"We can't sit next to her. She might be a Muslim."

I always thought that a campus library was a place people go to study quietly. That's exactly what I was doing. I was sitting at a four person table with my math textbook and notebook in front of me, quickly and accurately working out and solving math equations. Three seats were unoccupied.

You saw me and said, "We can't sit next to her. She might be a Muslim."

I don't wear a hijab, but that doesn't make me any less Muslim than a woman who does. And, to clarify, I am actually half Muslim and half Hindu.

Regardless of those facts, so what if I'm Muslim?
Does my brown skin offend you?
Do my tattoos and long dark brown hair suggest something?
Why does me being a Muslim deter you from sharing a public space with me?
Why does me being Muslim bother you?
Does my lack of a hijab make you think that I am some radical form of Muslim?

I just wish to understand why my religion is an issue to you. I guess it just does not make any sense...especially because you never once said a word to me in your life, and because well...this is a library.

I'm doing math homework.
You probably want to do homework as well.
The table is not going to hurt you.
Neither will I, nor will my religion.

"You should be over it by now"

I was raped last year by someone I trusted with my life.

After almost a year, we spoke again and decided to be on semi-decent terms since we had to see each other at college. 

He expected us to go back to being close and talking and hanging out all the time. That wasn't happening. 

We had a phone conversation once where I told him I had no trust regarding him. He got upset and said that I was wrong for not trusting him. 

After arguing for a long time, he told me that since it has almost been over a year, "You should be over it by now." 

That I should be over the fact that he raped me.

I will never be over my rape. It will always affect me. How dare he say that.

Girls Like Me

The night I was raped, my rapist told me, "To girls like you, no means yes."

This has stuck with me, because in a way its true. But not the way he meant it. 

Every time a teacher told me I wasn't smart enough, I studied harder and longer so I could tell her, "Yes I am."

When I was told I would never advance at work, I improved my numbers to prove to my boss that, "Yes I could."

So I guess he was right.
To girls like me, no means yes.
 

No makeup

When I was in college, my roommate (who I secretly adored and idolized) caught me on my way to work one morning. I had just put on my make-up , which at the time was a grueling one hour ordeal of primping and preening.

He said to me, "I don't understand how you can wake up looking so ugly and leave looking so beautiful."

These words still itch under my skin and burn into my heart.

It's been 12 years.

"I really thought you'd be better."

I had dreamed of being a musician from the first time my fingers touched the keys of a piano at age 3.

My father bought me the ugliest piano at auction for $10. It was the one I chose.

My parents paid for piano lessons when they could, but my love for music really took flight once I'd reached middle school and could sign up for band class. I chose the alto saxophone with the intention of moving on to the baritone sax as soon as I could. I lived, breathed and loved that sax, carting it to and from school with me on the bus every single day. Once I was old enough to drive, it was my passenger every where I went.

When I turned 16 I started working full time, trying to help the family make ends meet. Even though I worked until 1am, mine was the first car in the parking lot at school every morning, waiting at the door to be let into the band room so that I could practice before school started.

Music didn't come easily to me. I had to work hard at every song, every note. I had an ear for it, but my sight reading was my weakness. I knew even then I was never meant to be a solo player, I was meant to be with a band, whether concert or jazz, carrying it along. I worked my 40 hours and when I could, paid for private lessons with a college graduate whose choice instrument was the bari sax. I chose a music school, knowing I'd have to audition. My two best friends and I drove the 5 hours and I seemed to hold my breath the entire way. 

The morning of my audition, I was the first person in the building practicing my piece, Prelude by Bach, a beautiful Cello solo that had been transcribed for the baritone sax. I waited for my audition, half an hour past my appointed time. The head of the woodwind section of the school greeted me while still chewing. His excuse was, "I was eating lunch."

He continued to eat through my whole audition, never saying a word. When it was over he looked me up and down, took a bite of an apple and told me, "I really thought you'd be better. Are you sure you want a career in music? "
I thanked him graciously, returned home to keep working at my job, and I never played again.

Yet my fingers remember the feel of they keys beneath them, and my heart has not quite forgotten how to soar with a crescendo. I have not forgotten how to dream.

When I was in college, my friend was struggling with coming out as bi. I wasn’t understanding the struggle, nor did I understand the coming out process. Our mutual friend accused me of not being supportive of our friend and told me I was insensitive, and that I’d never understand how difficult it was.

A few months later, I came out as gay, and the mutual friend’s voice played over and over in my head, telling me how difficult it was to come out. It made me feel like the sudden peace and understanding of who I was was somehow wrong. I felt like I was doing something wrong and I should have been struggling so much more. To this day, I still wonder if I should have struggled more.