I went through this phase of Spandex, high heels, and fur coats when I was in my late teens and early twenties; before then, I lived in overalls and baggy T-shirts.
I don’t have any control over what actually happens except that I have full control over my will for myself, my intention, and why I’m there. That’s all that matters.
There’s something different about growing up black and Muslim, especially in New Jersey. It’s like when I left the mosque and I left my dad, I felt unprotected, but I also felt a weird sense of pride, like I was involved in this other way of living that was cool to me.
On Halloween, because we don’t celebrate it, my dad would drive me somewhere, anywhere different. Like Little Italy in New York to walk around and teach me all about the food and culture.
When your parents regulate everything you hear and everything you intake, it forces you to get creative in other ways. It sparked the writing bug and the very overactive imagination. Because I’ve had a lot of time by myself and a lot of time isolated from regular culture, I created my own.
I learned everything the hard way – like, literally, everything. I know that God does that to people that he has lessons for. I just wish that I had learned less extreme lessons.
