Being Mrs. Kubra, Me, Me, Me

To all the children I hold close to my heart…

Ten months before I upped and moved to Qatar, I lost my first child in a miscarriage. After 4 years and 500 failed attempts at writing this without sounding cliché or cringe, here I am on my 31st birthday, ready to embrace the cringe. This has been a long time coming. * We're living through… Continue reading To all the children I hold close to my heart…

Diasporic Identity

I’m an oppressed Muslim woman?

Earlier this week it was International Women's Day and like all other days - Mother's day, Father's day, Independence day - it was difficult to acknowledge the day let alone engage in any discussions. You see, my problem isn't with the day nor with those who celebrate it, my problem is with the fight. Commemorative… Continue reading I’m an oppressed Muslim woman?

Diasporic Identity

Homeless daughters of a hybrid diaspora

The cursor blinks expectantly. You wonder, shall I begin with I ‘returned’ home or I’ve been 'away’ from home? At the airport, we try muting our pain through feeble consolations. You will be back next summer, it’s just a year. No. I have holidays in January.   That's good… I'll be back before you know… Continue reading Homeless daughters of a hybrid diaspora