Life of a muslima

Prophet Muhammad peace be upon him said: “War is Deceit.” [1]   The land of Palestine turned into a war zone, destroyed by the cruelty of the oppressors, by the evil within the envy, and by the bombing of the cowards hiding behind their tanks. Everywhere the blood was spilled, no life was found. And the eyes that saw the oppression were overflowed with tears. The brave sacrificed their lives. The hearts of young innocents had been torn apart—their voices in silence called and cried on Allah. “Oh Allah, when will your help will come?”  The Palestinians are alone fighting, but they were never alone in this trial. Every Muslim is in the spotlight—them, me and you. But our hearts had not realized that there was something bigger beyond this brutality. Like anyone, we neither learn nor wake up to the truth. The reality had no means of adjusting its course without us coming to an understanding that this li

I grew up in a small town where you’ll find mansions that were built at the time of the Spanish Colonial. These ancestral houses are captivating and still standing firm like the Mount Makiling that you’ll get a glimpse of from our balcony. This is my hometown where my grandmother raised me. My grandmother got married at a very young age to an older man who came from a well-off family. She was illiterate and could only write her name for signing legal papers. She sacrificed her early age to look after her younger siblings, which caused her not to attend school. But despite this, she is contemplative, selfless, affectionate, and a loving daughter. Even with her husband's problematic habits and age difference, she remained committed to being a dutiful wife. She neither disrespected her husband nor rebelled against him. Her passion for keeping the house tidy, and cooking delicious dishes are among her skills to please my grandfather, and I admire her for that. "Men are in charge o