An Editor’s Ode to Four Keyboard Warriors
To my four noble keyboard warriors,
As I commemorate my not-so-special annual occasion of turning yet another year older, I look around me and think to myself, “Look how far you have come. Perhaps I have not progressed enough, or maybe it is just perfect the way it is.”
Growing up in my early childhood years, I would swim into the ocean of my daydreams where my unique language was coming into life. Every imaginary letter, grammatical rule, dictation, and punctuation would be on my mind for as long as I could keep up, with every minute detail documented with my rusty pencil and unreadable handwriting.
As my teenage years dawned on me, my obsession with self-expression was bound for its sunset. Remaining silent whenever and wherever I could, soon enough, became my comfort zone — mind you, I was the ideal student in the eyes of every single teacher at the time because of how quiet I was. Little did anyone know that, to me, I was the one; I was the only one absently present in this room and every room I was physically in.
Fast forward to my university time, I had already picked on the habit of excessive, hysterical laughter as my then-authentic way of self-expression. Surprisingly enough, I experienced first-hand how it feels like to shift from being the background actor on the stage to being the pizzazzy, flamboyant character in every dramatically rich tale. Was I just pretending? — Not that I felt like it. Did I feel I was truly showing my character? — Not in the least. Did I feel pressured? — Absolutely, in every unnecessary way you can imagine. Then why did you choose to carry on? — If I decided not to carry on, what else would I be? I did not know any better and I did not know myself.
Up until January 2019 when I met Amin El Gamal — the truly exuberant one — thanks to a pickup line that I felt was totally bleak. Watching him, observing, and learning how a grown-up should behave when they have a multifaceted identity that is everything but the typical you would see in every face you meet. Expressing oneself and values plays a major part in his day-to-day choices, never the absently present by the time we crossed paths and never the one to compromise what he stands for.
Being an actor who is forging his own path in the grand hallways of Hollywood does not stop his fingertips from always partaking in this endless digital marathon of voicing the silenced, the oppressed, and those like myself. As I started to take heed and learn, my mind was preoccupied with where my non-biological home was.
Twenty-two-year-old me was holding her Bachelor’s degree in the midst of the chaos of COVID-19 and its imposed quarantine with all sorts of mixed feelings: happy yet sad, healing yet grieving, and collected yet battling an inner crisis.
Then, I met Azmia — the kindhearted one — who left her mark as the first person to believe in my very first attempt to put my thoughts and feelings into words in a language that I had so many insecurities linked to it growing up.
But Azmia’s role in my life is not just limited to the scope of writing; being the advocate that she is for justice and mental health, I have always felt at peace and serenity in her presence — something that I really needed as I was trying to break free from the shackles of my inner world.
Then, just like yesterday, I became an intern editor, with Maysoon — the thoughtful yet elegantly sassy second mom — taking on the baton to train me on how to navigate things on my own. As I was waiting for our first meeting together, counting every minute and glaring anxiously at every second as it flipped over, I started to imagine all sorts of scenarios where things could either go wrong or I would just appear entirely unworthy and uncoachable. After all, what did a 23-year-old me have ever focused on other than a few bits and pieces from the vast ocean of humanities and linguistics compared to an inspirational woman like her who has been in the weeds fighting using the power of her words and voice for decades?
To my surprise, Maysoon could not only put all my anxieties to rest within the fifth minute of the meeting but also encourage me to normalize being a beginner in something without feeling unworthy or less than anyone else with how calm, thoughtful, and detailed she was with me — a rare value to find these days even amongst all the emerging voices representing all sorts of hot topics and major issues. Even so, I could not help but feel something within me was still missing.
I can say with absolute confidence that if you have ever asked yourself, “Who am I? What am I here to do besides praying and worshiping God? What makes me, one in around 8 billion, me? Where do I belong? And who do I belong with?” you are on the verge of experiencing, if not already, what can be the lowest moment of your life. This is the moment when you go back to square one.
Luckily for me by that time, I have had someone who truly understands from the bottom of her heart what your silent sentiments might be — and that has been Amani Al-Khatahtbeh — the badass queen and wiser sister. It was she who gave me the missing puzzle piece on a plate of shimmering gold with her words, “This is your home, Jummanah.”
It was this full-circle moment where everything came into perspective and fell naturally into place. The Muslim Girl that Amani founded and fought for is my destined home — the sanctuary where I can just be silently present and yet never absently present. Amani has been not only the person helping me stand up on my feet but also feeling safe about being who I am. It was alongside her that I finally started to feel I was fine and even became better.
Watching her battle for upholding justice with sincere empathy and dedicating the overwhelming majority to amplifying the voices of so many women around the world makes me more hopeful in this world. If women from many walks of life are doing the fight physically in all sorts of regions across the world, Amani can be depriving herself of proper sleep just to ensure that she is bringing all voices to the spotlight and centering all the marginalized, presently-absent narratives.
These are the advocates who shaped my current reality in the last couple of years and who I want to celebrate today for forbearing the hate and proving that all hope is not to be lost when there is still time or a fleeting moment to partake in.
It truly aches me to see people diminishing each other’s efforts to spread awareness in their own circles by projecting disparaging comments like, “You are just a keyboard warrior” onto those who put themselves at the forefront of resistance. After all, it has taken me four sincere advocates to learn more about what brings peace to me and what strips me of it.
As I turn 26 today, my celebration for this year is not about my existence, but for being blessed enough to meet each one of them — each a beautiful and distinct caliber of their own and I am proud of each one of them.
Xx,
