Me and My Hijab
When the postcard came in the mail with the word, “Islam,” in huge print, I was intrigued. The local Islamic center was holding an open house to invite non-believers to learn more about their faith. It was an outreach program designed to dispel myths and open up conversations with a predominantly Christian community.
If it was any one of the Christian churches that does recruiting events like this, I wouldn’t go. Of course, their postcards and flyers are often on the preachy side, which is a big turn-off. But going to the Islamic center was kinda like going to one of those free time-share weekends knowing full well you weren’t going to buy a time share. We were just in it for the adventure.
But now that I’ve been, I have a strange urge to go back. I’m still the time-share lurker, but I feel like I didn’t get enough face time with the women. I felt like I walked in there with an open mind, but I didn’t engage any of the women in conversation because of some inexplicable reserve. I don’t want to ask any of them if they like sex or anything. It’s disrespectful, and I already know the answer. Most do, some don’t. It’s a universal truth that unites us all, right?
What I did learn is that women wear a hijab to cover their hair out of some expression of modesty and piety. It’s a personal choice that marks them as Muslim like crosses around the neck and those little Jesus fishes on the backs of people’s cars will mark them as Christian. I still don’t know why modesty and piety are important or what they really mean, but the women gave me a lovely hijab of my own when I was there.
Somehow I feel that I would wear it in the comfort of my own home but not out in public. I know, it’s the opposite of what I would do if I were Muslim. I can pretend in the bedroom, but out in the world, I am who I am. Unless it’s halloween, and then it’s all fair game if some famous Muslim chick dies.
(Note that the picture is not me. It’s a model.)