Yara | Disarmament
Yara unlocked her apartment door and was greeted by the soft trills of her two cats. She glanced over to the food dispenser to make sure it had functioned throughout the night. It was 8:09am on an unreasonably hot Saturday morning, and Yara was quite jittery despite spending the night at a friend’s to watch the NBA playoffs. She was excited to lay on her own bed and get some rest after tossing and turning all night, but she felt too anxious to sleep. This was the first weekend in a while she had some time to finally relax. No upcoming events or dates, no pending work, and no hangover; just her, her cats, and a silent apartment–well–as silent as a city apartment could be. She turned on the TV to find a less-than-sophisticated reality tv show to watch as she warmed up her leftover enchiladas.
An episode and a half of Love Island had played but Yara couldn’t shake the anxiety that kept crawling into her consciousness. She shifted positions on the couch, opened the windows to let in fresh air, and even sang a few karaoke songs. Karaoke had always worked to calm her nervous system in situations like these, but when the song ended the anxiety immediately returned; this time in full force. Desperate to slow down her heartbeat, Yara hopped in the shower as a final attempt of distraction. The warm water felt so soothing against her skin, embracing her in a blanket of calm. Each pellet disarmed her slowly, releasing tension in her shoulders and hips and jaw until suddenly Yara began crying. She could not point to a single thought in her mind but her body released tear after tear uncontrollably. Quickly rinsing the conditioner out of her hair, Yara turned the shower off and grabbed her towel.
After throwing on a red Nike t-shirt and some underwear, Yara walked towards her bedroom and noticed her navy jilbab peeking out from a pile of laundry she had yet to fold. She hesitantly grabbed it and put it on, slipping her hands and head through the tiny holes she could find hidden in all the fabric. She stepped onto the carpeted area of her bedroom and lifted her arms to pray.
This was the first time Yara had prayed by herself in years. This was the first time Yara felt worthy enough to pray in years. Not at a mosque. Not in front of people. Not performative. Not to prove a point. Just her with her eyes closed. Reciting. Disarmed. Yara began sobbing. Not out of pain but almost out of a sense of release and gratitude. She folded down into sujood and kept sobbing. Her shoulders tingled in comfort and humility, and felt very much like a marijuana-induced high sans the THC. When Yara was done she sat on her couch and looked out the window, sinking into the present moment. Just a couple of years ago she had been sitting just like this ready to throw her life away. What a difference a few years and a lot of hard work made.
