The True Feelings Of A Technical Immigrant

To the person who hates me,              You’ll never read my words because you’ll see my name and decide this not worth your time. Or you’ve read the title and realized that this goes against your beliefs. You’ve decided that this isn’t worth your time, and I get that because I do that all the time. I won’t read things that go against what I believe in, but I promise I’m not trying to challenge your beliefs. I just want to talk, so please hear me out.   You’ve already decided that you hate me. Why? I may never know because I will never know you. You hate me because when I wake up I wake up in the name of God, the most Merciful, the most Kind. You hate my because when my life is rough, and I’m at a breaking point, I bow my head and I prostrate to the Lord who eases all pain. You hate me because for thirty days a year I stop eating during the day, to remind myself of my creator. You’ll never know me because you don’t listen to me. You listen to the man yelling on

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