March 4, 2003

Dearest Umar,

Your cousin Ambika persuaded me to henna my hair this evening. I also plucked my eyebrows into perfect little arches, Umar, and I think that your cousin is right -- my eyes look less like I've been crying for three days and more like a thyroid condition, or like I just received surprising to moderately shocking news! Anyway, except for a sudden craving for McDonalds, I feel better tonight than I did yesterday. And, with any luck, I expect to feel better tomorrow than tonight. Omigod! I'm talking in riddles, Umar! The truth is that Ambika urged me to write to you. She said that today marks the beginning of a new year, and that it is the time for reflection for all Muslim people.

"Look, Naomi," she said. "I am contemplating whether to buy a new set of serrated kitchen knives or a pair of Mother of Pearl earrings."

I said, "Ambika, you can't butter a potato with an earring."

And she answered, "That's right. And you, Naomi, can not live without Umar."

I can list dozens of reasons why we should not be together. You already gave me several last weekend. Our parents can give us hundreds more. But I love you, Umar. I will follow you anywhere. Anywhere, my darling! -- from my cold, rent-stabilized apartment in lower Manhattan, to the hot, dust-bearing winds of Saudi Arabia. Please, Umar. I love you from here to eternity.
Salaam alaykum.
Naomi
Muharram 1, 1424