 |
| 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.
