Text 1 My Istanbul Travel Experience Emma and I spent the rest of our time in Istanbul hanging out with Phil and his study abroad friends. We drank tea made in double-sprouted kettles, ferried from Europe to Asia, watched glorious sunsets over the water, petted stray cats, haggled the vendors for overpriced souvenirs, and bought street food for one lira. But my favorite part of the two-day trip to Istanbul was spent in a mosque. Originally, I didn’t want to go in. It was too much of a hassle to take off my shoes and wrap my hair in a borrowed scarf. After all, I had already gone into the most famous mosque in Istanbul, did I really need to go into another one? However, unlike the other mosques I’d went into, there were volunteers here who welcomed us in and gave us a space to ask questions. One of Phil’s friends asked the question we were all wondering. “Why do you wear the head scarves?” The mosque volunteer answered the question 16 g r a c i o u s l y . “I have a personality, and I want to be seen for my personality. So I don’t wear tight clothes. I don’t wear bright colors.” She gestured towards the coats Emma and Phil were wearing, which were blue and black, respectively. “I would wear that. That is okay.” And then she gestured towards my bright, fuchsia-colored coat; I laughed, anticipating her next comment. “But I would think twice before wearing that. Or three times.” She continued: “Women pray separately because the positions that prayer puts us in are very distracting. And uncomfortable. We pray separately not because women are considered second class or something. No, nothing like that.” “God is our creator, so he knows us the best. I do these things because he tells me because he knows what is best for me.” I don’t remember what color hijab the volunteer was wearing. I don’t remember the kind of shirt or the style pants she had on, if she wore jewelry or if she had her ears pierced. I don’t know her name. But I remember her passion for her religion. Her voice almost pleading for us to understand. The pre-emptive edge of defense in her actions as she explained to people who were outsiders. Her patience as she answered my uneducated questions. And I remember hearing the message: My religion isn’t what you think it is. Even though I was half a world away and grew up believing in a different religion, I related to her. I’m embarrassed to admit that it’s sometimes hard for me to say that I’m Christian. Because there are associations with that label: homophobic, straight-laced, judgmental. Speaking with the volunteer at the mosque, I was humbled by her willingness to be defined by her religion. Through her patience and kindness, I was able to see beyond the confining stereotypes of it. Throughout my semester abroad, I visited a lot of different cities. I’d traveled from Brussels to Prague to Budapest to Rome, went to Paris by myself despite not knowing any French, but unlike Istanbul, I was excited to explore those cities. They were anticipated, not feared. Sumber: https://www.huffingtonpost.com The word “graciously” in the paragraph 4 is closest meaning to….

Question

Text 1
My Istanbul Travel Experience

Emma and I spent the rest of our time in Istanbul hanging out with Phil and his study abroad friends. We drank tea made in double-sprouted kettles, ferried from Europe to Asia, watched glorious sunsets over the water, petted stray cats, haggled the vendors for overpriced souvenirs, and bought street food for one lira. But my favorite part of the two-day trip to Istanbul was spent in a mosque.

Originally, I didn’t want to go in. It was too much of a hassle to take off my shoes and wrap my hair in a borrowed scarf. After all, I had already gone into the most famous mosque in Istanbul, did I really need to go into another one?

However, unlike the other mosques I’d went into, there were volunteers here who welcomed us in and gave us a space to ask questions. One of Phil’s friends asked the question we were all wondering. “Why do you wear the head scarves?”

The mosque volunteer answered the question $^{16} g r a c i o u s l y$ . “I have a personality, and I want to be seen for my personality. So I don’t wear tight clothes. I don’t wear bright colors.” She gestured towards the coats Emma and Phil were wearing, which were blue and black, respectively. “I would wear that. That is okay.” And then she gestured towards my bright, fuchsia-colored coat; I laughed, anticipating her next comment. “But I would think twice before wearing that. Or three times.”

She continued: “Women pray separately because the positions that prayer puts us in are very distracting. And uncomfortable. We pray separately not because women are considered second class or something. No, nothing like that.”

“God is our creator, so he knows us the best. I do these things because he tells me because he knows what is best for me.”

I don’t remember what color hijab the volunteer was wearing. I don’t remember the kind of shirt or the style pants she had on, if she wore jewelry or if she had her ears pierced. I don’t know her name.

But I remember her passion for her religion. Her voice almost pleading for us to understand. The pre-emptive edge of defense in her actions as she explained to people who were outsiders. Her patience as she answered my uneducated questions. And I remember hearing the message: My religion isn’t what you think it is. Even though I was half a world away and grew up believing in a different religion, I related to her.

I’m embarrassed to admit that it’s sometimes hard for me to say that I’m Christian. Because there are associations with that label: homophobic, straight-laced, judgmental. Speaking with the volunteer at the mosque, I was humbled by her willingness to be defined by her religion. Through her patience and kindness, I was able to see beyond the confining stereotypes of it. Throughout my semester abroad, I visited a lot of different cities. I’d traveled from Brussels to Prague to Budapest to Rome, went to Paris by myself despite not knowing any French, but unlike Istanbul, I was excited to explore those cities. They were anticipated, not feared.

Sumber: https://www.huffingtonpost.com

The word “graciously” in the paragraph 4 is closest meaning to….

Jawaban

Pembahasan

Pertanyaan serupa