The Hooded Hijabi

Glimpse of the Past

I hate summer break. I don't know why people create such a hype over it. You have to stay home and try to come up with things to keep yourself busy so that you don't lose your marbles. I spend most of my vacations in the local library, my room and wherever Rachel takes me.

I never was an introvert but ever since my father passed away I feel like all the energy within has been drained away. I was the kind of a person who people looked forward to hanging out with at parties. I was loud and -I quote Rachel- "full of life".

You see, what I've learnt in these twenty years of my life is that everyone is fighting their own demons but no one wants to be with someone who can't hide their blood-stained swords well enough. You must appear okay at all times and so I do, except at home.

My mother and I used to be pretty close. We would often go shopping together, try different recipes -sometimes failing miserably- and watch Korean dramas together. We even started saving up for a trip to South Korea since we both were so obsessed with the Korean culture, language, celebrities and well, everything.

But ever since my mother lost her husband her whole life revolves around helping us stand on our own feet. Sometimes I feel like she's secretly waiting for Ali and I to get done with our studies and land a suitable job so that she can walk away from us and live in isolation.

Or maybe it's just my mind coming up with depressing scenarios because that's just the kind of person I am now. It's funny how I can't even trust my own mother now. She'll leave me one day, just like my father did.

Somehow a part of me believes Ali will stay by my side forever. He's the only person I can trust; oh, and there's Mustafa now as well.

As I'm looking blankly at my Jurisprudence text book, my eyes fixated on "grundnorm" from the past six minutes, I hear a knock on my room's door.

"You can come in, Ali", I say.

I can tell by the way he knocks that he's just here to chill out with me for a while. He tries really hard to fill up the gaps left by my father's absence - since I was really close to him- but he does so in a manner that I wouldn't notice. Little does he know, I know him better than he knows himself.

The tall, tan-skinned boy walks in while combing his jet black, silky hair with his fingers and smiles at me. "How do I look, Api?", he asks.

I close my book and put it aside on my bed as I lunge forward to grab his shirt from the front. He falls on my bed in front of me and I ruffle his hair until it's a mess. "Darn you, woman! It took me twenty minutes to fix this!", he jumps off the bed and haphazardly fixes his hair.

I pick a lemon tartlet placed on the plate beside me and lick the lemon curd off it.
"Oh please, no girl is ever going to fall for a good-for-nothing guy like you, if that's what you're aiming for", I say as I roll my eyes to make it sound more dramatic and take a bite of the tart.

"Speak for yourself", replies Ali with a poker face. Ali grabs a tartlet from the plate and I throw a tantrum,"These are mine! You finished yours last night!" I begin to whine loudly. Since he is seated near my feet I take a good aim and hit right in his abdomen.

Thud! A sound of something heavy falling comes from downstairs. Ali and I share a brief look before we rush down to the living room.

My mother is sitting cross-legged on the floor, her head buried in her face and a few steps away from her is a broken stereo. It was already worn out so having to watch its pieces scattered on the floor doesn't upset me. What does send a surge of anger down from my chest up to my head is my mother's behavior.

I take a breath and whisper, "loan sharks?" She doesn't reply and remains in her current position refusing to move even a bit. A few strands of dry hair are let free from the bun tied in the back of her head. Her lean body has gotten even weaker in the past few months, though the loose shalwar kameez almost hides her figure. 

I look away and close my eyes, trying my best to keep my calm. Ali bends down and puts his arm around Ma and lays his head on her. I turn around and am about to walk away when I hear her mumble something under breath. "...bills. Where am I supposed... the money to pay off the bills while I have all the loan your father took for your education? Had your father been alive I wouldn't have had to deal with this all by myself."

Before I can stop myself, I turn to face her and speak at the top of my lungs, "Why do you keep doing this to me! Why can't you let me forget anything! Do you have any idea what I go through every night when that night's events keep replaying in my head! You didn't see him! I did! I saw him, Ma! I saw him...die. I saw...I...", I break down and tears rush down my cheeks as I feel like someone is suffocating me in a plastic bag.

I hate being weak and vulnerable in front of anyone, especially my mother so I storm out of the front door, grabbing a scarf on my way and roughly covering my head. Only when I'm outside walking in the street do I realise that I'm not wearing any jacket; just my old hoodie that I wear almost at all times when I'm home.

The cold wind hits my face and my whole body shivers not just with cold but because of all the emotions boiling within me. I feel so physically weak. My legs shake as my hands struggle to find some warmth in my hoodie's pockets and my face is half covered with the hood on my head. I head to the library and as I enter the lobby, I hear someone call out my name. I look back and see Mustafa standing there smiling at me.

<End of Chapter 6>