day of the pilgrimage Muslims worldwide fast in solidarity and in remembrance of Prophet Abraham’s journey to sacrifice. It is once again a reminder of putting God first and building our souls around that essential concept. So afterwards, we celebrate Eid-al-Adha, the Holiday of the Sacrifice.

I’ve noticed a trend in the last decade where many of my Muslim peers have lost that magic of Eid, like it almost is nothing but another day, except we can eat. Many refuse to take the day off from work or to take their children out of school because, as I’ve heard, “it’s not worth it,” and I cringe. WHAT?!?! It’s more than worth it, it’s what you make of it. It’s a gift from God to celebrate what you’ve accomplished for not only yourself, but the entire world. Embrace it. And if you have children, you have to do this! You must make them feel the gravity of what their holiday is. Be it with black suede shoes or Hot Wheels racecars that change color in warm water (yeah, that’s what my brother got and I’ll admit, I played with those more than he did).

That Eid was approximately 20 years ago and yet I still remember the detail of that day. From what I was wearing, to who we saw, to the Hometown Buffet where the Syrian American peeps were hosting Eid lunch—the restaurant with the dirty red carpet that also muffled my shoes’ clicks and so I couldn’t wait to go back outside to the black asphalt and hear that click click click.

I’ve sadly read articles ridiculing girls and their fashions on Eid, calling it overdone fashion shows that defeat the purpose of Ramadan, but I have to disagree, especially when in Chapter 7: Verse 31, God is actually telling us the following:

“Oh children of Adam, take your embellishments at every place of purpose, and eat and drink and do not be excessive, for He does not love those who are excessive.”

We are literally being told that it’s not only okay, but expected to look good (and smell good, by the way!) as servants of God, and what better place and time than Eid? Why not treat ourselves after 30 days of rejuvenation (of course, within reasonable limits considering that Ramadan was all about will power and charity)? We cleansed our hearts, minds and souls anew, why not start off this new phase with a new ensemble? Why not let our children savor the taste of making Eid extra special with that specific Eid outfit? Don’t underestimate the power of new clothes. Working with shelters, I have seen and heard the difference it makes, the boost of confidence, self-esteem and joy it brings.

Which links well with my next point—joy. I’ve unfortunately encountered Eid days that have been filled with ugly community drama and it made me wonder whether or not we were in Ramadan less than 24 hours prior Can we dedicate the day of Eid to pure joy and happiness? Can we accept that while the world has a lot of pain, too much pain, ugly horrible pain, we know we sincerely fasted, prayed and begged God for His Love and Mercy? Can we savor the blessing of having lived to experience another beautiful Ramadan and were granted the Eid to celebrate it? Can we instill its value and love in our children so that they may cherish it even as adults?

Can we be the succeeding ones, described in 59:10, who pray that God forgives us and our sisters and brothers—who preceded us in faith—and to not place within us any sense of spite in our hearts towards believers?

In a time where our Muslim sisters and brothers struggle with identity, fear and acceptance, it is our responsibility to soak up the peace and love from Ramadan and spread it everywhere from the day of Eid and on till we restock next Ramadan. Whether it’s filling up our children’s eyes with happiness from balloons and black suede shoes, or not judging sisters and brothers who look (and smell) nice on Eid (and hopefully every other day). We need to appreciate the happiness emanating from our peers and use it as positive energy to keep going. These are to be our Eid traditions that should never falter.

Take the time to savor the moment, the blessing, and spread real joy this year. May God accept every person’s prayer in these last few days of Ramadan, and in every day we are blessed to have after, whoever the person may be.

Put God First

Put God First.

That was the message in sight for a few miles on the traffic filled freeway yesterday; well that and the late afternoon sun reminding me of the few more hours remaining before the fast breaking. But that message, repeated on both the window and the license plate of the car before, came at the right time. A time when I had been wondering, where do we draw the fine line?

We currently live in a time where we’re far more afraid of being politically correct than we are of being morally correct. It’s no longer acceptable to be offended by curse words or inappropriate public displays of affection. It’s no longer acceptable to live by rules and regulations. Society has devolved into a “no holds barred” lifestyle and if you refuse it you’re too extreme, too limited, too conservative, just too much for the “do everything” vibe trending.

Here’s the thing though, I can’t see the justification of re-ranking my religion as second or third in priority due to fear of what others will think, especially when my religion has provided me a plethora of avenues for practice that do not hinder my ability to live nor the ability of others around me. Islam is a religion of balance but things have been off center with its followers and no one is bold enough to address it because of the great PC (political correctness) and the fact that for centuries, misinterpretation has been the lead guide, leaving behind the words of God in the dark, collecting dust and overshadowed by man-made texts.

God says He “does not shy away from the truth (33:53)” and I wonder why we often do. Why has it become an embarrassment to say that this—whatever it may be—is prohibited in my faith? It’s come to a point where many are working their ways into reinterpreting God’s words to better fit the mainstream agenda, rather than understanding there are things indeed prohibited for reasons.

Has it become forgotten that life is a test? That every moment lived is one each human is held accountable for in the hereafter? There’s a verse that has resonated deep within me since last Ramadan: “Do people think that they will be left to say, “We believe,” without being tested (29:2)?” I have read it hundreds of times in my life, but I never really paid attention until I was enduring one of the greatest tests in my life and it was like God was saying, “Here, you seem to have forgotten what this life is all about.” Taking a few steps back I remembered that I belong to Him, and so it is to Him that I will return.

Sometimes in our greatest struggles we tend to forget the purpose of life and where we fit in it. Sometimes society is a stronger influence on us than it should be and we lose sight of our priorities. I get it. I really do, I’m as human as the next human, but I am only caught off guard when someone tries to dehumanize our humanness. By that I mean the idea that we no longer need to struggle through trials and tribulations, but rather let ourselves just be. It’s this trend of taking too much refuge in the idea of supposed immunity because of God’s endless Mercy. Therefore, all His words are simply suggestions not laws—you know like stop signs and red lights today—so there’s no need to exert much energy.

I think this is harder for me to digest now because first, it’s being pushed in my face more, and second, it’s Ramadan. Ramadan, the month that is literally an annual 30-day training period to teaching oneself that life is not about instant gratification or yielding to personal desires. Ramadan, a time where we are rewiring our bodies, minds and souls to recognize that it will face various temptations—obvious and hidden—to things known as prohibited and yet finding that inner strength to overcome because one is more than capable. Not only that, remembering that you exist in this life for a purpose and a mission from God, and therefore need to keep your goals and priorities in order.

The Quran asks, “Have you seen the one who takes his own desires for a deity (25:43)?” It’s a reminder that we humans are by default created to have desires, to want to yield to them, but the goal is understanding we have the power and strength to refrain. That is the biggest part of the test and it started at the dawn of time, with Prophet Adam and his wife.

Funny, isn’t it, how this will be perceived as coercive or lecture-like because it is about religious betterment (and believe me, I can already feel the hate heat of retaliation baking in the oven as I type), but were it to come from a highly renowned Ivy League graduate speaking on time management or the psychology of happiness it’s more than just acceptable, it’s an exciting inspiring challenge? Why are we so willing to do it when Tony Robbins tells us to but not so much when God does?

Then, when we are not willing to do it, why does it become the automatic next step to deconstruct the meanings of God’s words to alleviate our guilt? That’s another hugely growing trend for the past few years. Once I posted a status on Facebook stating I had greater respect for the person strong enough to admit to their weakness than the one who goes about to rewrite what God said/meant. I had just about had it with people trying to convince me of the “okay-ness” with regards to premarital sex, alcohol, drugs and a few other things. It came to a point where those of us who chose to abide by those clear-cut prohibitions were the ones made to feel guilty or wrong, despite not uttering a word to everyone else who chose not to abide by the prohibitions.

Freedom of choice is an essential element in Islam. The verses advocating against coercion of faith are often repeated in the Quran and I love that because it is not only referring to the coercion of conversion, but it is also speaking to the coercion of Muslims on Muslims into performing certain acts of worship. The problem is that now there is a growing population trying to restate prohibitions for the sake of social acceptance, for the sake of fitting into the socially constructed “progressive” or “moderate” Muslim title.

What happened to self-control? What happened to will power? What happened to the belief that if you set your mind to something, you can achieve it? One Ramadan, I was approached by a guy who straight up said he believed the idea of fasting to be “unhealthy” and “crazy.” With a look of disgust he continued to express how he would never forbid his precious body from food because he gets “hangry” and believes humans need to eat five meals a day. With a look of pity I said, “Nothing God has asked of me could be unhealthy, so let’s start there. Second, a person can literally do anything they believe in, but it does require some mental strength that well, not everyone has.”

Last year I wrote this Ramadan post (http://ladynarrator.blogspot.com/2015/06/rsvp-1.html?m=1) where I mentioned that the giving up of food is literally the easiest part. It's the self-reformation we struggle with, and considering our current social strives, I'm wondering why this emphasis seems to be lost? Imagine if we educate our children from birth that they are strong willed individuals who can work on themselves continuously to overcome temptations. That mistakes will happen and poor judgment calls will be made, but they are lessons and reminders to our greater calling in life that should not be forgotten? The calling to be genuinely decent human beings that serve God by serving others, but without watering down God's Message to custom fit the human desires.

I pray that these last few days of Ramadan are filled with pure strength—mental and spiritual—that will enable us to stay on track and keep focused in our mission. May we grow closer to Him through every test and may He accept all of our intentions and efforts in these precious days and every other day in our lives.