June 2020
Madiha
June 7: Chicago protests: Hundreds of protesters condemn police brutality in Wrigleyville, Lincoln Square, Mount Greenwood (ABC7 Chicago)
From the signs to the chants and the heated one-on-one conversations, the message remained clear: speak up against police brutality, demand justice and unite to fight back against systemic racism.
"Every young black man is not a criminal and so I'm out here for that reason," said one protester, Muriel Harris.
"We're seeing our young African American men not able to grow up to be everything they aspire to be," said another protester, Catherine Walker. "They are not able to graduate, to finish school, to become their full self. My concern is I'll have to visit my son at the cemetery before his time is up."
My heart broke for the men, women and children who had to deal with systemic injustice night and day. No matter what my experiences were in this country my slightly less melanated skin put me at a privilege not enjoyed by my Black colleagues and friends.
As I sat alone on a bench outside the hospital, reading the news and eating my sandwich at lunch time, I saw Omar and Elijah walk out of the main entrance and take their masks off. Being able to simply breathe in fresh air was another privilege, many within the walls of a hospital didn't have.
It took Omar a moment to notice me, but when he did and that heartwarming smile slowly spread across his face making my pulse quicken, I realized too what a privilege it was to be loved by a man like him. From the way his eyes lit up at the sight of me, and the genuine affection of his smile, I always found a sanctuary within him, a place where acceptance and warmth converged to comfort my soul.
"I was hoping I'd find you here," he said, taking a seat next to me on the bench.
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping the same," I smiled back before dramatically pouting. "Especially, after you dumped me the other day."
He laughed, "I would never dump you, Madi. I had someone important to meet?"
"A female someone?" I raised a brow.
"No, not female at all." He shook his head with amusement.
"Then who?"
"Your father," he said with a straight face, making me sit up immediately. Alarm bells rang, a conversation with Faraz I hadn't mentioned to Omar came to mind. Theories on what the conversation with my father might have been about rattled through my head like an unexpected storm.
"Abu? Why would you go meet him?"
He confirmed what I feared, "Uncle called, asking me to convince you to marry Faraz."
Disbelief washed over me. I had always respected my father, he had been my hero, the man who supported me through the worst of life, yet in that moment I struggled immensely. Not just to find words to reply to Omar, dreading what his answer to my next question would be, but also to retain any semblance of respect for a father who refused to acknowledge my utter hatred for a man he kept trying to impose on me.
"What did you say to him?"
Omar sat back, and sighed, gazing off into the distance. "I told him I loved you in ways that no one else ever could, and that I would do everything necessary to give you a comfortable life."
His words filled me with warmth, but anxiety soon over shadowed it. "And? What did he say about us?"
"Nothing, really. Just that he was going to delay meeting Faraz's family." His gaze landed back on me, "But that was over a week ago. If he hasn't said anything to you, I can only assume nothing I said made a difference to him."
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