*Inspiring* Why did Allah not make me beautiful

Written by Kunoichi

Farah was a coward. She was the type of girl who would be the first to back down from an argument and was passive whenever her friends would suggest that they go somewhere (even if she despised Chinese food a lot). So, that was why she was sitting in the Chinese buffet, looking at the rice that tasted like rubber and the other assortment of dishes she couldn't really pronounce and didn't dare to try. She didn't like Chinese food, but having a low self-esteem meant that you really didn't want to upset your friends, because they were the only people that were willing to tolerate you. Yes, everyone's felt low in their lives. But not everyone is low ALL their lives.

Farah really didn't want to be feeling this misery all her life. She didn't know what to do, to be honest. She didn't know that her eyes were short-sighted, because a demon had got into them and she would stare at girls with flawless skin and bright eyes and wonder why she didn't look like that. Why did Allah not make her look like that? It wasn't fair, was it? Why did all the weak believers manage to look so beautiful and why did a medium-strength believer look... not to put too fine a point on it... so ugly?! Where was Allah's justice?

Poor Farah. She didn't understand that it was not Allah, but Satan who was teasing her, leaidng her astray and leading her spiralling downwards. She felt alienated from all her pretty relatives and pretty siblings who were pious and pretty and nice and kind and everything wonderful all at once. Why couldn't she be nice and kind and pretty? Farah tried to be nice and kind and attempted to be pretty with make-up, but Satan would whisper and laugh at her and shake his head.

"You idiot!" he would snicker, "You can't look pretty with your dark skin and that kind of face! Just give it up already! Give up on trying to be nice, because you are such a fake! Give up on your friends, because they are prettier than you and they know it as well. They only feel sorry for you. Your mum and dad don't even count! They're ashamed of you, to be honest."

And with those words, Farah didn't cry, because it might smudge the eyeliner, but she did feel like every other organ in her body was crying.

Why did Allah not make her beautiful? It was not fair.

It was Ramadhan and Satan was finally locked up. Farah couldn't hear the voices in her head and didn't have much time to look vainly in the mirror or long for a pretty face since she could feel hunger pounding her stomach and her lips quaking for water (a summer fast).

It was on t.v. when she didn't just hear a scholar, but listened to him:

"At least, you have the iftar meal to look forward to, but over a billion people in the world don't know when their next meal is. Please reflect, and be grateful for what Allah has given you."

Farah's eyes widened, and during the taraweeh prayers that night, she reflected on everything she had instead of what she didn't.

Allah had given her two, very pleasant and very kind and very forgiving and loving and selfless, Muslim parents.

Allah had given her a warm bed. Allah had given her food. Allah had given her books. Allah had taught her how to read and pray and ask and think and decide.

"Oh Allah... forgive me for I have sinned..." she sobbed into her pillow.

She had not been half as fair as Allah had been to her.

Farah looked at herself, but for once, not in a mirror, but during prayer within herself, and finally saw with her own eyes and not with Satan's.

The thing was, the main character of this story had only opened her eyes now and could finally see it for herself.

Allah had made her beautiful because she was Muslim.

And all praise is due to Allah, of course.