A Letter to My Muslim Son About Love


Don’t look for it. It will find you. And if it doesn’t, your aunties on your mother’s side will find it for you in the form of a young Muslim girl, probably the daughter of a doctor or a lawyer, likely the last sister in her family to be unwed. She will be cute, but not the cutest, they will say, but she’s a good, pious girl. We will all be invited for chai one day at her mansion in a gated community on a hill, but really they just want to see you, your demeanor, your ability to lead prayer in a stranger’s home, everyone putting on their most Islamic face, their most Islamic dress. You will not fail this test, but your mother and I don’t want you to take it.

We want you to be yourself. Walk your own slow, slouched, clumsy walk down the hallways of life and look into every classroom you can. Take notes. Learn what you can about how things work, but even with a PhD, son, you will never understand love until you feel it. You will see her someday walking across campus or laughing with her friends—maybe after Juma prayers, maybe in a coffee shop—and her smile will make you look twice. Maybe three times. If you catch your eyes drifting south of her smile, then you’re on the wrong track. But if you’re stuck staring at her smile so long that you start smiling too, you may have found something.

Now check-in with your body. Do your arms feel like wet noodles? Do your knees feel like sponges? Is your stomach doing that thing it used to do when you were a kid tick-ticking uphill on a roller coaster just before the fall? Okay. Don’t be scared. That’s just love’s kindling barely starting to burn. Ask around. Someone knows her name. When you find out what it is, say her name over and over in your head. Close your eyes. Recite it like a poem. How does it feel swirling around in your mouth, on your tongue? Good.

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The Most Epic Blanket Fort and the Nerdy Love Story That Made It So

Ali Nhu An

Ali & Nhu-An’s engagement photo

This fall, Nhu-An and I are getting married.

We’ve been together since November 18, 2000, back when we were seniors in high school. Despite a lot of obstacles like living on opposite sides of the country for much of our relationship and the glacial pace at which I completed grad school, we’ve stayed together and continue to be in love. To celebrate our engagement, we made this epic blanket fort.

Here’s the nerdy story that made all of this possible.

A nerdy love story

Nhu-An and I were very different people when we met. She worked hard, wanted to make a big difference in the world, and kept thinking about the next big thing. I only cared about enjoying the present moment with my friends and family. That’s why our senior class voted me “most likely to be out of class” while Nhu-An was “most likely to succeed”.

We seemed to be complete opposites. She was prudent. I was careless. She was anxious. I was laid-back. She knew exactly what she wanted out of life while I had no idea where I was headed but was confident things would work themselves out. People wondered why we were together, especially our parents.

Read the rest of the post at Ali’s blog, “Brain Knows Better.”

Ali Mattu received his Ph.D. in clinical psychology from The Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C. he was born and raised in Silicon Valley and studied psychology at UCLA. Ali is currently a post-doctoral fellow in clinical psychology at the NYU Langone Medical Center Department of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry/Child Study Center. Outside of psychology, he is an active photographer. Whenever possible, Ali consumes science fiction.

The sacrilegious love affair I couldn’t resist


Salon excerpted one of the most controversial stories from Salaam, Love: American Muslim Men on Love, Sex & Intimacy. What do you think of the issues writer Maher Reham raises? You can also read Maher’s contributor spotlight on our website, here.

Curious to read more stories from Salaam, Love? Order the book today!

NPR: American Muslim Men Balance Faith And Love In ‘Salaam’

Haroon Moghul

Haroon Moghul

Tune into Salaam, Love contributor Haroon Moghul’s great interview with NPR Weekend Edition today. You can also read his story Prom, InshAllah online at the link!

“I think for a lot of American Muslims, especially those of us who are in some kind of community role, we’re forced to become, for lack of a better term, professional Muslims. A lot of the things that I wanted to do with my life, I was unable to do, because I realized that as an American, and as a Muslim, I had an obligation to become part of a conversation that we as a country needed. And I don’t regret that, and I think it was something that is the right thing to do. But unfortunately, I think in the process, we were forced to deny a lot of parts of ourselves.”

A Love Story: From Strangers to Family

A beautiful video profile of “Love, InshAllah” editor Ayesha Mattu & her husband Randy Nasson, who was also yesterday’s “Salaam, Love” featured contributor.

Video credit and gratitude to Women of Spirit & Faith, Peabody Award-winning filmmaker Alison Fast and documentary filmmaker Chandler Griffin!

When the loss is forever


I haven’t written much about the transition of my son J to our new life and existence after Joan’s death. He lost his mother when he was 12; it is something that will shape him for the rest of his life. He stood by her, holding her hand as she gulped her last breaths, he wept inconsolably as she faded and grew cold. I wonder what the impact of that will be as he grows into manhood. It will have an impact; there is a huge crater in his life.

My first action after the funeral and all the emotions that came immediately afterwards was to do……nothing. I decided to change nothing. It was dislocating enough to come home to a home devoid of the person you love deeply, without also uprooting the rest of our lives.

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Remembering Dhadhi

Eds. Note: This beautiful piece is being posted in honor of the author’s grandmother’s first death anniversary. Ending the year with a moving reminder of the only thing that lasts, the bridge between life & death: love.


On Friday, I buried Muneer Unisa Begum, a woman who has lived with me my entire life.

Her capacity for love was like her appetite: large and generous.

Born in Hyderabad Deccan, India on April 8, 1925, she moved to Karachi, Pakistan during partition and then joined her two eldest sons in Amreeka in the late ‘70’s, where she rocked bell bottoms, South Asian bling, and a strange, enduring love for Tom Jones, The Doobie Brothers and Sabri Brothers’ Qawwalis.
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