Holy Apostles Soup Kitchen

You Don’t Know Me…

In Guest stories, Stories, secrets & dreams on May 17, 2013 at 3:06 pm

sun rain

I’m just a regular kind of girl.  I love reading books, especially those of a scientific temperament.  I want to know how hemoglobin turns into oxyhemoglobin, why celestial bodies are spherical, why is it possible to hear radio transmissions of a quasar many billion light years away, what is the meaning of life – I want to know it all.  I do occasionally slip in a romance novel or two here and there – I am after all, a girl.  I love to write as well because writing, unlike speaking, lets me take pause and gather my thoughts, backtrack if necessary and speak articulately.  Writing also is a bringer of imagination come to life, birth of worlds unseen, slipped chances made possible…I lead a beautiful life in my head and nothing brings it out quite like writing.

I love flowers like any girl would – I am a rescue for limp lilacs, red roses, pink and white peonies and fragrant gardenias baking in the sun at the local delicatessen.  I have just bought my millionth Angel Whispers candle because it promises to smell like a floral bouquet.  I love perfumes as well and collect them – not solely for fragrance’s sake but for a memory associated to it.  Downtown Girl correlates to when I turned sixteen, Wind Song for a particular Autumn in Brooklyn, Romance for my college graduation and Pure Poison which …which my little brother thinks is aptly named.

Whereas people hungrily look at a weather forecast to see sun-filled days ahead, I eagerly seek rain and thundershowers.  There is something so comforting about the rain – the water purifies as it hits skin, strengthens stems, revives a barren world.  Through curtains of rain and bellowing thunder, angels secretly speak to humankind, passing on knowledge.  However, man has stopped listening – they pray for days that scorch.

I am a mother.  No passion has been so voraciously needed to be fulfilled as that of it.  It all makes sense now – of how in every animal species, the mother bares teeth and outstretches claws to protect her offspring to the death.  Human mothers are no different.  My child is the remedy to all of my failures, my disappointments, my dreams that have gone unanswered.  He will, through me, succeed where I have failed, be content whereas I wasn’t and witness his dreams come to fruition through practice of guidance and inexhaustible love.  If GOD loves us most, then a mother’s love is certainly right behind GOD’s heels.

I am a believer in soulmates.  I truly believe that there lies an existence that complements mine.  In the inexplicable grand design of the universe, I want to believe that he is out there, waiting for the time allotted to make presence known.  Once I had a dream (nightmare is actually more befitting) that I was told that he does not exist, that GOD has not given him breath.  Upon waking, I wiped my tears and I kept on looking.  I will use these eyes of mine to search for him till the day I close them forever.

I am a Muslim woman.  Your first question, upon looking at me would be if I was a convert.  My answer would be a swift no.  I was born into this religion the day I came to be in Brooklyn.  I am no terrorist, I do not wear a belt of bombs across my waist, I do not hate America or any other religion and I believe the choice to cover up in a hijab should be left to the individual.  I feel like I am in the middle of a great bridge, one side my faith and the other my nationality.  I need both to cross to and fro to destinations on either side of the bridge.  I am a Muslimah, I am an American and I am proud to be both.

By Rosetta Miletti North

Photo credit: k r ranjith


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