54, Muslim, and Tired of Explaining
I've answered 'aren't you hot in that?' approximately four hundred times. Here's my actual answer.
I'm 54. I was born in Los Angeles to Syrian parents. I have a American accent, an Arabic name, and a permanent cloud of questions following me.
aren't you hot in that?? I fast because I choose 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 exams, not conduct interfaith dialogue at every Christmas gathering.
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 Muslim creatives online who get it.
My father says I should be patient. My imam says I should be a good ambassador. But I'm 54. 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 Los Angeles trying to pass my exams. 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.