March 2, 2022
Well, as it is the second day in March, I am exactly 17 years old. Well, I will be in a few hours. So in these last hours of the “glorious” age of 16, though I should be doing Psychology homework, I think I want to write instead.
Sixteen began 365 days ago. It was a Tuesday (I remember because though I wasn’t scheduled, I got called into work anyways). I honestly can’t remember most of the day, but at lunch, my two friends and I went to Safeway together. Random things come to mind; one friend took a picture of me where I looked super compressed, my other friend gave me a reversible Squishmellow. It was nice. Nothing big, which honestly, is exactly how I like it.
Sixteen began with me hoping–maybe wishing is more appropriate–for something to happen. In every movie I watched growing up, 16 is a big deal. Sixteen is partying, friendship, and fun. I secretly hoped 16 would be something special, an extraordinary, teenage, wonderful year. I expected otherwise, but of course, I wanted different. I got ready for school with my pretty shirt and thick blue kohl, and I tried to take it all in.
After work, I came home exhausted. I wore my robe Kabyle and heavy jewelry made of coral and metal. I felt beautiful, but even more so, I felt tired. My mom was enthusiastic, and she looked beautiful as well. I sat with my family and tried to enjoy dinner. It is a fond memory, but even thinking back to it makes me feel incredibly drained. I can’t remember if I did my homework or not (highly unlikely that I did), but I remember by the time I had opened my Chromebook– which looking back, I happened to drop and break a little this day–it was 9 pm or sometime past.
In the days leading up to today, I felt unaffected to turning 17. Birthdays really aren’t exciting to me anymore. A new age is a new age, but in reality, I’m not turning one year older, I’m only turning one day older. However, yesterday I realized how big 17 is. In 365 days, I will (InshaAllah) be sitting in this very room at 18 years old–a legal adult! I will be around two months away from high school graduation, and who knows what that will mean? Seventeen feels infinitely older than 16, but again, that’s really only the difference of a day.
Last night as I was sitting in bed in those early minutes after midnight, I reflected. I thought of 16 and what it was “supposed” to be, and all that it really was. In December, I write a blog post (that will never be officially posted) called “Mourning Sixteen.” Honestly, it feels like I wrote it only days ago. I had wanted so much for 16 that I don’t want now. Sure I might not be a tv-show-teen, but Alhamdullilah, I am content and proud of being Muslim. It’s a complicated feeling to have wanted something so badly your entire life then realize that one, it’s not good for you, and two, it’s really not what you need. There’s really no better way to put it than how I did in December:
I want to lounge in 16 for a little while longer. I want some freedom. I want to go on road trips. I want to go to the mall and get mani-pedis and smoothies with friends. I want a nose ring.
But realistically, I also want straight As. I want to be valedictorian when I graduate next year. I want to make my parents proud. And I want to please my Creator.
I’m not sure if these versions of 16 can exist together, so in a way, I feel like I’m just mourning this age. Sixteen feels like hitting the gas and brakes at once. Sixteen is exhausting. Sixteen is heavy and tear-filled and bitter. Sixteen has taken so many of my friends and so much of my optimism.
I mourn 16.
I mourn what it could have been. And I mourn what it is. I mourn everything in between.
And I’m blessed, too.
Sixteen has taught me more than perhaps any other age. Sixteen is the final stretch to real life. Sixteen is leading me to freedom. Sixteen is cars and college decisions and hopefully pushing me out to new places in 17’s summer.
So, 16 wasn’t all the movies make it seem it’ll be. But I’m not disappointed.
I love 16, and I always have. It’s been different than I imagined when I was a kid, but I don’t regret 16. If I had to do it again, I’m going to guess I’d probably do everything the same.
I would. A million times over. I am happy with 16. I have been achey, nostalgic, lonely, and depressed. But, something I love specifically about the early days of March is hope. Winter is still here, but it’s so bearable. Spring is so close and the new, shy heat is a blessing. The sun feels so good. I can make it through.
Anyways, I sat in bed and prayed. I prayed for love, in whatever way my Creator sees fit, not in the way I want or expect. I don’t care what gifts I get or from who, just let me remember love and You; let me remember what matters.
I slept really weirdly. It felt like I was never fully asleep–like I was waiting to wake up. But, I gave myself a few extra minutes anyways. I put on a pretty skirt and tried to remember the words that helped me to bed. Love, love, love. No songs, no words, no gifts, just love. So, in the mirror, I smiled at the lump of clay that has helped me trudge through my (almost) 17 years thus far and smiled.
I lost my Joker card which I was using as a bookmark on the bus. This was a little unfortunate, but I told myself it was ok. Worse things could happen, and it’s only a physical object. Alhamdullilah for what is lost and what is found. I remembered love, like one of my friends sending me a message just past midnight telling me what I meant to her. And I thought of what she means to me.
I went to my Physics class for some extra help and test corrections where it turned out, not only did my teacher accidentally mark my grade as lower (which meant less work for me), but my correction was pretty simple. After a while, my teacher handed me a sticky note acknowledging my birthday. It was simple, but really, it meant so much. I also decided to skip a day-long club meeting, which helps me love myself a little more. I am tired, I have been since even before 16, and the break was well-needed. In history, I was one of the winners of a Dr. Seuss Kahoot and got a Cat in the Hat squishy. I thought of when I was younger; I wanted to be an author because Dr. Seuss and I have the same birthday. The cat is a bit scary, but I thought of love. Love for writing, love for memory, for nostalgia. I was thankful for my teacher, too. In actual Physics class, my teacher gave me a Twix (my favorite chocolate) and a birthday hat. I wore it for the rest of the day, thankful again for these simple tokens. I think of all the gifts I received today with warmth. Love fills all the words I was told.
I went home and again, thought of my prayer. The love felt different than before. It came simply and a lot of it was from small gestures. I felt love for my teachers, who really feel like secondary parents. I felt love for my friends. I felt love for the midnight text and the promise of care. It may not have been obvious or like the love I may have wanted at 16, but it brought tears to my eyes, and Alhamdullilah I was content.
So, after school, I sat in my room and I tried to do my Psychology homework, which again, I still need to turn in, but that can wait. The doorbell rang and my dad told me my friend was there. I went to the door and there stood my best friend, in all her beauty and grace.
My eyes immediately filled with tears. Love, love, love. I love her so much. I hugged her and showered her with so many “oh my goshes” you’d be shocked. She held flowers, a balloon, and a bag out to me. I opened the bag and inside was a box that held a gift so meaningful it doesn’t seem right to publish it. But no matter, I teared up. I devoured the card through blurry vision (you know me so well, by the way), and went to my room to write.
At some point in writing, I realized I forgot about a club meeting I had after school, but again, I gave myself grace. I am tired, and I can say no when I need to. I love writing and I am grateful it has been with me since before I understood words. I am thankful it is still with me now, so many Dr. Suess Days later.
So, here I am, exactly 2 hours away from 17 (though the time is sort of wonky since moving states, and this won’t actually be posted right now), feeling grateful for all that I have. Alhamdullilah. I am blessed and I am joyous and I feel filled to the brim with love. Love is not as loud as it used to be (and not nearly as loud as I hoped it to be at 16), but it feels better this way. Freer, safer, and more personal.
I am exhausted. I am so tired. But I am so loved. And more, I am so grateful. Sixteen was not a party, which 365 days ago may have been disappointing to know, but I am glad. Sixteen was not what I wanted it to be, but it was definitely something I needed. I needed to grow and change and restart.
I don’t really know what I need for 17 yet, but I am glad it began in this way. I think from now on, much like when I prayed for love, I just need to let my Creator handle what I need. And I love Him for it.
Honestly, I feel pretty ready for 17. It shouldn’t be so different from all the days I’ve lived before this, so I’m ready to keep going. I have no idea what it’s going to be like after today, but spring isn’t too far away and I’m ready to feel warm again. I know there is going to be a lot of hard work and a lot of exhaustion. There is one year and two-ish months until graduation. But, there is love every day in between if I can remember it. And I am ready to try to find it, even if I fail to sometimes. And I am grateful for every failure I have had, and the opportunity to move past them. I am overwhelmed with love and joy and gratitude. And I pray I never forget what matters the most.
Sixteen began 365 days ago. It was a Tuesday (I remember because though I wasn’t scheduled, I got called into work anyways). I honestly can’t remember most of the day, but at lunch, my two friends and I went to Safeway together. Random things come to mind; one friend took a picture of me where I looked super compressed, my other friend gave me a reversible Squishmellow. It was nice. Nothing big, which honestly, is exactly how I like it.
Sixteen began with me hoping–maybe wishing is more appropriate–for something to happen. In every movie I watched growing up, 16 is a big deal. Sixteen is partying, friendship, and fun. I secretly hoped 16 would be something special, an extraordinary, teenage, wonderful year. I expected otherwise, but of course, I wanted different. I got ready for school with my pretty shirt and thick blue kohl, and I tried to take it all in.
After work, I came home exhausted. I wore my robe Kabyle and heavy jewelry made of coral and metal. I felt beautiful, but even more so, I felt tired. My mom was enthusiastic, and she looked beautiful as well. I sat with my family and tried to enjoy dinner. It is a fond memory, but even thinking back to it makes me feel incredibly drained. I can’t remember if I did my homework or not (highly unlikely that I did), but I remember by the time I had opened my Chromebook– which looking back, I happened to drop and break a little this day–it was 9 pm or sometime past.
In the days leading up to today, I felt unaffected to turning 17. Birthdays really aren’t exciting to me anymore. A new age is a new age, but in reality, I’m not turning one year older, I’m only turning one day older. However, yesterday I realized how big 17 is. In 365 days, I will (InshaAllah) be sitting in this very room at 18 years old–a legal adult! I will be around two months away from high school graduation, and who knows what that will mean? Seventeen feels infinitely older than 16, but again, that’s really only the difference of a day.
Last night as I was sitting in bed in those early minutes after midnight, I reflected. I thought of 16 and what it was “supposed” to be, and all that it really was. In December, I write a blog post (that will never be officially posted) called “Mourning Sixteen.” Honestly, it feels like I wrote it only days ago. I had wanted so much for 16 that I don’t want now. Sure I might not be a tv-show-teen, but Alhamdullilah, I am content and proud of being Muslim. It’s a complicated feeling to have wanted something so badly your entire life then realize that one, it’s not good for you, and two, it’s really not what you need. There’s really no better way to put it than how I did in December:
I want to lounge in 16 for a little while longer. I want some freedom. I want to go on road trips. I want to go to the mall and get mani-pedis and smoothies with friends. I want a nose ring.
But realistically, I also want straight As. I want to be valedictorian when I graduate next year. I want to make my parents proud. And I want to please my Creator.
I’m not sure if these versions of 16 can exist together, so in a way, I feel like I’m just mourning this age. Sixteen feels like hitting the gas and brakes at once. Sixteen is exhausting. Sixteen is heavy and tear-filled and bitter. Sixteen has taken so many of my friends and so much of my optimism.
I mourn 16.
I mourn what it could have been. And I mourn what it is. I mourn everything in between.
And I’m blessed, too.
Sixteen has taught me more than perhaps any other age. Sixteen is the final stretch to real life. Sixteen is leading me to freedom. Sixteen is cars and college decisions and hopefully pushing me out to new places in 17’s summer.
So, 16 wasn’t all the movies make it seem it’ll be. But I’m not disappointed.
I love 16, and I always have. It’s been different than I imagined when I was a kid, but I don’t regret 16. If I had to do it again, I’m going to guess I’d probably do everything the same.
I would. A million times over. I am happy with 16. I have been achey, nostalgic, lonely, and depressed. But, something I love specifically about the early days of March is hope. Winter is still here, but it’s so bearable. Spring is so close and the new, shy heat is a blessing. The sun feels so good. I can make it through.
Anyways, I sat in bed and prayed. I prayed for love, in whatever way my Creator sees fit, not in the way I want or expect. I don’t care what gifts I get or from who, just let me remember love and You; let me remember what matters.
I slept really weirdly. It felt like I was never fully asleep–like I was waiting to wake up. But, I gave myself a few extra minutes anyways. I put on a pretty skirt and tried to remember the words that helped me to bed. Love, love, love. No songs, no words, no gifts, just love. So, in the mirror, I smiled at the lump of clay that has helped me trudge through my (almost) 17 years thus far and smiled.
I lost my Joker card which I was using as a bookmark on the bus. This was a little unfortunate, but I told myself it was ok. Worse things could happen, and it’s only a physical object. Alhamdullilah for what is lost and what is found. I remembered love, like one of my friends sending me a message just past midnight telling me what I meant to her. And I thought of what she means to me.
I went to my Physics class for some extra help and test corrections where it turned out, not only did my teacher accidentally mark my grade as lower (which meant less work for me), but my correction was pretty simple. After a while, my teacher handed me a sticky note acknowledging my birthday. It was simple, but really, it meant so much. I also decided to skip a day-long club meeting, which helps me love myself a little more. I am tired, I have been since even before 16, and the break was well-needed. In history, I was one of the winners of a Dr. Seuss Kahoot and got a Cat in the Hat squishy. I thought of when I was younger; I wanted to be an author because Dr. Seuss and I have the same birthday. The cat is a bit scary, but I thought of love. Love for writing, love for memory, for nostalgia. I was thankful for my teacher, too. In actual Physics class, my teacher gave me a Twix (my favorite chocolate) and a birthday hat. I wore it for the rest of the day, thankful again for these simple tokens. I think of all the gifts I received today with warmth. Love fills all the words I was told.
I went home and again, thought of my prayer. The love felt different than before. It came simply and a lot of it was from small gestures. I felt love for my teachers, who really feel like secondary parents. I felt love for my friends. I felt love for the midnight text and the promise of care. It may not have been obvious or like the love I may have wanted at 16, but it brought tears to my eyes, and Alhamdullilah I was content.
So, after school, I sat in my room and I tried to do my Psychology homework, which again, I still need to turn in, but that can wait. The doorbell rang and my dad told me my friend was there. I went to the door and there stood my best friend, in all her beauty and grace.
My eyes immediately filled with tears. Love, love, love. I love her so much. I hugged her and showered her with so many “oh my goshes” you’d be shocked. She held flowers, a balloon, and a bag out to me. I opened the bag and inside was a box that held a gift so meaningful it doesn’t seem right to publish it. But no matter, I teared up. I devoured the card through blurry vision (you know me so well, by the way), and went to my room to write.
At some point in writing, I realized I forgot about a club meeting I had after school, but again, I gave myself grace. I am tired, and I can say no when I need to. I love writing and I am grateful it has been with me since before I understood words. I am thankful it is still with me now, so many Dr. Suess Days later.
So, here I am, exactly 2 hours away from 17 (though the time is sort of wonky since moving states, and this won’t actually be posted right now), feeling grateful for all that I have. Alhamdullilah. I am blessed and I am joyous and I feel filled to the brim with love. Love is not as loud as it used to be (and not nearly as loud as I hoped it to be at 16), but it feels better this way. Freer, safer, and more personal.
I am exhausted. I am so tired. But I am so loved. And more, I am so grateful. Sixteen was not a party, which 365 days ago may have been disappointing to know, but I am glad. Sixteen was not what I wanted it to be, but it was definitely something I needed. I needed to grow and change and restart.
I don’t really know what I need for 17 yet, but I am glad it began in this way. I think from now on, much like when I prayed for love, I just need to let my Creator handle what I need. And I love Him for it.
Honestly, I feel pretty ready for 17. It shouldn’t be so different from all the days I’ve lived before this, so I’m ready to keep going. I have no idea what it’s going to be like after today, but spring isn’t too far away and I’m ready to feel warm again. I know there is going to be a lot of hard work and a lot of exhaustion. There is one year and two-ish months until graduation. But, there is love every day in between if I can remember it. And I am ready to try to find it, even if I fail to sometimes. And I am grateful for every failure I have had, and the opportunity to move past them. I am overwhelmed with love and joy and gratitude. And I pray I never forget what matters the most.
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