وَإِنِّي سَمَّيْتُهَا مَرْيَمَ وَإِنِّي أُعِيذُهَا بِكَ وَذُرِّيَّتَهَا مِنَ الشَّيْطَانِ الرَّجِيمِ

“And verily I have named her Maryam and given her and her descendants in Your protection, against shaitan, the outcast.” 3:36

We Named You Maryam

My precious Maryam:

Baba and I chose Maryam for your name. No other name ranked as high as Maryam in our hearts. What better name for an amanat from the almighty than that of the only woman that was called by her first name in the Quran: Maryam. She embodies trust in the creator and unconditional tawakkul during unprecedented challenges. Her faith withstood difficult times. And her actions personify piety and worship.

You may not remember the breezy day in the fall of 2016 when you came home from school with the realization that American society did not understand you and your community the way you understood yourself and your place in this world. That was the day a new chapter was placed upon you, and you were forced to grow up. You were nine years old and too young to bear the bigotry that surrounds. Trump’s Muslim bashing had been a topic of conversation at your Muslim school, and for the first time, you had realized that his many supporters disliked Muslims. Creating a compassionate and loving bubble for you to thrive within had been my way of protecting you from the hate and bigotry as long as I possibly could, but that was no longer enough. The floodgates had opened.

With your problem-solving capacities and an eagerness to not allow challenges consume you, you innocently declared: “its ok mommy. I will just tell everyone that I’m Mexican.”

I know abuelita, abi, and auntie joon would have loved to hear you articulate such strong connection to your Mexican identity, but with a broken heart I had to tell you “golam, being Mexican won’t matter here either.”

The vitriol was directed at so many communities.

The pain of witnessing you come of age surrounded by hurt, hate, and animosity lives with me every day. As I open my eyes in the mornings and wait for sleep to take over at night, I think of you and your future. Despite all the pain and hate, I know you will flourish and bloom. You embody grace, grit, and perseverance. They can’t bury you because you, my angel, are a seed. A seed that carries within it all your foremothers. You come from a long line of unrelenting resilient women, and you carry every single one of them within you. You, my Maryam, carry all that strength and steadfastness within you. You have:

• mamani’s unwavering gentleness and kindness,

• abulita’s unconditional love,

• abi’s revolutionary drive and never-ending compassion and patience,

• auntie Z’s integrity, vision, and courage,

• auntie M’s intelligence and passion,

• and your mother’s honesty and will-power.

You, my world, will prevail. You strive for perfection in all that you do. But, my Maryam, you are perfect. You have what you need to triumph. Karbala runs in your veins and is carried in your name. You don’t have to get caught up in what the world tells you to be. You are the benevolent who enriches, and you will always be a warrior against oppression and injustice. Your world is from Qom to El Paso and all that is in-between.

When people ask again if you are Malala, how you express yourself since you cover your hair, or whether you are hot in that “thing,” simply tell them and know that you are a gole beheshti. You, my flower from heaven, will live in integrity. The creator is and always will be your refuge.