Read Online Ten Things I Hate About Me by Randa Abdel-Fattah - Free Book Online Page B

Bilal,” Aunt Sowsan says. “If I knew you were serious, I would personally show each and every one of your girlfriends the photo I have of you as a toddler running around the house with nothing but a plastic bowl on your head!”
    He grins. “So what? I was as sexy then as I am now.”
    I groan.
    “Shereen has a point, though,” Aunt Sowsan says. “If you look around the world there are so many societies in which Muslim women are oppressed. The Koran has been manipulated and abused to exploit women.”
    “Do not blame the Koran, Sowsan,” my father says.
    “I’m not blaming the Koran, Hakim,” Aunt Sowsan says. “I’m blaming men. If they were faithful to the Koran we wouldn’t see such oppression. But there are men who find it useful to misread, misquote, and take things out of context to deny women their God-given rights.”
    “Do you want to know what the problem is?” I ask.
    My dad smiles. “Tell us, Professor Jamilah.”
    “Our community always focuses on female behavior. Guys get away with defying the rules and they’re always forgiven. You pretend not to know that Bilal has girlfriends and that he drinks and parties.”
    “Hey, don’t pick on me!” Bilal says.
    “Well, it’s true. You’re openly proud of it. It’s hypocritical.”
    “Don’t be rude, Jamilah,” my dad says.
    “But Dad! You can’t even accept me having friends who are guys, and yet Bilal has girls calling him all the time. And you can bet your life they’re not talking about human rights or social welfare policies.”
    “In every society, eastern or western, a man’s fall from grace is different from a woman’s. That’s just a fact of life. I’m trying to protect you because you’re more precious.”
    “You’re equating friendship with the opposite sex to falling from grace?”
    “No. But our community can be harsh, Jamilah. People talk, and they talk cruelly. We have to live with that.”
    “Who cares what people say? If I’m not doing anything wrong, why should I care?”
    My dad sits up higher in his chair, his face reddening as he gets more agitated. “Because, like it or not, gossip can ruin people. Look at Bilal here. Already people are talking about his hopeless future and how no girl will want to marry him.”
    “My future is not hopeless!” Bilal says, angry now. “I’ve told you a million times, I want to be a mechanic.”
    My dad waves his hand dismissively. “Son, that is not a career! That is a teenage pastime. People see that I have a PhD but my son plays with cars.”
    “He’s good at what he does, Dad,” Shereen says.
    “You are in no position to defend him, Shereen,” my father says. “Where is your future? You scored the highest in your senior year examinations of all our friends’ children. And yetyou choose to do an arts degree. You could have done law or medicine. People ask me if you want to be a painter!”
    “Dad! They’re hopeless! An arts degree is a humanities degree.”
    “But where will it lead you? All you are interested in doing is organizing protests. There is no future in that.” My dad tugs at his mustache, clearly tense. “People think you are a radical! An extremist! That is not a light sentence in today’s climate, Shereen!”
    “Calm down, Hakim,” Aunt Sowsan says gently. “Do not worry yourself over what Joseph and Yunus and Amina say. They will always talk. They are bored and stupid.”
    My father isn’t convinced. “None of you understand that our family is under the microscope. Ever since Najah died people have been watching to see if I will do a good job, what will become of my children. I have every right to care!”
    Shereen, Bilal, and I don’t respond. We stare at the floor, taken aback by our father’s outburst.
    Aunt Sowsan clears her throat and then says: “Hakim, you know that Najah would be proud of the job you have done in raising her children.”
    My dad cuts her off. “Enough!” he says, raising his palm in the air. “I think