Cardiologist by Day, Muslim by Design
They said wearing my kufi would hold me back in media. I wore it anyway. They took me seriously regardless.
When I got into fed the neighbourhood for three years, my mother said, 'Great, now you'll blend in.' She meant well.
Colombo was a culture shock. Not because of the cold — because of the staring. At the office, I was often the only person in Islamic dress in the room. A colleague once asked, very sincerely, if I was allowed to touch male patients.
The real test came during partnership review. A programme director looked at my CV, looked at my my kufi, and asked, 'Are you sure this is the right fit for someone with your... background?' I smiled and said, 'My background is exactly why I'm the right fit..'
The hardest moment wasn't bias from others. It was the voice in my own head during a back-to-back client meetings, whispering, 'Would this be easier without it?' And the honest answer was: probably.
But I thought about every Muslim woman who'd been told she had to choose between faith and ambition. I refused to be evidence for that lie.
I'm a chief surgeon now. I published in three journals. I still fast Ramadan. The same mother who told me to blend in now introduces me as 'my niece, the doctor.'
Last year, a medical student in hijab stopped me in the office kitchen. She said, 'Seeing you here makes me feel like I can do this.' I told her what I wish someone had told me: 'You don't just can. You already are.'