Sometimes he’ll tell me about his college days, about an Afghanistan I have never known and very few people would believe ever existed.

"In the College of Engineering, there was this lecture hall, with seats for 1,000 students," his says as eyes begin to get bigger. "At the end of the lecture, the seats would move. The whole auditorium would shift as you spun along the diameter. The engineering of the building itself was very interesting." He continues to describe the construction details, then sighs. "I wonder if it’s still around?"

There is a pause. For 25 years I have tried to fill that silence, but I have never quite figured out what to say. I guess silence goes best there. He is the next one to speak. “You see, even your old-aged father was once part of something important.”

When he says things like that I want to scream. I don’t want to believe that the years can beat away at you like that. I don’t want to know that if enough time passes, you begin to question what was real or who you are. I am unconcerned with what the world thinks of him, but it is devastating to know that he at times thinks less of himself.

We are the same, but we are separated. People don’t see him in me. I wish they would. I walk in with a doctor’s white coat or a suit or my Berkeley sweatshirt and jeans. High heels or sneakers, it doesn’t matter, people always seem impressed with me. “Pediatrician, eh?” they say. “Well, good for you.”

I wonder what people see when they look at him. They don’t see what I see in his smile. Perhaps they see a brown man with a thick accent; perhaps they think, another immigrant cabdriver. Or perhaps it is much worse: Maybe he is a profile-matched terrorist, aligned with some axis of evil. “Another Abd-ool f——-g foreigner,” I once heard someone say.

Sometimes the worst things are not what people say to your face or what they say at all, it is the things that are assumed. I am in line at the grocery store, studying at a cafe, on a plane flying somewhere.

"Her English is excellent; she must have grown up here," I hear a lady whisper. "But why on earth does she wear that thing on her head?"

"Oh, that’s not her fault," someone replies. "Her father probably forces her to wear that."

I am still searching for a quick, biting response to comments like that. The trouble is that things I’d like to say aren’t quick. So I say nothing. I want to take their hands and pull them home with me. Come, meet my father. Don’t look at the wrinkles; don’t look at the scars; don’t mind the hearing aid, or the thick accent. Don’t look at the world’s effect on him; look at his effect on the world. Come into my childhood and hear the lullabies, the warm hand on your shoulder on the worst of days, the silly jokes on mundane afternoons. Come meet the woman he has loved and respected his whole life; witness the confidence he has nurtured in his three daughters. Stay the night; hear his footsteps come in at midnight after a long day’s work. That sound in the middle of the night is his head bowing in prayer although he is exhausted. Granted, the wealth is gone and the legacy unknown, but look at what the bombs did not destroy. Now tell me, am I really oppressed? The question makes me want to laugh. Now tell me, is he really the oppressor? The question makes me want to cry.

At times, I want to throw it all away: the education, the opportunities, the potential. I want to slip into the passenger seat of his cab and say: This is who I am. If he is going to be labeled, then give me those labels too. If you are going to look down on him, than you might as well peer down on me as well. Close this gap. Erase this line. There is no differentiation here. Of all the things I am, of all the things I could ever be, I will never be prouder than to say that I am of him.

I am this cabdriver’s daughter.

A pediatrician takes pride in her Afghan cabdriver father

It’s been four years and this piece still moves me to tears every time. 

(via musaafer)
(Reblogged from emantaleb)

(Source: punkasszayn)

(Reblogged from violacei)

Are you Arabian?

arabbara:

Well yes i am Arabian, i come from the great country of Arabistan and i live in the capital Arabington. My name is Arabbara and i own the latest camel to ride to school everyday and talk with my iArab phone to my homies. 

Yalla bye

(Reblogged from emantaleb)

dialupmodem:

tbh if u really think that iphone users are elitists ask ANY nerd why they prefer android n they’ll go on and on for hours, insulting the phone, steve jobs, tim cook, their entire families, everyone that works for apple, the schools they all attended, and their mothers’ lasagna recipes 

(Reblogged from mydarlinglittledean)

“You educate a man; you educate a man. You educate a woman; you educate a generation.”
and this is what the western news doesn’t show. Educated and Covered Muslim women are unimaginable for them.

“You educate a man; you educate a man. You educate a woman; you educate a generation.”

and this is what the western news doesn’t show. Educated and Covered Muslim women are unimaginable for them.

(Reblogged from thisisomething)

justanotherpalestinian:

White people praising Humans of New York for ‘humanizing’ the people of the Middle East… what the fuck did you think they were before? Terrorists? Savages? Extremists? Subhumans? It needed to take a white guy with a camera for you all to realize that our people are humans with lives that your fucking government destroyed.

(Reblogged from nerd-in-the-tardis)
If they respect you, respect them. If they disrespect you, still respect them. Do not allow the actions of others to decrease your good manners, because you represent yourself, not others.
Mohammad Zeyara   (via muslimahbyheart)

(Source: larmoyante)

(Reblogged from respirecombust)

disloyals:

ordering pizza online is the best technological advancement since the internet itself

(Source: disloyals)

(Reblogged from mygayassblog)
  • Eleven: I'm calling from Trenzalore
  • Me: I'M CRYING FROM EARTH
(Reblogged from lelzyy)
Each morning comes with renewed hope, another chance and a great opportunity to do better than we did yesterday.
Mufti Ismail Menk (via islamicrays)
(Reblogged from everything-bass)

I think you might be scared. And however scared you are, Clara, the man you are with right now…the man I hope you are with, believe me he is more scared than anything you can imagine right now. And he…he needs you.

(Source: pondroyalty)

(Reblogged from papertigertail)

Oi big sexy woman!

(Source: oswinsleaf)

(Reblogged from papertigertail)
(Reblogged from allons-y-doctor-who)

Doctor Who - Season 8 - Intro

(Source: tyrellslanding)

(Reblogged from papertigertail)

(Source: gifdoctorwho)

(Reblogged from papertigertail)