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Tears on my headscarf

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OPINION: The sweat was doing that thing where it drops from the middle of your back, past the curve, and straight on to the top of your lower back.

Trickling like the leaky heat pumps working overtime inside the mosque. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Constant like the tears from a young Muslim woman beside me, who dabbed the stream from behind her oversized dark glasses.

Right as the two minutes' silence began at the mosque in Palmerston North on Friday, the sun moved from behind the clouds and it felt like someone had turned the dial up on the sun as it beat down on those gathered.

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My headscarf acted as both a shield from the rays and something to catch the tears.

I lowered my eyes as the silence made my ears ring. I caught sight of the young girl I had been watching play earlier.

Her small white hijab was just about one of the cutest things I had ever seen. I never knew they made them so small.

She smiled with her large brown eyes and fidgeted as she played with a piece of glossy blue card, printed by the Muslim Association.

In bright white letters it served as a 'Thank you' note to the community. For the support. For the aroha.

When on earth did they get the time to print those? How incredible that in their deepest grief, this community was thinking of others.

A noise to my........

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