Sometimes, it is easy to forget the things that most matter to you. Sometimes, it is easier left alone than attended to. And sometimes, ignorance really is bliss.
Tonight, in the confined corner of my bathroom, I cried; until my nose had run dry, till my tears had stopped rolling through the hair of my two-day old stubble, and till my head pounded and ears rang.
And all that pushed my sorrows out were the things that I had chosen to ignore, the people I was beginning to forget.
I am Muslim, 18 and beautiful.
This is the first extract from my diary that is anything but. On my phone, my dearest friend, will I write my endurances and escapades.
For I am no longer beautiful, will no longer be 18 and do not painstakingly question whether I am, or not, Muslim.
