Still, I was in search of something more, something concrete, something material.
After I left my family’s religion, I was, for better or worse, searching for a blueprint, a model I could trust, which felt familiar enough to be safe, yet bold enough to be revolutionary.
What I’d been looking for at the convent, I could find in reading and writing. If other writers could channel their desires, I could use it, too.
People I hardly knew implied that without children, I was failing as a woman, a Muslim, and a human being.
“God is sometimes easier to please than our fellow humans.”
“How do I find the opportunity to celebrate the day as different?”
“All the world is a mosque for a believer.”