Joy Is Resistance

On my graduation day, I wore a yellow dress and a kuffiyeh.

My mother, watching me graduate, was coincidentally dressed the same. My university was international, populated by students from across the world, yet the symbolism of what we wore was immediately legible and contested. A classmate approached me and said she respected my decision to wear the kuffiyeh despite what others were thinking. At the same time, a German woman told my mother that it was neither the time nor the place. While I received glances, my mother received comments.