I walked over to the dresser drawer beside my bed. I took out the fabric and began wrapping it around my head. When I was finished, I stared at the reflection. I walked closer and caressed it. It had been a long time since I’d last worn it.
I preferred showing off my hair. Letting everyone see it, even though every time I went out without covering my awrah, I was drawing my father, my parent, closer to hell. And I was trying to remain steadfast in wearing it.
“Maybe...” I whispered.
“Maybe I really have to start here.”
I didn’t know whether changing would make my life easier.
I also didn’t know whether all my problems would disappear after that night.
Of course they wouldn’t.
But that night, I made one decision.
If I couldn’t change my future yet...
At least I could start changing myself.
Slowly.
One thing at a time.
The new school year had begun, and here I was—not on a college campus or at a workplace, but at a sewing course. Apparently, this was what I needed to do.
You’ve got this, Irsha! Hard work will pay off, and hopefully the results will be satisfying.
Today was the first day I began my new life. I started by worshiping according to my faith. I covered my beautiful strands of hair with a covering—a hijab. Even though I borrowed it from my older sister. Heh. But let’s get started today.
We were taught the basics of clothing, including an introduction to the tools and types of fabric, and we got to try using a sewing machine and an embroidery machine.
Maybe I was lucky—I already knew how to use some of the tools, though I’d forgotten how to use a few of them.
I wasn’t the only one here. Several women were taking the course too, and I had a chance to introduce myself to them.
One of them was my classmate back in Islamic junior high school. Her name was Missa. ALMISSA NATASYA. She was the daughter of a pottery business owner. Both of her parents and her older sibling helped develop the business.
She could go to college if she wanted to, so why was she studying here?
Well, who knew? Maybe she wanted to develop her interests, I thought.
Just a little background: I’d attended a religious school since I was little. But for some reason, that hadn’t made me keep wearing a hijab or anything else to cover my awrah when I left the house.
I only wore it at school and when there was an event outside. Did that count as pretending to be pious?
I didn’t know. What do you all think? If it did, I would try to fix it.
“All right, that concludes today’s lesson. Thank you. Peace be upon you.”
“And peace be upon you.”
Our voices filled the room almost at the same time.
I slowly exhaled as I stretched the fingers that had been busy holding fabric and a needle. Several pieces of fabric were still scattered across the table. There were little threads that had come loose from the stitching, fabric scissors, a ruler, sewing chalk, and a notebook filled with my own scribbles.
I looked at my finished sewing one more time.
It wasn’t perfect.
The stitching at the edge was still slightly crooked.
My hand had even stopped several times earlier because I was afraid of measuring wrong. But for some reason, seeing the result now lifted the corners of my mouth.
At least I’d managed to finish it.
“Not bad,” I murmured softly.
I began cleaning up the table. One by one, I put the sewing tools into a small box, making sure no needles had been left behind. I slipped the fabric scissors into the side of my bag, while I folded the practice fabric as neatly as possible before putting it into a plastic bag.
The room, which had been filled with the sound of sewing machines just minutes earlier, slowly fell quiet.
Several participants had already stood up and begun saying goodbye. Chairs scraped across the floor, the sounds of bags being unzipped and zipped up again overlapped, and outside the window, I could hear vehicles passing by every now and then.