What Other Secret Ingredient?

Before I could start thinking about university and career pathways, I found myself in love. I wouldn’t call it a love story, but definitely lots of eye contact. It just so happened that this young fellow ended up in my Islamic lessons. Ironic to some, but really, what better place to meet someone? Well, again, I didn’t really talk to him—it was all eyes. Only 16 at the time. Why was I even thinking of him as marriage material? Shouldn’t I have been thinking about what car I’d be driving? What dress I’d wear to my formal? What studies I’d pursue? That’s what seemed right for everyone around me.

I was the odd one, once again. Always been the rising sun from the west. The first child to wear the hijab in my entire family, extended family, and even at school. My uncle thought Mum was being strict on me, but she truthfully replied—it was all me. Sometimes I wonder if I am an old soul sneaking into the world once more, much wiser!

It couldn’t make more sense to me now than ever—surely it was the lunchdins. If all I saw was Mum’s great interest in bonding the family, taking care of us, and eloquently wearing her hijab, why else were my goals so wise?

Yes, eloquently. Mum came to Australia when I was only 9 months old—by plane. Her family members were already here. Dad, however, left his entire family behind and moved to Sydney, then landed in Canberra for about 5 years of my childhood. Back and forth between Sydney and Canberra, visiting family. My ‘eloquent’ Mum had no English, yet enrolled at TAFE. No car, yet she read bus timetables and then learnt to drive. She came to all school events and excursions—all in her hijab! In the most Aussie locations, Canberra.

Now that probably explains it. Explains my old soul’s strength. The hijab didn’t look like an obstacle to exploration and growth. Instead, I saw it as the fabric that lifted Mum’s spirit. She had many colours—a huge range to match every outfit—and never left the house without it. My young eyes could only make sense of it as a good luck charm, invincible with it. Every move Mum made was centred in the universe of what colour hijab she wore that matched the outfit, that matched the outing, and matched her eloquence.

Is this all making sense? Have you discovered the other secret ingredient? So, with lunchdins, matching hijabs were another of Mum’s most important ingredients—keeping my head in the right space!