The problem with the question, “Where are you from?”

I always answer the same thing. I’m from Maryland. Born and raised. And people do little to hide their disappointment. “I meant like, where are your parents from?”  You’re just curious as to why my skin is brown. Why? In most professional settings, it really doesn’t matter.  

But when I do answer that I am Pakistani…the conversation that ensues really drives me crazy. “Oh I have a friend who’s pakistani, his mom makes the best food.” Really? Fascincating. Do introduce us. “My accountant is Pakistani, he’s a really cool guy.” That’s cool. I guess. “My friend who’s a photographer once shot a Pakistani wedding and it was sooo beautiful.” Wow, what made you think I needed your approval of my culture?

Imagine if it was the other way around. If I told every Kentuckian (sp?) I met that I just ate at KFC last night and it was really delicious. Or told every New Yorker that my high school teacher was also from New York and that, “He’s a really cool guy.” How weirded out would they be? How much do they care?

I’m not even sure why I’m writing this…I guess it’s just to say that my reluctance to say that I am Pakistani has nothing to do with me being ashamed of my culture and everything to do with your sheer stupidity. 

Okay I’m done. 

rant.

Alone is the only place I want to be. (well, right now anyway :D)

[a rant. ignore this post.]

Quite the week. So much happens all at once, and I hate my brain for going through every detail of everything that happens to analyze why everything may have happened the way it did.

Two good friends of mine got married this week, alhamdulillah, both with unbelievable matches. Attending the wedding of one was almost unreal. I can honestly say that they both would make the perfect spouse. Happiness. That good feeling. That knowledge and comfort that the system is failproof… right? Another two friends, both divorced this week. Both, perfect, smart, intelligent, well-educated, well-off, religious. What goes wrong? But ‘wrong’ is relative. It just goes. God’s got His own masterplan, and it works. Two proposals this week as well. Kindof taken aback, but taking it slow with both of them. Two big projects this week, with clients crazy enough to drive me up the wall.

A million other things also happened but I’ll get to that later. 

Fast forward to like, four hours ago. My family got together to play monopoly (which hasn’t happened in years) and of course, while the game is half luck and half skill, no number appears on that die without Allah’s will, and I found myself interpreting every move everyone made. Earlier this week, I remember someone trying to explain that your success in this life also depends on your faith in Allah. It felt like everyone’s success in the game of monopoly was also directly related to everyone’s character and faith. And I know it sounds crazy but it worked. And the fact that I noticed this is no coincidence either, it got me thinking about myself and where I stand. 

So none of all this really makes sense but it got some stuff off my brain so I can let some other stuff simmer up in there. It’s weird, but sometimes, when I’m busy but I come across an idea that I want to think about, I have to consciously make an effort to bring up the topic later on so I can come to some sort of conclusion about it. I don’t know why I do this. 

Thinking too much is like a curse and a blessing. 

Yesterday was expensive o_O

$18 - breakfast.

$11 - two shirts I don’t need.

$40 - killed a tank of gas.

$3.50 - fill air in the tire, because I had no cash and had to withdraw from an atm.

$128 - eye exam and contacts because my eye care club membership expired. 

rawr.

I got a close knit family, we’re all up in each other’s business. Except for mine. My parents have no idea what classes I take, or when, or which campus I go to. They have no idea what kind of design work I do, they have no idea who my clients are, they have no idea how I get paid, or that I get paid.  My mom gave me ten bucks for food this morning when I left the house, and she kissed me and I suddenly felt so.. what’s the word. Nostalgic? It’s crazy how much my parents trust me.  oh, and my living room has nothing to do with this post o_O
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I got a close knit family, we’re all up in each other’s business. Except for mine. My parents have no idea what classes I take, or when, or which campus I go to. They have no idea what kind of design work I do, they have no idea who my clients are, they have no idea how I get paid, or that I get paid. 

My mom gave me ten bucks for food this morning when I left the house, and she kissed me and I suddenly felt so.. what’s the word. Nostalgic?

It’s crazy how much my parents trust me. 

oh, and my living room has nothing to do with this post o_O