The True Feelings Of A Technical Immigrant

Dear America,             I normally don’t get political. I try to steer away from it because politics causes separation and divides people-something I don’t like.             But right now, I have to say something because we just voted in the worst candidate for Presidency. I have no problem with the Republican party, but I do have a problem with Mr. Trump. In the past year, Mr. Trump has insulted, degraded, humiliated Mexicans, LGBTQ, Muslims, Immigrants, women, POC, and the list goes on. I’m saying this because tonight before I went to bed I told my friend to stay safe. I am genuinely concerned that when I wake up in the morning something will happen. This fear isn’t a new fear-it’s the fear of wearing a hijab and driving down the road, it’s the fear that I am a woman walking alone at night, it’s the fear that I’m an immigrant and may not belong in this country, it’s the fear that I am not like everyone else. But right now this fear is stronger than it has been before.

Sometimes I go long months without writing, and sometimes I have to write every day that week. It depends on hundreds of things: the time, do I have time to write, is there something I need to say, etc. etc. So why am I writing now? Well because now I’m sitting in the room I grew up in, except it looks nothing like the room I grew up in. No my parents didn’t decide change my room the minute I left for college, in reality this room had been changed years before that. The room began to change when I changed. This room tucked away in the back corner of my house, has seen so much change in the past 13 years. It started off as a home to a little six-year-old who was upset to leave her old room-the one with pink and purple walls-and who had to live in a new room-one with plain white walls. The six-year-old who had to decide how her new room would look, and was overwhelmed with the possibilities. It was a room to a wild, curious, happy little girl who didn’t let the world define her. She w

If you ask anyone close to me, they will tell you I can be a very stressed out person. And they wouldn’t be wrong I thrive on stress, I thrive when my mind works a hundred miles per hour. But some would say that I can’t be calm, and here they’re wrong. I can be calm . I cannot calm down when I am stressed, but I can be calm, and content. Photo: Maha Ali Like this very moment, I am calm. The breeze of Lake Michigan blowing my hair, random songs playing through my headphones blocking out the hustle of the world, and it’s just me, my laptop, and the lake. (And Sarah) For me, at this moment, it’s just my thoughts, the words that I’m typing. This isn’t the only moment that calms me though, it’s one of many. The world calms me. Large buildings (even the ones that are architecturally uninspiring), Masjids and temples with large domes, a bus ride home-things that remind me that there is more to the world. Large, empowering things, that remind me that the world is not just you, an