Sarah Khalil
Inshallah.
Many argue it is the most common expression in the Arab Muslim population. It translates to God willing, yet it feels like it has a different meaning when it's said in English. It can be said as a promise, a prayer, and a dismissal.
As an Arab kid, it’s a universal experience to ask your family members for favors, presents, etc. And as a response you get Inshallah. If you see a glimmer and a slight smile on your parent's face, the kid knows it’s a promise. When asked for a prayer, parents turn serious, as they start talking to God. The hope and faith exuding from them make their child feel at peace. Children know when they're dismissed. A little hand wave, a little head nod, with the combination of Inshallah equals an empty promise.
They fear promising something they are unable to fulfill. I’ve heard the entire spectrum of Inshallah, and both my family and God seem to come up short with me.
“Mom, do you think we could go out this weekend?”
Inshallah.
“Dad, do you think I could borrow the car?”
Inshallah.
“Hey sis, can we hang out later?”
Inshallah.
From my mother's ever most anger to the calm aura that emits from my father, I’ve learned to decipher their intent with the saying. It could mean: yes, hopefully, and no.
I’ve grown to dislike the word. As the weight it holds has no impact on me now. I’d rather be rejected or awarded, not stuck pondering which possibility it will land on depending on how hopeful I am. I rarely use the word, fearing that I will pose an empty promise like my parents. Whether in the communal sphere of Muslims or others. Arabs would know it's an empty promise and will be disappointed upon hearing me saying it, just as I have been. And anyone else would be hopeful, excited by the foreign word, then possibly betrayed. I say I’ve grown to dislike the word, yet I am just human. I am Arab. I am Muslim. So, every now and then I’ll slip and get back in touch with my roots.
“Sarah, will you ever prevail?”
Inshallah.
CLAMOR 