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Fabric of Resistance
How the Hijab Became a Battleground for Identity and Freedom
As a child, I would fall asleep wrapped in the warmth of my mother’s hijab.
The scent of her lingering like a lullaby. It was never forced upon me. Instead, it was a symbol of comfort, of strength, of devotion — something I longed to embody. The summer after my ninth birthday, I practically begged my mother to let me wear one, eager to mirror the woman I admired most. But when she hesitated, I didn’t understand.
What was she afraid of? It didn’t take long to find out.
To me, my hijab symbolized love, security, and faith. To others, it became something entirely different. Over time, I learned that Western society had assigned its own meanings to my choice: oppression, submission, terrorism. I was followed home from school, harassed, and even poisoned.
One time…one time someone deliberately laced my Tinkerbell lunchbox with chemicals.
Teachers spoke of 9/11 with pointed glances in my direction, as if I, a child born four years after the attacks, bore responsibility. The weight of the fabric on my head grew heavier, not because of its material, but because of what society made it represent.
