Mostly I’m unconcerned that I have no influence on the world around me. I can function perfectly well in most situations, especially as my day to day life does not demand significant interaction with others. But every now and then, when attempting to assert myself, I feel I have no control at all, which causes …
I realise now that even if I wanted to remain anonymous, it is impossible, for I have left too many breadcrumbs behind me. Every decision, however long ago, to publish under my name, whether in print or online, points back to me. So I am found out. Not that it was ever really a secret; …
I can’t really blame those who wonder if I’m for real. I doubt my own reality sometimes. It’s a bit too much to take in. They’re not the first to react that way. But, as far as I know, this is as real as it gets.
The chromosome disorder I have been bestowed doesn’t manifest itself as a critical condition, seriously detrimental to one’s day to day life, as we’d consider the likes of cystic fibrosis or spina bifida. In my opinion, the impact of my condition is mostly psychological.
I once tried to delete my face. It was the spring of 1997, during my second term at university. My face wasn’t the cause of my actions directly, but it became the target of my unrestrained rage. The cause was my decision to unapologise to a friend I had earlier apologised to at length, telling …
We are all composed of multiple components, our sense of self informed by so many experiences in our formative years. Ask the question, “Who am I?” of others and from each you will get completely different answers. Some will answer that from a class perspective, some with religion in mind, still others considering ethnicity. A …
At university, I had a flatmate who once lamented, “Even you’re more popular than me.” An inadvertent slip of the tongue, which revealed a bit too much about how I was perceived by others. But it was okay, because I was used to that.
In my youth, there were many who decided I had to be put in my place. At university, one was my so-called brother in faith, a fearless activist and latterly failed politician, whose intimidation culminated in me being pinned to the wall by my neck. My crime, perhaps, to have been a white convert, all …
I grow more content in my face and form as I age. Old photos, I will neither share nor spend any time looking at, for they are too horrific to me. Perhaps I’m overly harsh with myself, but I was the one who had to live with both.
I wonder: does anyone actually remember me? If I did not stand up to wave, “Here I am,” would anyone recall me at all?
Anyone who saw my face, aged nineteen, should have concluded that there was something wrong with me. I looked like Michael Jackson in his 1995 phase, only more gaunt.
Family friend: “Hanım Hemşince. Kocası İngiliz.” Stranger: “Gerçekten mi?” “Tabii. O müslüman.”
In scientific terms, the chromosome disorder I have been bestowed with is a mistake — an error in cell division at conception. In these terms, certainly it is a deviation from the norm. But an anomaly? Hardly. Blessed is He in whose hand is dominion, and He is over all things competent — who created …
An acquaintance I have known only online for fifteen years wonders if I really exist. A legitimate gripe, I’m sure, for I am the type who hides behind his keyboard, never to show his face or let his voice be heard. He has invited me to call him more than once, but I have always …
Cross with me today, our lad called me a fat lump. I just smiled. He wouldn’t know that I can’t take that as an insult. To be slightly podgy is actually a great relief. But I suppose only those who have had the misfortune to find themselves incredibly thin will ever get this.
