It’s been one year of the fatal feminist. When I first started this site I meant it to be a recording of my interpretations, of ijtihād—the notes in the margins of my copy of the Qur’an—arranged for myself so that my beliefs were organized and I could examine them properly in a place created specially for them, a personal source of strength and assurance. I had no where to go, and nothing to lose, and I would be accepted in no other place; I romanticized the notion of being a one-woman army, alone but never affected by the fact that I had no community. I don’t even feel it, I told myself. Who needs it? When you must struggle, you’d better dream to survive. Romanticizing is a means of survival, so I romanticized being alone. It occurred to me that I could make the site private, password protected.
But I didn’t.
I didn’t make it private because I had a rising essence of hope. I didn’t make it private because dreamers are broken violins. I didn’t make it private because I can’t drink black coffee regardless of how much I admire those kickass women in movies who load their shotguns and drink black coffee. I can eat chili peppers raw but I can’t drink black coffee.
It’s too bitter. So all I can do is think about how badass it would be while my mouth fills with something sweet.
God is so gracious. Zeina is just about the sweetest, most endearing person I know. Khadeeja has such resolve it makes my heart swollen and full, and she is immensely courageous. I have literally gone crying to woodturtle. More than once. Her fortitude, altruism, patience, and compassion are incomparable. Sarah is so unshakably constant to her principles, so dedicated to her work, and so resilient. Metis’s patience, confidence, openness, tolerance, and organization—I’ll likely never achieve half those things myself. =P Jehanzeb is critical and introspective and an exceptional feminist ally. Zuhura’s initiations, inquiries, and challenges are invaluable, and her sense of humor is fantastic. I’m met wonderful, irreplaceable friends. And all of their blogs are amazing.
There are others whom I’ve neglected to mention who are absolutely incredible. And I hope none of them stop writing, because there are so few of us. Even one would feel like a terrible loss. There isn’t a strong community in real life, but at least there is here.
The coffee isn’t as bitter.
I never imagined that anyone would actually read my writing, and it still surprises me every time I’m linked, and it’s a pleasure when you leave comments. They’re thoughtful and moving and hilarious. I have the most AWESOME commenters. But you already knew that. We’re all like: