SOME PEOPLE DON'T DESERVE NAMES

By Marah Siyam

Hanoona and Romana are a pair of unlikely friends. Romana is the outgoing girl with the attitude that both keeps people attracted to her while also not befriending her. Hanoona is the opposite, she is hard working and diligent in both her studies and friendships. Although they may seem like two peas in a pod to the outside eye, they are anything

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marah Siyam
• Release date: Mar 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985835618

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Authors note

I dedicate this novel to the Romanas and Hanoonas of the world. Whether you see yourself in one of them or both. You relate to the bad or the good in them, let your relationship with these characters help you find a gentler relationship with yourself. Romana and Hanoona are not bad people and nothing that happened to them was deserved or their fault, which rings true for you too. Being a good person and friend to those around you will always be a choice you must make even in moments of pain. If my work can do one thing for the little girls who had to grow up sooner than expected, let it be the love and warmth they should have gotten at the time they needed it most. 

Trigger warnings: Sexual Assult, Parental Death, Mention of Suicide. 

Introduction

Year 2086

I pray my name brings comfort to those who speak it after I am not here to answer to it anymore. 

My days have been slowing down for a while now. I wait all day for my children and grandchildren to stop by, hoping for someone to ask me about the days that move as quickly as the sound of my mother calling my name on a school morning. 

Sitti Hanoona, are you crying? my youngest granddaughter says as she comes through the front door and sits in my lap, she lifts her hand and wipes the tears on my cheek. Nerjis is wearing a sweater I had knit for her, her long hair covering the words, Forever Sitti’s. 

I’m okay, I just found my old box of pictures under my bed while sweeping the floors, I said, pulling her into my lap. I had forgotten where I put them, and they’ve been under my bed all along. They’re bringing back memories that were starting to fade. I wrapped my arms around her and started flipping through the pictures of me and Romana that I had printed from our silly photoshoot after school on a random day in eighth grade. We were so young and innocent. We didn’t understand sadness and joy at the time, but we were always ready to dissect other people’s emotions as if we were experts, always ignoring our own. 

I let out a soft chuckle. We spent a lot of those years hurting, hurting each other, getting hurt, looking back, I regret those times. I’m eighty-seven now, I’ve lived a great life, surrounded by a family built like a fortress, always protecting each other. I look at the leaves outside my window, they’re the same color today as they were back then. Some things have changed, others have not; my wallet is still a replica of the first one I knit in school when I was around fifteen years old. My life is almost over, but these photos never fail to make me miss the moments of petty jokes, spontaneous adventures, and most of all her laugh. 

I did what I always wanted to do. I became successful, built a family, performed Hajj, and tried to be the best version of myself for my children and my children’s children. Time will never stop, but as I get older, the clock in front of me seems to be moving slower and slower. The big hand on the clock ticks louder in my mind these days. 

Who is that Sitt? 

Nerjis is pointing to Romana, who was wearing a yellow sweatshirt and black shorts. She had her light glittering hair split down the middle with the sun reflecting in her eyes. I was standing behind her, making an ugly face- which she told me to do, only to realize later that she had not done the same. I did not laugh at the time she handed me the prints, but now that’s all I can do. That was the last day Romana’s smile was genuine. If pictures were worth a thousand words, this one would be worth one million. I would take the stars out of my eyes and put them in hers if I could, but that still would not have changed a thing. Our lives are our lives, we cannot live them for each other; yet we tried to take on each other’s pain every day. 

I’ll tell you about her, but just know that Romana, my friend, was so complex, not even I understood her after all these years, I said, noticing her mother, my daughter, standing in the doorway, listening with her arms crossed, knowing she had heard this story many times before, but even she didn’t know the parts I never spoke of. 

Romana was my absolute best friend, the way me and you are, right? I said tickling her little belly, making her squirm in my lap. How could I make her understand? I will talk to her as she grows, but there will always be things I leave out of the story. 

Yes! she screamed so I would stop tickling her. Okay, so where was I? Ah yes, Romana. She was the most beautiful girl ever. She was the flawed narrator of her life. She went through many hardships, and some of those things were very hard to get through, but she somehow always did it while making jokes. That was the biggest lesson she taught me, even though I thought I taught her more than she ever taught me, I can see now that her impact on me was far greater than my impact on her. I learned that as many times as I failed, screaming at myself in the mirror, driving too fast out of anger, falling deeper into my own self hate, I could always fix my mistakes, and if I can’t, I could at least make a good joke out of it. 

Some people might say Romana never fixed her mistakes, and to some extent that was true, she made many many mistakes, but she never gave up on being my friend. She was bad at being my friend sometimes, the way your mom sometimes forgets to get you the drink you want from the store, but she loved me the way your mom loves you. We all get mad at each other, and sometimes the mistakes are worth breaking ties, but in the end, for us, that was never a real option. 

Remember when I told you, God said ‘If you take one step towards me, I’ll take ten towards you. Walk towards me, I will run towards you?’ Well, we were like that. We completed each other but no one around us could figure out how. We made sure the other ate, counted the minutes we didn’t spend together, looked for each other each day at school, but we never admitted to it. Even our names matched! 

I ask God to forgive her more than I ask for myself. I’ve always put her before myself, in prayer, in life, and in death.

Romana was like both sides of the moon. Her brightness was beautiful, but during her darkness I had to leave and find my own light. She was the pain that manifested on this earth as well as the beauty the world offered us. Balancing each other. God put her in my life for a reason, and I hope the good she has done in her life is enough to tip the scales in her favor. 

Where is she now? Nerjis asked wide eyed. The question caught me off guard as well as the tear rolling down my cheek, almost forgetting. The tears begin to blur my vision. She’s with God. I pray she is at peace, with her family, close to God, and comfortable. Say Ameen with me. We both say Ameen. Nerjis wraps her arms around me and whispers in my ears, repeating again, Ameen. 

Ameen. 

A time will come when we won’t have to hold each other and cry. If I get into heaven and am allowed to bring someone along with me, Romana’s name will roll off my tongue faster than my mind could process. 

Our names connected coincidentally, but I don’t believe in coincidences anymore. We had nothing in common, we always disagreed but we were meant to be friends. Our hearts beat the same rhythmic scales as the syllables in our names. 

Chapter One

Romana

"Everything is dying, everything is dying, and the earth is dying also. I don’t know where I get the courage to keep living in the midst of these ruins. 

Let us love each other to the end" 

—Amantine Lucile Aurore Dupin 
(in a letter to Gustave Flaubert). 

By the time I pulled out my blue composition notebook to pretend to take notes, Ms. Sabaah had already written a quote by a dead white person. 

Okay class what do we think about this quote? Ms. Sabaah asks while half the class isn’t listening, and the other half is sleeping. Then Hanoona nudges me to look at her paper. 

What? I ask Hanoona, trying to keep my voice down but sounding annoyed enough for her to get the hint. Her hands were always so warm that they made me flinch. She fidgets and points at her paper where she has written an entire paragraph answer. She always does this, I don’t know why she can’t just say it herself, it’s not like anyone actually cares. 

Just say it. Why do I have to? I push the paperback at her as I say it. 

Just do it, Hanoona says as she glares at me. I let out a loud exhale and raised my hand. 

So basically, even though the world is crashing we should love each other in order to survive, which basically means that… uhm. We have to survive? 

I say to the teacher in a mock bored way while side-eyeing Hanoona’s paper. 

I could barely read her handwriting, but I think my answer is good enough. 

The girls sitting behind us snicker and I try my best to not whip my head around and find out what is so funny. I thought there were no wrong answers in class. Is everyone really laughing at me right now? They can’t be serious. I’m not the first person to get an answer wrong. Whatever this class does not matter, I’m going to sleep. I spent last night watching random makeup videos. Last time I ever raise my hand for her. She should just learn ASL if she doesn’t want to speak so badly. 

Hey, pass this up. The girls who were snickering behind me say passing me a tiny piece of paper. She handed it to me like it was the original copy of the Quran. 

I open it and it’s a horrible drawing of the teacher typing in I love Islam 1234 as her computer password. It wasn’t that funny but I guess that’s what they were laughing at. I passed it to the boy in front of me but I put some lotion on my hands before I did that since my hands were crustier than the bottom of a cruise ship. You couldn’t have made your handwriting worse for me? He says and I gave him a confused look, you know make it like a challenge, he finally says. 

I chuckled in a cute way, then took a glance at the girls behind me to make sure they weren’t listening. 

Ms. Sabaah claps twice and says, Okay, that’s fine, but why do you guys think the writer who is a woman decided to use a male pen name? She then starts walking around the class tapping the desks of the people sleeping. 

Hanoona started shaking her leg and writing as fast as she could on a new sheet of paper. She always did this, making all of our classes together so annoying. But this time I’m not reading her answer. I never know how to read her horrible handwriting and I always end up sounding like an idiot. Maybe this time they aren’t laughing at me but I’m sure they will know that the note has been passed around and everyone is back to being bored. I grabbed my pen and wrote on the paper she was writing on, I’m not raising my hand you do it. She looked at me, clenching her teeth. 

Because men are better writers and she wanted to succeed more? A boy in the back of the class said. How funny of him to have the right answer and the completely wrong execution. God, boys really are bottom-tier species. Why did God have to include the whole completing half your religion thing with marriage? 

Hanoona shot her hand up, but trying not to look too enthusiastic she put her head down keeping her hand in the air. 

It’s because women at the time were discriminated against and so it was easier for them to publish their work under a male name to keep themselves safe but still get their work out? Hanoona said, obviously actively trying to stop her voice from shaking by bouncing her leg. 

Yes! Exactly. You should speak up more Hanoona, don’t be so shy. Ms. Sabah said. What weird advice but I guess that’s true. I know I’m going to forget all these people in ten years, I’m going to move away and be a successful person. I’m not sure what success looks like yet but I will be successful enough to act like I don’t know anyone. Maybe in ten years, I’ll send all the teachers designer hijabs as a gift to spite them. 

After class me and Hanoona decided to hide in the bathroom for a little bit, we always did that because it was one of the only private places in the school because it was the loudest. 

As I walked out of the classroom, the boy I passed the note to tapped me on the shoulder and said, It’s a pretty good drawing but not that funny. I froze, I wanted to say I didn’t draw it but I couldn’t understand if that was a compliment or not, he walked away before I could make up some smooth answer. 

In the bathroom, the girls usually took off their scarves which was part of the uniform that was made up of a knee-length tunic and sweatpants. The next step was always to pull out their phones and gossip. 

Isn’t it so scary to stare at yourself in the mirror? I said squishing my face, raising my eyebrows and trying to see what other people saw when they talked to me. I always hated my nose because it had a small bump, but I learned one time on YouTube that if you put a darker shade of powder on that part of your nose it’ll make the bump look smaller. I pulled out my eyeliner and applied more to my bottom lash line because people said it makes the hints of green in my eyes pop more. That was always my most complimented feature. 

So why are you doing it if it’s scary? Hanoona asked, trying to discreetly pick her wedgie but it wasn’t very discreet. She had taken off her hijab to fix her hair, but the way she was grabbing her hair to put it back into a bun was so awful I’m surprised she still has any hair left. On a scale of one to ten, how pretty do you think I am? I asked, licking my finger and wiping off the eyeliner that leaked into the inner corner of my eyes. I don’t know, everyone is pretty in their own ways, it’s hard to rate people, I always hated that. She said, washing her hands and using the napkin she used to dry them to wipe around the sink that was always flooded with water because people didn’t know how to make wudu without splashing everywhere, obviously. 

Okay, I get that but if there was one thing you could change about me, what would it be? And from what angle do I look the best? If you were taller than me and looked down to talk to me, how do I look? I asked Hanoona, bending my knees and looking up at her to mimic what tall people see. I needed to know what I looked like to him. 

I wish my skin was a more even color like I don’t know. Or just like having maybe one thing that stands out about my face. Hanoona said. But for real, what would you change about my face? Seriously? I asked her again. 

Why does it matter, you are pretty anyway, She said as another girl walked into the bathroom and when the girl looked at her, Hanoona immediately became awkward. She always gets awkward for no reason, Hanoona answer my question already. I say, visibly sounding annoyed. I look at Hanoona when she doesn’t answer me and see that she is looking in the mirror and touching her face. Why are you touching your face like that? 

April- an upperclassman that people used to just call her the Arab girl with the white name- asks her. She wants to be whiter, I answered April. 

If you put lemon on your face and scrub with sugar you’ll get whiter, I do that all the time, April says to Hanoona as she points to her own face as the spokesperson for lemons. 

I- it’s not that I want to be whiter, I just want to look more even, Hanoona said, sneaking glances at the mirror to look at herself. I was much paler compared to Hanoona, but I still think she’s pretty. She had very dark hair and very dark eyes. But I’ve seen girls in magazines that had very dark features but were still beautiful. One of the only times she’s cried during school was last year’s first day of school. Her family had gone on vacation to California for a week and she came back five shades darker. Everyone was pointing it out and saying things like, What happened to you, did your mom leave you in the oven for too long. Or my personal favorite that I always called her once was a burnt chicken nugget. It was funny but she walked away before I could even finish talking. I still don’t understand why, like it’s just skin and why does she care so much about its color, I’ll never really get it. 

If it makes you feel better Hanoona, I’ll bring you a lemon tomorrow, you put half on your face and I’ll squeeze the rest in everyone’s eyes so they won’t have an opinion on you at all, I said to her trying to make things light and funny. She laughed through her nose and I wrapped my arms around her pulling her out of the bathroom to the lunchroom. 

How much money do you have on you, want to go halfsies on two chicken sandwiches and I’ll get the drinks and chips? I asked Hanoona, realizing I forgot to take the money my mom left me on the kitchen counter. I knew that kid selling chips would give me two bags for free because I let him use my phone sometimes after school since his parents won’t let him have one or go on the internet alone.  

It’s fine. I’ll pay and you just get us Thai iced tea tomorrow after school, deal? Hanoona said, pulling out her pink wallet that was shaped like a strawberry and made out of thin strings of yarn. I remember how excited she was when she learned how to make little wallets out of yarn, but when she brought it to school the first time a girl spilled milk all over it by accident, but that never deterred her. This is currently her fourth identical strawberry yarn wallet, and it won’t be her last. 

Still, I went to the kid selling chips to try and get some for us so she didn’t have to buy everything. I wasn’t even sure what his name was but he was so much shorter than the rest of his class that his big personality seemed to make up for it. He was confident for sure, but a little too confident for my taste. Let me get two Lays please, I said pretending to look busy and in a rush. Okay, two dollars unless you have something else to offer? he asked, holding each bag in each hand lifting them up. Oh, come on, can you just for once give them without strings attached? No, this a business, and I have people to pay, bills to pay, employees to pay, he spoke like a drug dealer which was hilarious since he was barely in middle school, whereas I was almost done with school and yet he has me and all these kids who are much older than him, and taller begging for chips. 

The only thing you have to pay for is a babysitter, I said trying to grab a bag of chips but he snatched the whole box of chips before I even blinked. Keep it moving. He said, guarding those chips with his life. Oh, come on, I said, pushing his shoulder back to loosen up. 

Fine, but that’ll be an extra ten minutes on your phone on top of the 30 you give me, he said, handing me the chips but pulling them back before I could grab them again. 

15 minutes total- tops. 

Deal! he said, throwing the chips at me, see you after school Romana. 

It’s Romana, I said rolling my eyes, have some respect or I’ll tell your mom you message girls after school, I said with a smirk. I made my way to the corner of the lunchroom where I and Hanoona sat every day, waving the chips like two trophies. Hanoona was setting up a little picnic on the ground using what looked like all the paper towels in the bathroom. 

Chapter Two 

Hanoona

It was finally the weekend. Usually, Romana and I meet up and either sit in the park for way too long or we just hang out in my room watching compilation videos of people falling and trying not to laugh. If we