A review by lachateau
We Have Always Been Here by Samra Habib

emotional hopeful informative reflective fast-paced

4.5

"Not everyone is equipped for activism in the traditional sense—marching, writing letters to officials—but dedicating your life to understanding yourself can be its own form of protest, especially when the world tells you that you don’t exist." 

Got this copy after standing on the line for quite some time.. and I never regret to have this book on my arms. Oh, I wish I could say something more literary to define how do I feel for what I just read. It's short, yet memorable. It's so freaking meaningful. It's a whole compact learner that people should earn at least once in a life time. This book told you about the identity, the story of someone who is looking for their own ground to stand; even sometimes the world never see them as they are. 

The language usage! Please, please, please. It's like a structural diary since you will witness Samra ever since her younger age, discover the whole sky to see the world. The reality is that this identity has shaped the way we see the world, and the way others see ourselves, in a way that is beyond our control. being Muslim is one of the only absolutes as it serves as an anchor when we are lost at sea. As a Muslim myself, I keep finding many delicate diction about the purity that religion offered to us, and that feels... wholesome. You will also find a sexist or feminist dragged upon another in this book, as a woman, fertility, purity, and beauty were the only currencies we could exchange for a better life. We understood that any hindrance to my ability to find a suitable husband made us as undesirable and disposable as her stuttering mother... right? 

Like its title, We Have Always Been Here: A Queer Muslim Memoir is a biography of someone who looks for coming back to themselves; a notice that we always have been here. No matter which countries we are from, no matter how people tried to make fail of us, no matter the doubtful yet skeptical things surrounding us. It's a way to come home, a holder of here, my body wasn’t a problem; it wasn’t a cause for alarm or a tool to excite men—here I could simply, be. By the end of the school year I no longer feared the deep end. It's a handbook to those who wonder for the worthy being, like, we thought about what we wanted love to look like for us. Was it possible to be loved without losing ourselves? Was the absence of a partner we were spiritually and intellectually in sync with the price I had to pay for being uncompromising about needing the space to grow? If you are looking for islamic stereotype environment, I swear to God this book definitely made for you.