356 Days Later...

One year ago today, my life was measured in eight gunshots.

Five of those bullets found their mark: one tearing through my eye socket and exiting my neck, the others shattering my arms, shoulder, and elbow. The impact detached my retina; the damage to my carotid artery triggered a stroke that stripped the feeling from my entire left side.

A year later, the physical toll remains. I live with searing nerve pain and partial vision. I struggle to tie my shoes or type with the speed I once had. On the nights I do sleep, I often wake to the echo of those shots and the metallic taste of gunpowder on my tongue.

I remember that night with haunting clarity. I felt a dark energy approaching and I moved first, throwing an elbow that made him scream—his teeth marks are still etched into my skin. The next sound I heard was the bullet entering my face.

The case remains open as attempted murder. The police have their theories—ranging from a gang initiation to a disgruntled ex-boyfriend. But regardless of the "who" or "why," I stand here as a living testament to what it means to be blessed by God.

Initially, I craved revenge. I had people ready to cross state lines to handle the "payback missions" if I only gave the word. I didn't. I couldn't. Not because I’m weak, but because I love Allah more than I love the idea of disappointing Him. I’ve learned that the true weight of your convictions is only known when they are tested. That night, my faith was put through the fire.

Between the shattered bones and the weeks spent eating from a syringe, I realized His mercy is more real than I ever dared to declare. My desire for vengeance has since evolved into a mixture of pity, indifference, and—unexpectedly—compassion.

I’m still human. A flame of anger still flickers for the person who tried to end me. But that flame is smothered by an overwhelming sense of triumph. I have learned that even the shadow of God is enough to pull you back from the edge of death.

These days, the nightmares are losing their volume. They’ve been replaced by the sound of my infant son snoring beside me and the laughter of my family, my girlfriend, and my Muslim community. Their support is so loud that I can’t hear the gunshots anymore.

I imagine that soon, I won't even feel them.