An Open Letter From a Teenage Muslim Girl: The New Zealand Incident

My name is Nazaaha Penick. I am 15 years old. I am a girl.

And I am Muslim.

I don’t want to come off as dramatic or off-putting. I am not speaking for the thousands who belong to this title, nor am I representing individuals. I only want to speak my truth.

When I first heard about the attack in New Zealand I felt numb. I am ashamed to say that I was unphased by hearing about yet another incident on such a marginalized group. I don’t want to be numb. I want to be angry, sad, outraged, and even hurt.  Yet, ultimately, felt nothing.

I don’t think this means I am ignorant, or lack emotion. I am usually sensitive to the things that happen around me; I am responsive. But, there I was in the middle of a convention center scrolling through my Twitter feed, feeling absolutely nothing.

Too often am I faced with a body count of innocent victims gone from a world that doesn’t seem to forgive. Too often am I pleading others, begging them to understand, to show some empathy and compassion towards my fragile hurting heart. Too often am I sobbing on car rides home from school desperately praying to be okay.  

I am tired. I am numb. I blame the news, I blame the murderers, I blame the hate. And I widely blame myself.

I’ve never been confident in my identity as a muslim girl. I continue to grow up in a small town with people consisting of even smaller minds. My childhood memories are vivid, and consist of me crying in my room because I couldn’t just be, or exist in the space of my schools and communities. Every time I’ve attempted to wear the hijab (a religious covering), I am faced with dirty looks, and I am robbed of my personality. I grew up as a kid being embarrassed of how different I was. I grew up insecure, I still am.

Being deprived of a normal childhood experience (whatever that is in itself). There has been limited places where I felt safe. One of these places was the Mosque.

Being in such a beautiful place of worship, from my early years has always allowed me to feel relieved. It was the one place where I didn’t feel alone in the struggle to inherently exist. I always felt so ecstatic when I used to meet muslim friends my age, at the mosque.  Even if we only spent time together for that one day, I would gush to my parents about the fact that I had a friend who saw past everything that I thought defined me.

Praying in itself has also been a beautiful thing to practice. Even as child. Although, I am not the perfect muslim, there has been multiple times where listening to dua, hearing qaseedas, and making salat has brought me tears.    

Furthermore, the Mosque has been a safe place for many muslims across the world. It isn’t just a place of worship. It is, and always has been a home for all types brothers and sisters regardless of the prejudice that is faced everyday.

One of the hardest parts of this incident is the fact that our place of worship, our safe places, our homes, are now being compromised over this terrorist attack. And being threatened constantly by those who dehumanize my religion, my brothers and sisters. All because of the harmful and false generalizations associated with Islam.

My religion. My safe place, my home. A religion that has taught me the important values of love, forgiveness and acceptance that I continue to practice throughout my life. My religion that has taught me nothing but peace, and has brought me nothing but joy.

We were supposed to be safe.

In this time of hurt. In this time of grieve. It is important to unite as a muslim community. Make dua, pray, and show them what Islam is really about. Peace, love, forgiveness, and healing of the soul.

As a teenager continuously experiencing a hurt world, all I wish is for everyone to learn to understand. The support for the muslim community has been unexpected, but comforting in the light of this situation.

Be angry, be hurt, feel through the these tragedies that threaten our right to life. The right to exist, loudly, proudly, entirely, and fully.

My name is Nazaaha Penick. I am 15. I am Black. I am a girl. I am Muslim. And I am hopeful.