Nothing Is As It Seems

Prologue

"I'm not here to be small, to compare, to judge (myself or you), to fit in or to be perfect. I'm here to grow, to learn, to love, to be human."
― Sue Fitzmaurice

The "Ameen" reverberates across the hall like waves crashing on the shore. Upstairs in the women's section, ladies young and old merge together in one infinite line, all praising and remembering the same God. At least that's what it looks like from the vantage point of the beautiful chandeliers. As we move closer towards the worshippers, we start to see something very different...

Let's take Fatima for example, still breathing heavily from the long flight of stairs , she tries her best to focus on the beautiful verses, as the imam drones on in his melodious voice.

"Allahu Akbar..."

She bends down, her iftari blissfully swimming around in her bloated stomach. Huh...they got new carpets, she thinks to herself. The geometric designs of the carpet dance back and forth as she slowly stands upright. Her food rushes downwards, weighing down her entire body.

"Focus....Focus..."

She tries her best, but after a loud burp from her neighbour in prayer, a strange smell of roasted onions wafts up to her nose.

"EW!! Gross!! Now my focus is out the window..." she groans to herself. As her forehead touches the carpet in the final prostration, her mind begins to wander, "Sara still hasn't called back, I didn't even do anything wrong I-" up again in the sitting position with the buzzing of devout whispers in her ear, she tries her best to remember God but before she knows it the Imam has read the "Salaam", ending the prayer. She sighs deeply, "Well that was a complete fail..."

The doors of the masjid are thrown open abruptly as a young woman with a bright pink hijab rushes in, her dark brown curls sneaking out of her veil.

"Hmph! Why did she even bother coming?? Taraweeh is almost over..." Fatima thinks to herself, looking at the bright pink hijab disdainfully. Fatima looks around, eyeing the other ladies. She watches a young woman, perhaps in her early twenties, using a metal chair from time to time in her prayer. "Kids these days!! So lazy!! I mean I know this imam's stretches the prayer, but your young!! You should be full of energy! I bet she doesn't think twice when she walks in the mall for 2 hours straight with her friends..."

The Imam calls out for the beginning of the final prayer. All the women begin shuffling noisily, attempting to straighten their rows, a young boy, not more than 2 years, rushes through the front row making plane noises.

"Whooosh!! This is amazingggg! Mama should bring me here all the time!!"

Yusuf runs around weaving in and out of the rows.  With the ladies all towering over him, rooted to the spot, a human forest was created for Yusuf. The occasional spray of oud like mist in the forest and the carpets like plush grass providing the buoyancy he needed to spring into his mother's lap. He wiggles around in her bright pink hijab, searching for the most comfortable position to nap in. Thrown abruptly from his resting place, he looks up to see his mother standing over him, her hands bound tightly across her chest, lips pursed. Yusuf trying to get her attention, reaches for her face, his chubby fingers still dripping with syrup from the sweet Mama had given him earlier in the evening. She doesn't respond, eyes shut, lips pursed. "Why is Mama ignoring me?? I was a good boy today, I gave her a big kissy in the morning and did not leave the masjid when she told me too."

Yusuf tries to remember his mother's instructions...

"Yusuf, don't leave this place!! Ok?? I will be right back. I need to take care of something..." She pinches his round cheeks, plants a kiss on his forehead and rushes for the door. Her soft brown curls stubbornly poking out of her bright pink hijab.