“Well, here it goes!” I said to myself as I prepared for my first day of middle school. I took three pins out of the top shelf of my dresser: one red, one silver and one blue.
“You’re going to be late!” my mother said, as I prepared myself to wear the hijab for the first time in public.
I took out the scarf that I had planned to wear with my “first day of school outfit”.  I started with one side of my scarf longer than the other. Then, I took the longer side and wrapped it clockwise around my head,  pinning it along the way, so the edges of the scarf became smooth. I glanced at the clock, and I noticed I was five minutes behind schedule. I looked at the mirror, just to check if I looked okay. I could tell that I hadn’t mastered the “technique” of wearing it. I tried to replicate the way my mother and my older friends wore it, but I clearly failed. I really thought this was worst part of becoming a “Hijabi”-- not knowing how to wear it- but I was soon proved wrong.

As my father drove me to school, my mind was cluttered with so many questions. Will my friends recognize me? Will people even talk to me? Will people support me? Will I be bullied? My heart was dragged down to my chest as I tried to address these questions, and the more I thought about it, the deeper my heart sank. Then I realized my intention; I wear the hijab to please God. No matter who tried to tease me, or tell me otherwise, at least I have God on my side, right?

It wasn’t until the beginning of third quarter when problems started to arise. Luis, an intimidating boy marched into class, his hair with gel ,his pants hanging down his buttocks with a Gucci belt hanging along the top. It was my luck: he had to be seated in the desk that was partnered up with mine. I’d seen him a few times during passing periods. He’d shove kids into lockers and threaten the “nerds” to do his homework. I stayed out of his way trying to avoid his dreadful presence. While working on our ancient civilizations project, he glared at me and uttered, “You terrorists, what do you know…”

I heard this,  my mouth gaped and my face flushed red. The word “terrorist”, hit me. My mind started running, “Me, a terrorist? An eleven-year-old… a terrorist? What harm am I capable of doing to the world?” This was the first time I was attacked by such a predator. I was hurt. My heart felt as if it were pierced with a needle. It was small, but made a huge impact. Smirking, he continued,  “Stop hidin’  bombs underneath that towel.” My mind escaped to a dungeon deep down where my pride hid with fear. I had gotten rude stares before, heard curses underneath people's breath regarding my faith, but this was first time someone had directly targeted me with such a remark. And then I realized that the teachers who usually glanced at me with  huge smiles, shot me with  glares. The rest of my day went slowly with a hint of despair because of the thought of Luis Martinez calling me a terrorist and the glares from the teachers.  When I came home from school, I tossed my backpack on the couch, dragged myself to the family room, and sank into the couch and to wash out my head with some TV. I aimlessly scrolled through the channels, trying to see if the latest episode of Cake Boss recorded, when something caught my eye. I grabbed the remote, and raised the volume. “The hunt for Osama Bin Laden has finally come to a closure. Yesterday, a team of six SEAL members, one who identified as the ‘The Shooter’ killed Osama Bin Laden in his house in Pakistan...” I finally realized the cause of the glares, stares, and the hurtful remarks. Some mentally ill guy who blew up one of the most famous buildings in the world, who also considered himself a “Muslim”, had been killed.

While my dad drove me to school the next day, I decided to ask him about the news recently. With concern in his voice, he replied, “Has this topic come up in school?” I didn’t know what to say. Should I tell him about that ignorant boy who verbally abused me, or give him some pathetic lie, which would eventually drive me crazy?

Scared and foolishly, I answered, “No, not yet. What if it does come up?” I gazed down at my phone, trying to avoid any eye contact and continued, “What would I say?”

He paused for a moment. “I think you should just prove them wrong. Ever since 9/11, people have developed a bad view on Islam, so educate them.” I pondered on this, and realized the cure to my despair: education. Education is the cure to ignorance.

When I reached school, I was ready to take on the day, defeat the bad guys, maybe even educate them on Islam. I knew that the next few weeks would be a bit rough, but I reflected on my father’s advice. Throughout the day, many kids gave me their  glares, which didn’t seem to get to me as much, considering I figured out the solution. As I sat in class, a girl Lindsey whispered to a boy’s ear: “Islamists are so violent. I can’t believe someone can follow Osama Bin Laden.” The height of ignorance made my blood boil. 

When all the students packed their bags, and lined up behind the door, my math teacher walked towards me. I could tell she wanted to ask me something, so I mentally prepared myself and took a deep breath.

“Hey, Areebah, can I ask you something?” she said, with an irritated face. She continued, “I don’t mean to offend you, but I had to ask. Are you sad that Osama bin Laden died?”

I was surprised by her question, but I expected it. Gathering my thoughts together, I told her, “I am neither sad, nor happy that he died. The things Osama bin Laden did did not follow Islam. His actions are actually opposite to what Islam preaches. Even to Muslims, he was considered a monster since he took away so many innocent lives.”

My teacher was about to answer, but the bell rang. In that moment of reality, I felt an abundance of weight being lifted from my shoulders. All of my stress that had consumed my body for the past day or two was swept away. I felt revived and relieved. The process of education had begun.