At some time last year, before Emi was born, likely in the summer, I acquired a beaded bracelet from one of Hannah’s sisters. I believe that the bracelet wasn’t meant for me but it was laying around so I put it on. I haven’t taken it off since. The beads are a marbled shade of pink and the charm is two little feet.
Ramadan started last week. One thing Muslim people do right before, and the very start of, Ramadan is ask each other if they’re fasting. It’s likely a measure of how committed to the faith you are.
The last few weeks have been especially trying at work. I’m having a hard time remaining calm, feeling overstimulated most of the time. My patience is a lot lower for the students and their needs.
Yesterday, during the Black History Month assembly, I was feeling especially overwhelmed and irritated. A student turned to his friend and told him to watch as he rage baited me. That was only one of a number of aggravating incidents throughout the day. Without thinking about it, I found myself using the bracelet as a tashbi – a rosary – circling my thumb over each of the beads as they moved through my fingers. The most basic religious training from my youth had risen to the surface to provide me with some level of comfort.
I’ve been thinking about that all day today, wondering if I shouldn’t find a tashbi that my mom has snuck away, during one of her visits, at the back of a drawer she thinks I never use. I have beads and string at school, tempting me to make something to keep in my pocket during the school day.
Unlike the bracelet, which I just happened to find, religion was placed in front of me, mine for the taking. I eschewed it. I’m not picking it back up again, but I’m now curious to reveal the depths through me which it runs.
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