On World Hijab Day, which was on February 1, you didn’t have to be a Muslim to wear one. The designated day was first announced in 2013. Founded by activist Nazma Khan, the story behind World Hijab Day is an emotional one which speaks of the bullying, prejudice, physical and racial abuse Khan endured as a young child who migrated to the US from Bangladesh. These unkind imputations were all because she wore a hijab.

Since launching an online store in 2010 to sell hijabs, Khan has received an outpouring of support from hijab-wearing women across the globe who have shared with her their own terrifying stories because of their headscarves.

Today, World Hijab Day is celebrated in 116 countries around the world. Although the declaration received negative criticisms from some who saw it as a “well-financed effort by conservative Muslims to dominate modern Muslim societies,” others respect the day. One such person was New York Assemblyman David Weprin, who in his feature address on World Hijab Day, said: “As the prime Assembly sponsor of the Religious Garb bill in New York State, A2049, I stand with all Americans of faith, regardless of their choice, to wear a hijab, kippah, turban, or cross. All Americans of all faiths should be allowed to freely exercise and display their religious choice without the fear of violence and bigotry.”

Here at home, women’s rights activist and model Naballah Chi has not been quiet about her love and honour for the true meaning of the hijab. In an interview with the T&T; Guardian, Chi explained the meaning of the hijab and why it’s worn.

“The literal meaning of hijab is to veil, to cover, or to screen. Islam is known as a religion concerned with community cohesion and moral boundaries, and therefore the hijab is a way of ensuring that the moral boundaries between unrelated men and women are respected,” said Chi.

She added, “In this sense, the term hijab encompasses more than a scarf and more than a dress code. It is a term that denotes modest dressing and modest behaviour. Wearing the hijab is a commandment from Allah. The majority of Muslim women wear hijab to obey God, and to be known as respectable women.

“The basic requirement of the hijab is that a Muslim woman should cover her head and ***** (chest) and her body. So in the last 30 years, hijab has emerged as a sign of Islamic consciousness and women’s assertion to obey their lord. A woman wearing hijab becomes a very visible sign of Islam.

“The aura of privacy created by hijab is indicative of the great value Islam places upon women. Therefore, hijab is not a symbol of oppression. The hijab does not prevent a woman from acquiring knowledge or from contributing to the betterment of human society. While those who seek to ban hijab refer to it as a symbol of gender-based repression, the women who choose to don a scarf, or to wear hijab, in the broadest sense of the word, view it as a right and not a burden,” she explained.

She said wearing the hijab has given her the freedom from constant attention to her physical self.

“My appearance is not subjected to scrutiny, my beauty, or perhaps lack of. Instead it has been removed from the realm of what can legitimately be discussed,” she said.

Chi comes from a world of beauty pageants where she once felt pressured to put down her hijab in exchange for a crown.

After understanding the true meaning behind the hijab, and why she wore a hijab as a Muslim woman, she decided to design a fashionable collection called Classic Woman—not the conventional headscarf, but rather, beautifully coloured pieces which bear intricate artwork. They can range from embroidery to sequins or even tie-dye. The sky is the limit when she puts her fashionable sense into motion.

Chi said the collection was inspired by both The Great Gatsby and the Renaissance eras of power dressing.

“My collection features designs showcasing the powerful but elegant and well-tailored woman.

Chi Collection’s trademark fabrics are soft, beautiful silks, chiffon, sequins, embroidery and bridal laces. Distinctive attributes are the colours scarlet red, white and black, in keeping with the classic fashion palette and to pay homage to my country as a Trinbagonian designer,” said Chi.

Her collection was launched in November 2015 at the Red Runway Fashion Gala held in Port-of-Spain. The collection will be available for purchase via Chi’s upcoming website.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2015

My first winter without you
I spent New Years with my hands in an ancient wall
and the stone set my eyes on fire
each a candle, one burning for shabbat,
one burning for you like a yartzeit that wouldn’t dwindle
mourning your hands, my face buried in your chest.
You are
so tall.
You were drinking somewhere
and you didn’t want my prayers.
My first winter without you
I filled notebooks and found new arms
I learned what it is
to be afraid of dying young
I learned what it is
to feel home
and you
are not it.
My first spring without you
I floated on the Dead Sea at dawn
and wiped the oil off the wounds in my knees
I prayed with my eyes closed in the marketplace and
filled my fists with the fruits of the season.
I ate books for breakfast.
I spent nights in dim hidden rooms playing bongos until my palms shook
My first spring without you,
I wrote my first song.
I waltzed in the middle of a street party
where the DJ blasted some pounding techno anthem of a budding culture and
I, behind a feathered mask,
kept slow measured time and watched the bloom of my own.
My first summer without you
I had a beer poured over my head by a boy whose
wide shoulders and broad-mouthed accent sent me
leaping back in gaping toothy laughter. I shook
my hair out and chased him into the the Armenian quarter,
but he didn’t run. Daytime
we all baked in our own salt,
marinated in sweet new friendships and nostalgia for
some California coastline - for nights in your living room
with its tin walls and landscapes taped up.
If I looked through your couch cushions now
I might find, I’d think, some bobby pin or blonde hair.
On your wrist a hairband whose
owner you’d forgotten.
My first summer without you
I was spit on by a stranger for the first time, and a
man chased after the car, holding his kippah on his head,
his anguished yelp filling with dust and car exhaust while my
things sat in boxes in America, not belonging to me anymore,
or me not belonging
to them.
My first fall without you
it rained so softly the children went outside and opened their mouths
This week a man told me that redemption
is remembering who you were before you lost yourself.
I remember who I was before you,
something gentle, something the
very lightest shade of grey.
You would not recognize me if you saw me now,
calm in the eyes.
Three years together, one year apart,
and not a single poem for you,
until now.
Happy birthday.

There is a paper
in my room, it is
between the paints and the seforim,
folded neatly in two. It says
“This is
a manifesto.”
It says, “Here is
a safe place for people who are tired,
tired of words like
“religious”
For people who don’t care if your kippah is knit
or black velvet
or a crown made of fur.
Who know that the
color of your shirt
does not determine the extent of your belief, who
are tired of hearing “modern”
as an insult.
Who have worked hard to find truth,
who have done our best to be good,
who have been told how
good we are or
how not, even if
we had not asked.
We are not the kollel wives of Har Nof, the
kabbalists of Tzfat, the
pilgrims of Hevron.
We are
all of them collectively.
We have never thrown
a rock, or spit
on a child.
We are the talmidim and talmidot
of David HaMelech,
whose own family thought he was a ******* child,
who wrote poetry and
composed on a harp,
who sang and
danced on a mountain top
whose differences made him holier.
We know
today his daughters would not
get into the best Beis Yaakov.
Our differences make us holier, and we
are not
afraid anymore.
Of desire to be
accepted
suppressing
the ways we connect to
the Infinite.
We have been taken out of context.
We have seen yiras shmaim replaced by
yiras rabbeim.
We are
changing
the minchag hamakom.
We are
a generation ready for
the descendant of David HaMelech and
Avraham Avinu, two leaders whose
courage to be different shifted the
course of the world.
We think “alternative” has become
a four-letter word because
it is a synonym for
“choice”
We are asking questions,
we are using
our gifts. You are
welcome to join us
for a meal, or maybe
a revolution.”
There is a paper in my room, it is
between the paints and the seforim,
folded neatly in two,
with spaces
at the bottom
for 13.4 million signatures.
It says
“This is
a manifesto.”
There is a paper
in my room,
I am looking for a door
to hang it on.