My Son, My Bodhisattva

My son, Ibrahim, arrived small yet mighty in a Central Asian hospital one February morning, a miniature version of his Afghan father; brown skin, dark hair, a broad brow. On the inside, he carried my O- blood. I knew that this child was cut from the same cloth as my…

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Professor Atiya Aftab

Living out gender equality at home

My father grew up in India. He was raised in a conservative family and lived in a patriarchal culture. His sisters and mother lived lives that revolved around the home– raising children, preparing meals and hosting guests. However, more was expected of my father. He was, after all, the eldest…

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Rumi on The Night of Power

if you stay awake for an entire night watch out for a treasure trying to arrive you can keep warm by the secret sun of the night keeping your eyes open for the softness of dawn try it for tonight challenge your sleepy eyes do not lay your head down…

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Muslim, Bipolar, and still unmarried

My girlfriends and I talk constantly about how difficult it is for us to find suitable husbands nowadays. “We’re amazing,” we reassure ourselves, half-jokingly, half-sincerely. “Anyone would be lucky to nab us!” Maybe we are all amazing, but there is something a little extra that I bring to the table–I…

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