Page 24 - My Creative Writing Portfolio

24

A LADY IN HIJAB AND A COFFEEMAKER

I moved to Greenacre, a Sydney suburb with a large Middle Eastern population—especially
Lebanese—toward the end of June 2021. Almost immediately, the Covid-19 lockdown began,
though we were still allowed to walk for exercise.

About a month after I arrived, I took a walk along Chullara Market. There, near a grocery store, I
noticed a lady dressed in full hijab, covering all but her eyes and mouth. She was looking at me,
and I at her. For a moment, I found myself lost in thought: What must she think of me, someone
wearing only a jumper and pants? What does she make of our freedom to dress without strict
codes?

I became so absorbed in imagining her thoughts that I forgot I was staring. Her eyes widened, as if
in anger or surprise. Only then did I realize she had caught me looking. I wasn’t attracted to her; it
was the curiosity that held me—wondering about the life and perspective behind the hijab. Feeling
self-conscious, I quickly walked away.

Later, I went to buy coffee. A small line had formed outside the shop, and I thought, This must be
a good place if so many people are drawn here. The coffeemaker noticed me for the first time. He
might have been startled, his gaze lingering for a moment. We were both masked—him with a
shield and gloves, everyone taking precautions against Covid-19.

I imagined what he might have been thinking. Perhaps my appearance confused him—my South
Asian features, grey hair, elderly posture, casual clothes. For some, I might have looked Indian; for
others, perhaps from anywhere in South Asia or even the Middle East. Many of his customers were
Lebanese, so maybe he wondered whether to speak in Lebanese, as he did with regulars.

I also thought, half-jokingly, that he might have suspected me of being a spy. In a tightly knit
Muslim community, there is always a faint awareness of surveillance, and posters in the area spoke
of continued resistance, hinting at caution and mistrust. Outsiders are sometimes viewed with
suspicion, stereotyped unfairly as linked to violence or crime.

But then, his expression softened. Perhaps my grey hair, my calm demeanor, and the casual way I
carried myself reassured him. Maybe he concluded I was just a serious, educated visitor—someone
harmless, possibly an Indian coming to visit children in the community.

After that first visit, I returned occasionally for coffee. He now greets me with a friendly look,
though words are minimal. Our interaction is simple: I order, usually “small cappuccino,” and he
responds with a nod or, “Which coffee?” I answer, and he gestures for me to move forward to pick
up and pay. Over time, these small, silent exchanges have formed a quiet rhythm of recognition—
polite, efficient, and oddly comforting.

In these small moments—the curious glance of a woman in hijab, the measured nod of a
coffeemaker—I became aware of the subtle rhythms of life in a new place. Observing, imagining,
and cautiously interacting, I slowly began to understand the delicate balance of culture, suspicion,
and human connection that exists quietly, beneath the surface of everyday routines..