Dear You,

Back when I was in grade 3, we used to be best friends. I remember feeling so embarrassed that you had patches on your clothes and lived in a small, forlorn house beside my own that had only four walls. But I wasn't embarrassed on account of feeling shame in being with you, I was just embarrassed because I felt shame in showing off what I had that you did not. But you didn't seem to notice, and lingered in the garage outside the main door, waiting for me to come out.

In the evenings, I'd come out and play with you all kinds of nonsense. I'd show you my story books and we'd pour over them seriously until I had to leave. You were so small, even smaller than me, but you were the elder sister to all your little siblings, and you carried them about with a laugh playing on your face. Your chocolate brown skin that seemed to always radiate with mischievousness was so endearing to me. So we sat at the doorstep and we talked about things I do not remember, but when we parted we made our way to two different worlds. Me to my bed, food, blankets & books and you to your barely roofed, overcrowded house.

Then one day, your mother brought you inside the house and watched over to see if you washed the tiles like she wanted you to. And then the dusting, the sweeping, the cleaning. At first I thought of it as nothing, because we'd always find time to be in each other's company in the evening, but one day it stopped. Your mother had you work in a house nearby, just like she did, and then you were busy with cleaning all the time.

On a Sunday, I was walking to the park a few feet away and you met up with me, same as ever. But then the most dreadful thing happened. While we were making up nonsense like usual, the group of children nearby advanced on you and pounced, beating the life out of you. One of them shouted a horrible word and then you ran for life. They called you scum. They thought of you as scum.

Your family moved away from your little hut, and I can never really recall the last memory I have of you. It is all just a jumble. Today when I was reading A Thousand Splendid Suns, I thought of you. I thought of the horrible life you have to lead, even though you have grown far too used to it to think of it as horrible. You must be my age now, younger than me, but already you have had to making a living, struggle for the basic necessities of life, you're overshadowed by your brothers and before you know it, you'd be forced to marry against your will. Do you not have the right to love and live? Do you not have the right to happiness, in any kind? You were beautiful as I knew you, but you, you turned victim to a society & a culture that considers you absolutely nothing.

You take beatings even when you're trying your best, your way of life is forced onto you and still you live. And from the stories I get to know, some of the things you go through are done upon the name of religion. The kind of thing that the Western media emphasizes. . Obviously their distorted views of our culture and religion come from this sort of lowly behavior of the uneducated men & women of our age. What kind of faith would a person have if he were to make you act against your will and block every opportunity of some kind of peace, of content? But you know what? Allah ta'la watches over you, I know He does. What can you claim of this life when it is like the wing of a mosquito when compared to the life of the Hereafter. Don't fret, if Allah wills, you will get far better things in a life that will last forever.

I promise to never look down upon anyone that is like you. You are so much more stronger than me, and have so much strength to go through things I'd fail to make through. And I am pretty sure - with your chocolate brown skin and dark, black eyes and a dangling black necklace made of cloth that danced as you ran - you are still beautiful. I hope you think of me as a friend.

Love, Always & Forever,

Aaisha.