No Problem, Muslim

I can’t lie, I haven’t exactly felt like writing lately. I thought about posting a really strong complaint letter I sent to EasyJet but decided no good could come from being a first world Princess, crying every time I meet an asshole.  I bear witness to my own dwindling dedication, motivation seeping out of me like a really heavy period. What’s the point of having hopes and dreams in a world which feels hopeless?!

Dramatic as always, it seems as though the build up to Christmas has been barricaded with bad news. I’ve gritted my teeth through consumer-clad advertisements, which insist our kids won’t have a good Christmas ‘less they’re showered with things they don’t need.

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The backlash of Cameron’s (utterly disgusting) air-strike decision has had some of our cities residents waving flags of ignorance like they’ve actually got something to be proud of.

Last week I had a conversation with a friend and my heart nearly imploded when I heard them say “Not every Muslim is a terrorist but every terrorist is a Muslim, know what I mean?” Honestly, I didn’t know what they meant  then and I still don’t know. What I do know, is that our media is doing a great job of miseducating viewers and creating more distrust and hate among the melting pot of our beautiful city. 

I found this so, so disheartening: a ludicrous statement coming from someone I’d expect to know better. Listening to them sprout dangerous information based on the media’s fear-mongering tactics was a mental punch. All I wanted was to enjoy my Margherita but instead, spent my evening educating a lazy learner. 

Just after the Paris attacks, I visited a Bar in Saas Fee, Switzerland and was gobsmacked when a guy I (politely) asked to move out my way replied “No problem, Muslim”.

What. The. Shit?

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“Huh?” I asked, convinced I wasn’t hearing right. “No problem, Muslim” he repeated. Stunned, I couldn’t find the words to put him right. My racing heart overruled my wit and I just stared at him as if he were the ugliest man on earth. 

Eventually I managed: “That’s not how you should address a person” and he went all “Hey dude, it’s just a sentence!” on me.  I should have known better than to be so upset. Only a moron would assume a brown skinned person must be Muslim, or a terrorist; or eat curry three times a day (which, quite honestly, would be the dream). Had he one cell left in his tiny pea-brain, he would have known that a practicing Muslim girl would not be in a bar guzzling alcohol. Still, it hurt to see his prejudice and I almost wished I was Muslim. At least then I’d have faith in something, contrary to my dwindling faith in a freak-show humanity. 

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