A Window Into My World

As teenagers we tend to think that we're invincible.  We think that we are impervious to any fatality or misfortune.  To us, the future seems like a God-given right.  But on Valentines Day I found myself at the funeral of my friend Bilal.  He wasn't my best friend, but he was a friend.  He was only 15 years old.  It made me keenly aware that each day is a blessing and not a right.  It’s a gift to be lived.



I am a teen.  Yes, I too get in fights with my mother, get grounded for texting at the table and for not being home by curfew.  But the one difference between me and the rest of American teenagers with pierced tongues and blue hair (aside from the fact that I have neither) is the fact that in addition to my American identity, I am also of Muslim faith.  As well as carrying my phone, lip gloss, and sunglasses in my purse, I also carry a scarf with me.  And in the middle of wondering with my friends what happened to K-Fed and why on earth Brittney is still trying to make a comeback, I get up to go pray (well at least I try to most of the time).  It's this constant goal of trying to attain moderation in my life that sets me apart from most teens.  Most days I delight in this task, it's like trying to separate Oreos apart and trying to get the cream all on one side (for those of you who haven't done that, it is basically the epitome of life).  But sometimes, trying to maintain who I am in a world where morality and ethics aren't well accommodated can be pretty tough.  Especially when I see so many of my American Muslim peers struggling and choosing the path of least resistance.

That's when I decided that my voice needed to be heard-and by someone else besides my mom.  I needed adults to understand that contrary to what they think, high school has changed.  Arguments with parents for the most part is like trying to convince a brick wall to walk- it's futile.  Adults think they hold all answers for everything (but if they did, wouldn't we have found a cure for cancer or a way for world peace by now?), and teens refuse to accept that and believe that they are always right (but if that was the case then teachers would be out of work).  It's a tough wall to scale and often times, parents just give up the battles and leave their kid to sleep in until 3 in the afternoon or play COD all night simply because they just don't feel it's worth the fight.  And most arguments end in slammed doors, tears, stormy silences, or if you're my parent, a four page email landing in your inbox filled with phrases like "why can't you ever understand" or "you're ruining my life!" (yes I know, I must be a delightful kid to parent).  So when it comes to issues like whether or not to go to Homecoming, or how to be modest while still wearing your volleyball uniform; issues only faced by the American Muslim teen that's still trying to be normal, it's essential that parents take the time to understand what it's like and empathize and try to age yourself backwards to the time when popped collars and jelly shoes were the most important thing on your horizon.

That's why I want adults to listen to me and not just see me as Humaira and Edmund's Daughter, or Lemon Bar Girl, but as the teen trying to give you a window into her world, so that when you're sitting in the car with your kid, battling over listening to NPR or B96, you can be able to slide yourself across to the passenger seat, and into your child's converse shoes, and see right through their eyes.  I want to tell you the struggles that we have, and the choices we face, and most importantly, how we feel about those choices.  I will admit, that as teenagers in a nation that is open and accepting to other kinds of people, and as a part of one of the most privileged groups in the world, we certainly have it good.  But that in no way lessens the struggles we face.

Samar