Roots by Al Zaharaa Al Zaabi ’23

Roots

by Al Zaharaa Al Zaabi ’23

When I was younger, the media served as my portal to the rest of the world. The splendor, glamour, and gore of western life are depicted in TV series and films. That was the life I wanted; it was all I had ever wished for. For some reason, I believed I was capable of living that life. That it would be presented to me on a golden platter. Like everyone else, I carry my backpack every day. A bag that houses my laptop, phone, and headphones. These devices contain a variety of media, which serve as my portal to the rest of the world. Perhaps I carry these items around because I do not wish for that foolish dream and depiction that came to me at a young age to vanish. That dream was created by a child who had been deceived by the shimmer of moving visual images on a screen.

As I grew older, I became more conscious of why I couldn’t be deluded and blinded by the so-called fantasy life I had always imagined and believed was true. When social media eventually appeared, it was a game-changing breakthrough. A new obsession and addiction. On both my laptop and phone, I have various social media platforms. I like to blame the media and claim that it is the primary source of my self-esteem and identity deterioration. Because of this addiction, I discovered insecurities about myself that I never knew I had before. It made me despise who I am, my face, my body, my upbringing, and even my native language and accent. Fantasizing about living an imaginary life when I was younger and dreaming of becoming someone else as I grew older are two very distinctive things, I gaslight myself and pretend that they are, but they aren’t. They both have the same dream and aim, but one is motivated by a darker and even sadder motive: my lack of self-acceptance.

I can’t seem to accept the fact that I come from a different world. As I put my headphones on I listen to music that makes me wish I was someone else. What hurts the most is when I hear songs with stereotypically derogatory lyrics about Muslims. I’ve listened to podcasts about important occurrences involving racial profiling and hate crimes. I see videos that have been liked, shared, and retweeted. A police officer kills a man because of his race. At an airport, a hijabi woman faces a hate crime. That might also be me at any given time, I often think to myself. So, yes, I carry the fear of being targeted for islamophobia because of my race and religion. I carry myself as a Muslim woman, regardless of how heavy the social cost is, knowing the preconceptions that come with it. I carry the prejudices that are made about me, not just coming from one country in the middle east, but the entirety of the region.

I carry my insecurities, afraid that they will be exposed at any time. The fear of shattering like a plate because someone perceives me as different, as well as the worry of being judged. I have a mixture of admiration and envy for the girls who get to look like and live the lives I see on TV. The girls are always dressed and look similar to the main characters in movies. I carry the rage I feel toward the traditions I was raised in. I carry envy towards people who do not feel threatened when walking in public. I carry the fear of people misinterpreting what’s in my backpack and that it is something other than my laptop, phone, and headphones. I carry the fear of making others uncomfortable knowing well that the preconceptions made about me are not true. They make me feel uncomfortable more than the people who made them. I carry so much, yet I feel like I am not enough and never will be.