Just Make Du'aa

• e p i l o g u e •

Dina

I once read this article about how some Muslim families never give their daughters freedom, so the girls grow up thinking they can only be free when they get married. According to the article, this leads to girls depending on a spouse for the rest of their lives and never really taking life into their own hands. A few years ago my view on this topic was very black and white, I didn't see how interwoven everything was. Actually, it took me a little over a year in my marriage before I was able to reflect and see how the way I was raised affected the person I had become. However, for me, it was not that I depended too much on my husband, but that I did not know how to care for myself when there were others in my life. There was a lot of pressure on me, pressure to be the best at whatever role I was playing. For a while I forgot that I should also enjoy the role I'm playing.

So, I guess what I'm trying to say, is that the environment parents create for their children will shape who they are. The good will stick and the bad will hurt forever. My parents made some mistakes, but they tried their best, and they loved me. In the end, that's all I could ask for: love and effort.

Those two words shaped my marriage. Slowly, the two of us learned that with love and effort, we could build a successful, harmonious life. We worked at these two goals as I finished my studies, started working, as Farouz's practice grew, and when we had our daughter.

It was my two weeks before I finished school and received my doctorates degree. I had more work than I either me or Farouz thought a human could handle. The elementary school I worked at was prepping for the end of year exams, I was finalizing everything needed for graduation, including my research presentations, and I had recently started to help run the reading buddy program I joined during my senior year of undergrad school. Every second of my day was filled with work, I rarely slept, and often forgot to eat.

Farouz picked up everything else, he cleaned the house and either cooked or brought home food. He stayed up with me when I needed help and was ready to pull me away from everything when he felt I needed a break. Like the day I started to think I may be pregnant.

I was up again, pulling an all nighter because I needed to plan a lesson for my class and I found some citation errors in my presentation. My work-filled brain didn't think to leave the bedroom, where Farouz was sleeping soundly on the bed beside me. I didn't even notice when he shuffled, so when his hoarse, sleep filled voice, said, "what the hell, Dina," I jumped in fright, almost spilling my water bottle all over my laptop. "Crap, sorry," he mumbled, sitting up and knuckling sleepily at his eyes. "Didn't mean to scare you," he placed a light kiss on my cheek, "what time is it?"

"3am," I said, my eyes flickering to the clock at the bottom of my laptop.

He was silent for a while, I started to think he had fallen back asleep when he said, "3am, like three in the morning?" I hummed a response, too busy with what was on my screen. "Okay," he yawned, "you're done." Farouz gently grabbed my wrists and coerced my hands away from the laptop, making sure to save what I had done before closing it.

"No, Farouz please I need to finish that–"

"My love, you need sleep."

Tears pricked at my eyes, the lack of sleep exaggerating my emotions, "I have to finish it, please just a couple more hours I need it to be–"

"Dina."

My hands started shaking like they hadn't in a long time, I took them back from him and started massaging my fingers in attempt to stop before he noticed. "Just a few more minutes please," my voice was backed up with sobs.

"Baby," he shifted, taking my shaking hands in his steady warm ones, "Dina, you're having a panic attack."

My vision was blurring in and out as I tried to catch a breath, not knowing where this came from. Farouz was wide awake by then, words spilling quickly out of his mouth as he tried to calm me down, his hands rubbing up my arms and hands. But all I could focus on was how my chest was closing up, then, "I'm going to throw up," I heaved before I started coughing.