It’s not the silence of oppression, as the pundits on television would have you believe. It’s the silence of being a walking contradiction. I am the girl who sips a caramel macchiato while discussing Tafsir. I am the woman who can negotiate a six-figure contract in a blazer, yet soften her voice when an elder enters the room.
But underneath that glossy sheen is the burkha —or rather, the hijr (the protection). It is the shield. It is the whisper that says, Your value is not in your neck, your hair, or the curve of your ears. Your value is in your substance.
Most people assume that wearing a burkha means you have lost your identity. They look at a covered woman and see a blank space, a ghost, a victim. But they don't see the rebellion. burkha under my lipstick
I am keeping both. Because under this lipstick, my voice is loud. And under this burkha, my heart is free. What are the layers you wear that the world doesn't see? Let me know in the comments below.
And I am the woman who wears a slick coat of crimson lipstick over a mouth that prays for forgiveness. It’s not the silence of oppression, as the
The Burkha Under My Lipstick: On Duality, Choice, and Being a Woman in Between
I wear the lipstick because I am allowed to be beautiful. I wear the burkha because I am more than just beauty. I am the woman who can negotiate a
There is a specific kind of silence that comes with being a modern, visibly Muslim woman.
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