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You are not meeting my eyes. They are beneath the cloth I wear on my head, actually.

No, I am from America.

Yes, it is called a hijab.

No, this cloth is not hijab.

Hijab is not a covering, a hiding-away, a flinching-back. It is a coming-out, a blazing-through.

Hijab is not here for you to fetishize taking it off with your fingers/armies/democracy.

Hijab is suffering for democracy.

Hijab is a dark, raised fist.

Hijab is kissing the feet of our mothers.

Hijab is not a fashion statement.

Hijab is not a flag.

Sometimes, Hijab is not veiling.

Hijab is a reminder to lower your gaze, to swallow your (male) entitlement, to try to SEE me,

not just look at me. I'm human.

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