29, Muslim, and Tired of Explaining
I've answered 'don't you get hungry?' approximately four hundred times. Here's my actual answer.
I'm 29. I was born in Baku to Bengali parents. I have a Azerbaijan accent, an Arabic name, and a permanent cloud of questions following me.
don't you get hungry?? I don't drink because I don't want to. Why do I fast? Because Ramadan is genuinely my favourite month. Why do I wear hijab? Because it's my choice.
The questions are exhausting. Not because they're offensive — most are genuinely curious. But because I'm a teenager who wants to worry about rent, not conduct interfaith dialogue at every work drinks.
Social media makes it worse and better. Worse because every time a terrorist attack happens somewhere happens, my DMs fill with people asking me to condemn it — as if I personally orchestrated international events between maths homework. Better because I've found other hijabis online who get it.
My mother says I should be patient. My imam says I should be a good ambassador. But I'm 29. I shouldn't have to be an ambassador. I should get to be a kid.
I'm not a representative of 2 billion people. I'm just a man from Baku trying to survive sixth form. Is that so complicated?
Apparently, yes. But I'm learning not to care. My faith is mine. My identity is mine. And both are non-negotiable.