50, Muslim, and Tired of Explaining
I've answered 'but why can't you drink?' approximately four hundred times. Here's my actual answer.
I'm 50. I was born in Hyderabad to Turkish parents. I have a India accent, an Arabic name, and a permanent cloud of questions following me.
but why can't you drink?? Yes, and I love it. Why do I fast? Because Ramadan is genuinely my favourite month. Why don't I date? 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 barbecue.
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 father says I should be patient. My imam says I should be a good ambassador. But I'm 50. 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 Hyderabad trying to finish my degree. 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.