Some might say Damon and I have an unconventional relationship, and not for the obvious reason- I was raised Muslim and he Jewish. Our uniqueness, and I believe strength, comes from the fact that we allow one another to have deep and powerful relationships with other human beings or soul mates. "...
The trauma of poverty is real and resonates long after there is money in the account, food in the fridge, clothes on your back, shelter over your head, cars in the garage, and decades have passed. The clothes in the dryer were smeared in one or more places by the cherry red ChapStick which I forgot in my jean pocket. The heap of clothes, which smelled like laundry detergent, cherry ChapStick, and curry (the natural smell of our home) were immediately dropped to the floor as opposed to the awaiting laundry basket. Much like the clothes, I collapsed on our cold,...
Black people are exquisitely beautiful – skin ranging in shades of dulce de leche to ebony, hair consistency of coarse curls to naturally soft ringlets, attitudes from salty to sultry, and body types from athletic to curves for days. Is it still a stereotype if it’s done in admiration? Maybe so, but it was the African-American community in the hamlet of Bellwood, Illinois which gave my immigrant family a place to call home, a safe space to open a family business, friendships, and refuge, so it’s no wonder I gravitate towards the black community. "Is it still a stereotype if it’s...
When Lucky Chucha (in Urdu Chucha refers to my father’s younger brother) decided to marry an “Umrican” it wasn’t the first time a male had married outside of race and religion in our family’s history nor would it be the last. Nancy was a rebel from the start: “Don’t call me Nancy Aunty…it sounds so old!”; “Start wearing seatbelts…you want to live past 13, don’t you?”; “What do you mean you don’t know what Disney is? Let’s go see Cinderella at the Cineplex...
Christmastime is near and dear to my heart – raised as a Muslim, married into a Jewish family, and parenting three spiritual beings – heart. During the hottest days of the summer when temperatures top triple digits in our area and swimming under the desert sun is even unbearable, Damon will often come home to Christmas music resonating from our kitchen while I prepare supper. On some days when there is no rest for my weary soul, I call upon Jesus as well as all my other deities, but His name is uttered from my lips most often, asking for...
“Bayta [child], how is this itchy if you haven’t even tried it on?” Umme [Mom] patiently asked as I, much like a miniature-Pakistani, George Washington- resolute and determined- stood at the crossing of the Delaware, which was a local dress shop Umme ventured into in Karachi, Pakistan. Umme says I was an easy child to raise, probably because she literally had a village of elders watching, guiding, and nurturing me for most of my life. I said my salaams [greetings], respected my elders, was diligent with my education, prayed my namaz, and read the Quran. There was one condition that I...
You don’t ever forget your first Star Wars movie. It doesn’t matter what Episode you watched, it leaves a bit of an imprint on you or in my case a lasting impression. Only 10 months earlier had my family immigrated to the United States from Pakistan to a suburb of Chicago called Bellwood. My English was getting better every day but I was still struggling to adjust. As the story is told to me (I’ve tried desperately to block it out but it is true- 100%), it took two grown adults to drag me to school every single day for the...
As a teenager, especially an immigrant teenager, you long for nothing more than to be “normal” in America. You want to be Samantha as opposed to Samita. You want a white picket fence, apple pie cooling in the window, a mom, dad, and siblings living under one roof, and the smell of turkey on Thanksgiving. After moving to Southern California from Chicago, my name was still Samita, our fence blew down every time the Santa Ana winds raged through Rialto (my father and the other neighbors decided to put the fence up after every “windy season” and for a few months...
You never forget your first hate crime, especially as the victim. Just like your first day of school, first kiss, or first love the moment is seared into your brain. Moving from Bellwood, Illinois to Rialto, California at the end of 5th grade and start of my 6th grade year was a challenge for our entire family. The harsh winters of Chicago were too much to bear for my aging grandparents, great-aunties, and Puppa, who worked outside at O’Hare Airport. Puppa’s “bones would ache” from the bitter winds that the area was known for; no matter how many layers of...
All families harbor secrets. If you are fortunate enough to belong to a tribe, whether blood related or by choice, there is a time where you gain a kernel of knowledge that can consume your entire existence- if you allow it. The elders’ hushed tones when I walked into the room were always a sign of an adult conversation. Having arrived in America less than a year, there wasn’t much to discuss but a single topic that weighed on my khandan (tribe) like the heavy, bleak winter season that we had barely managed to survive. While wrapped in secrecy and bone-chilling...