#41 in Spiritual 2/3/17.
Religion. It's a big part of you. Some would say that religion is basically who you are.
All her life Amira has been told who she is. What she is.
A Muslim girl.
But the more she learns about her religion the more she r...
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I'm the first to admit that I'm not independent. I get attached- not easily but when I do get attached to a person, it's damn near impossible for me to let go of them.
In some twisted way I was attached to my mother, not the affectionate kind of attached, I was codependent on her. Which was not good since I was a) leaving and b) planning on never coming back once I broke out of the bird's nest. She was the one who called all the shots. She was the ventriloquist and I was the puppet.
That is what runs through my head as I sit still and stare at my overstuffed closet. What do you wear to meet your future husband who you don't want to marry?
Definitely not one of the deep necked, pastel colored dresses my mom bought last week, that's for sure.
A loud knock sounds on my door and in comes my mother, wearing a bright blue dress adorned with pearls.
"Amira, are you ready?" she gasps at my state and I don't blame her, my hair is disheveled and I'm wearing my strawberry shortcake pajamas, which I reserve for those special bad days.
"What are you doing?" she asks nearing hysterics, and I don't reply.
She walks to my closet, rummages around and resurfaces with a dress I never knew I had.
"Here," she hands me the short piece of gray cloth, "Get dressed."
I give a curt nod whilst playing with the silky material.
"Oh and put your hair up."
With that she leaves, slamming the door behind her. Leaving me to wallow in self pity as wave after wave of disappointment crashes through me.
What had I been expecting? A pep talk? A lecture on how much this meant to her? I was practically giving my life away for the sake of her so called social and religious values and all she had to say on the matter was; put your hair up.
For a person who strives to figure people out for a hobby, I am ashamed to admit that I know next to nothing about my mother's character. She's a mystery worthy enough to be written about by Agatha Christie herself.
After a quick shower I put the dress on and see my reflection in the mirror and immediately feel like bawling my eyes out. I look good. Yes, I realize how conceited I sound right now, but it's the truth. I look better than I have in a while and why is that a bad thing you ask?
Well, the plan was supposed to go something like this; I would dress horribly, be on my worst behavior, and basically be a witch. The poor designated husband would be repulsed and never want to see my face again, let alone want to marry me. And I would live happily ever after.
But of course this stupid dress ruins everything. It accentuates whatever curves I have, and trust me when I say that's a huge feat in itself, makes my eyes pop out and overall just makes me look more human.
