Writing is about many things. One of them is learning how to write. Another is learning how to learn how to write. Another is learning how you write best. Yet another is writing about learning how to write. Another still is writing about the past in a way that leaves you feeling as if it’s well represented. One of the challenges of memoir or confessional writing is bridging the gap between historical fact and emotional memory. Our minds create an idealized version of the past,Continue readingOn Writing

The dream is dead or dying. I haven’t quite yet decided which one is most fitting of my situation. I never know how to feel. I do know that, despite all the craziness, I still write. I write from a place of desperation now. I write like a man who sleeps in his car. I write like working 7 days a week. I write with bags under my eyes. I write, and there is no glory, no glamor. There is only grind. There are onlyContinue readingStanding at Kafka’s Gate

Bismillah. I have at least 7 different projects on my plate and their combined weight is pushing down on my chest. Who put this plate on my chest? I can’t breathe, can’t breathe. The price of seeking success is that one must always juggle more than one can handle. The stress in my life is unbelievable, but Allah is All-Powerful. Lately, my anxiety has been shifting forms and popping up in novel ways. I don’t know, man. I just wish it were easier. I wishContinue readingPressure Busts Writers

I’m just trying to survive, man, damn. I don’t know which way is what anymore. Can I live without being judged? Can I learn to be easy on myself? Allahu A’lam. (To myself: Breathe. Be easy, youngblood.) I write a whole helluva lot. It’s just that nobody ever sees it. I don’t want them to. To hell with their thoughts about my writing. I’m going to be selfish with it, I mean, I already am. By hoarding my writing, I’m saying: “Y’all can’t have noneContinue readingYou, Me and Allah

Ramadan. Another year has come and gone. Last year, I didn’t think I would be fasting in America. This year, I dreamt of running back to Africa to attain that righteous Taqwa. It also would have been nice to fast for fewer hours (12 hour days on the equator). To me, Africa is a comfort zone unlike any other. It is a reprieve from the harshnesses of the Western world. It is home for Africans, home for Muslims — doubly so for those who areContinue readingTaqwa

Richard Wright. I need to read more Richard Wright. Black Boy is amazing. I need more Baldwin in my life. I need Kafka, Fanon, Foucault, Cesaire. I need Alaine Locke, John Lock, and David Hume. I need the humanists. And many others that I’ve only heard of in passing, like Kierkegaard, but have yet to see in person. Well, it’s difficult to see dead people, but you get the drift. My goal in life is to step to this keyboard like a punching bag andContinue readingWright Brothers Manifesto

A small mosque in Awdal, the northwestern corner of Somaliland. (Photo by Hana Omar)   Back when I lived in Seattle, I really only had a working understanding of what it meant to be Muslim. I’ve prayed in Seattle mosques before — usually Masjid Al-Noor in White Center or Masjid Abu Bakr in Tukwila — but like many young Somali Americans, I was just going through the motions rather than actively strengthening my faith. As I grew further away from my childhood upbringing in Somalia and assimilated to theContinue reading1,000 Somali Shillings: How mosques hold Somalia together