Where Are You From?

I'm not sure exactly what trigger warning pertains to my story but as I still have trouble recalling it out loud, I wouldn't be surprised if others feel the same. It's sort of about mental health, self-hatred, low self-esteem, loss of culture, Islamophobia, etc. Also, it's a true story from when I was in sixth grade with my best friend.

“You still haven’t told me when you were born!” She exclaimed, elbowing me as we walked side by side down the hall past classrooms on either side. “How am I gonna answer the survey without that?” 

“Bro, who knows what time they were born? I dunno, I think … maybe early morning? Like 3 AM-ish? Wait, I’m mixing it up. 3 PM. No! AM! Pretty sure I heard that somewhere,” I said, eyebrows furrowing as I racked my brain for an answer. We neared the glass library doors and I pulled them open, a rush of cool air greeting the two of us. Taking our usual seats in a small nook in the far corner surrounded on three sides by walls of books, I set my bag down beside my chair as I stretched my arms above my head. Truthfully, we were there as tutors but rarely did we meet anyone requesting our aid – partly because we were only eleven and also due to our attitudes more reminiscent of giddy Korean drama fanatics than the stoic academics we so claimed to be. 

My eyes scrunched close as I attempted to stifle a yawn with my hand. Gosh, the smell of the Pad Thai we had picked up earlier after school had ended was unbearable and I yearned to pull it out of my bag, but I – at the very least – had to wave off the librarian’s distrust of my self-proclaimed responsibility or – in her eyes – lack thereof, by studying (ie. pretending to) for some thirty minutes.

I let out a sigh of satisfaction as I rolled my neck, cracks reverberating through my bones. Upon opening my eyes, I found my friend’s laptop already open as she pulled up the site for calculating zodiac signs. My eyes followed her fingers as they flew across the keyboard, inputting names and dates as we attempted to fit ourselves into yet another box of stereotypes--only this time based upon the stars.

"Hey, where are you from?" she asked, her eyes glued to her bright screen. It took me a moment to realize what she meant. My heartbeat began rising, a light pitter-patter in my chest as I took the question into account. Where was I from? I knew she didn't mean the city we had both grown up in; the only city I had known my entire life. No, she meant my birthplace, the country I couldn't remember, the country I hated for no reason other than its namesake in the media. But how could I tell the truth? I had thought I was doing well hiding this most shameful aspect of myself but it appears I wasn’t nearly careful enough. The wall I had built around myself threatened to crack and I silently chided myself as I attempted to swallow my fear, hoping she wouldn’t connect the dots of what I was about to tell her.

"Um … Pakistan," I murmured. I burrowed my fingers further into the sleeves of my woolen sweater, small crescent moons arising in my clenched fists.

"Woah! That's crazy. So you were like born there? Is that like Europe? Asia? Also, I need the city too.¨ 

"Oh haha yeah. But erm, I'm not sure about the city." I was sure.

“I'll just see what they have," she responded cheerfully. Please, please -- I prayed to the God whose existence I so vehemently invalidated in public.

She hunched closer to her screen, her hair draping across her eager face as she squinted to read the tiny font, lightly tapping her fingers on the cold table. I leaned back in agitation; what did it say? There were hundreds of cities; there was no way my luck could be that bad. 

And after what seemed like an eternity, she cleared her throat. "Um … it says Islamabad."

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. My luck was bad. Worse than bad. She knew. Did she? Maybe she wouldn't figure it out.

"Wait ... are you, like Muslim?” I heard shattering all around me. My walls were officially destroyed. The blood rushed to my ears, my heartbeat thundering in my ears as my breathing hastened. She knew. It was over. My eyes flitted around the small library and I swiped my tongue across my parched lips as I wracked my brains for an excuse, a way to evade her question. What could I say?

"Um, not really. I guess. I mean, my family is but I'm not very religious. I barely know anything.” I had my daily Quran class in a few hours.

"Oh. Well, just in case, I want you to know, um," she paused as if to rephrase her statement. My breathing grew increasingly labored as my heart thumped against my chest. This was it, wasn't it? A soon-to-be repeat of a few years prior when my entire grade ignored me because of my darker skin. Jeez, I should just move states.

"I mean, I know that you're not a terrorist. I've known you since we were five and you would never do something like that--you know, like ... bomb a place or ... kill people." My breath lodged in my throat as I slowly gazed up into her flushed face. Did I hear correctly? 

I let out a breath of relief as I smiled, nodding my head. ¨"Right, I mean there's bad people everywhere. It doesn't mean anything." I agreed. The library that had begun to encroach on me seemed to open up, leaving me a small respite. I willed my rampant heartbeat to slow and took deep breaths through my nose. It was going to be okay. I was okay. Relieved, I moved closer to her screen. It felt as though I had passed a test. I was officially a good person. Maybe it was time to eat the forgotten Pad Thai.

"I'm almost done! We just have to wait for it to load." She exclaimed. I wrapped my arms around my body. You’re okay. You’re okay. It’s fine. I repeated to myself. It was almost over. 

"Hey, you're a Gemini!" A Gemini? I hadn't the faintest idea what that entailed. My mind was cemented solely on the fact that she didn't care that I was Muslim. She didn't think I was a bad person. The shards of my broken walls began picking themselves up, smoothing out the cracks.

Wait. I paused. I slowly raised my head and gazed around the library. What if she told someone else?