I was raised as a Muslim. The truth is, despite my projected religiosity, I was never fully committed to Islam. Like many children, I did not understand the full importance of my religion or its rituals. I asked my parents, who did their best to explain it all to me. I memorized the standard explanations, but I didn’t feel it in my heart. I participated because my parents wanted me to. Read on…
With his electric screwdriver, my big brother Lyle is tightening the hinges on the saggy composite doors beneath the sink in the kitchen of the minimalist apartment I rent from Barbi. One of Lyle’s cast-off high school love interests, my landlord harbors few ill feelings toward the person Lyle was twenty years ago. For me she has only sisterly affection, a lavish wardrobe of hand-me-down T-shirts, and expert haircuts strictly off the books. “I’m pretty sure,” I say, “that the … Read on…