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Far from the glamour of Langwaki, one can spot the sleepy and pristine island of Pangkor, a haven for the tired souls. Let’s say it's that kind of place the tourists steer clear of, and one where you can blend in with the island way of life. The first thing that strikes you about Pangkor is the number of women you see running their own businesses, and the next is the number of women running their own businesses while wearing a fully covered black burqa. Women running restaurants, women manning swimming gear shops, women handling travel agencies, and women selling craft items by the road - all of them covered in black from head to toe. This should not strike anyone as odd, considering Malaysia is an Islamic country, but something about this society felt matriarchal at first glance. It felt like women had the power here. At the same time, I saw all of these women going on about their daily duties and chores in a long black robe, despite the scorching sun and the humid weather, despite the time of the day, and despite the physically exhausting tasks they were undertaking. I thought of my privilege - the freedom to wear what I want, the freedom to travel with my partner, etc. and sulked for a little while. Then I quickly swallowed my guilt and focused my energies on giving these women as much business as I possibly can. On one of those casual evenings, while we were taking a stroll by the ocean at the gorgeous Teluk Nipah, a pair of tiny feet ran straight into me. I looked down and I saw an angel of a face, smile right at me. Before I could react, she had darted towards the ocean, fully clad in her swimwear burqa & hijab that left only her feet and her face visible. Covered in sand and full of glee, she was mud-wrestling with a slightly older sibling, who was shirtless in his swimming trunks. Now, I come from a developing country myself, and I am no stranger to Hijabs and Burqas, or little girls growing up way earlier than they are supposed to. But something about that little girl and her innocence broke my heart. She did not mind the hijab clinging to her tiny face, she did not realize the discomfort the material brought to her skin, she did not even think about someone thinking she should be covering up her body. She just ran around the beach, getting dirty in the mud, playing in the shallow waters, building castles with her brother. Clueless, about the life that is in store for her. Clueless about the patriarchy coming her way, and clueless about the fact that she has been born a girl. I wondered when her innocence will shatter to make way for realization about the gross unfairness of it all? Or is my view of fairness skewed, conditioned by my own upbringing and nationality? Am I another version of that little girl in her beach hijab, and is a white lady silently guilt-tripping about her developed country privilege after meeting me? My mind takes off on a deep journey of multiple possibilities across realms when I suddenly remember I am not alone on this trip. I look over at my boyfriend smoking a cigarette, trying hard to convince himself he is vacationing. I point at the kids, and say “Do you think it’s fair?” He goes, “Do I think what’s fair?”, as he continues to look through the kids out at the sea. Quite predictably, just as he is conditioned to conveniently gloss over every little and big way patriarchy affects little girls all around the world. It is not his fault. It is not about him. It is not about any of them. It’s about that little girl in that beach hijab and her tiny feet that are not chained yet, and her angelic face I will never forget.