Since Mariam was my age and her younger brother...

Since Mariam was my age and her younger brother, Adam, was my sisters age, we spent many afternoons after school playing in the woods and digging for sea life on the rocky beaches of the north end. I even remember Mariam showing me her Quran and explaining to me what it meant to be Muslim. Even at the young age of 10, I found it fascinating, as I have always been very intrigued by other cultures and religions. She also told me cool stories about her dads life as a Sonics basketball player.

All in all, I enjoyed spending time with them. Not too long after that we moved to another part of the island, my close friendship with Mariam and her family dwindled. I became friends with a different group of kids and our lives started to separate. Even though I was not spending time with her, I still considered her a friend and would often defend her when immature kids would make rude comments about her hijab and other Islamic customs.

I almost prided myself on understanding her belief, although not at all extensively. Living in such a small town as I did, made it easy for me to begin associating myself with people and activities that were less than wholesome. Entertainment being scarce, most kids turned to drinking, smoking, sex and experimental drug use. Although I was not as quick to follow the crowd and have always considered myself a leader, I soon followed suit.

I was never too wrapped up in the groups mischievous behaviour, but as my father always said, Birds of a feather, flock together. It became hard to disassociate myself from the group. I even remember walking out of school in 1990 when we declared war against Iraq during Desert Storm. I knew nothing of the politics of the war and demonstrated in the streets in protest against our involvement in it. I knew nothing of the heinous crimes committed against the Kuwaiti people.

I was merely going along with the crowd. God was always in the back of my mind, but I lost myself in my own selfishness and bottled-up hurt from my parents break-up. My relationship with my mother worsened as my days in high school continued, until she finally kicked me out at age 17. My father whisked me away to Bellingham that summer before senior year to set me straight in school and life in general. HemdAllah (thank God) that he was there to support me and heal some of those emotional wounds.

That fall, I started at Whatcom Community College fulltime. One of my classes that quarter was Middle Eastern History.