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As an Indian Muslim, in the last few years, something strange has happened: My identity, something I comparatively hardly thought about earlier, affects everything. My closest friends to me feel less closer now than a random Muslim online, because somethings you can’t explain. 1/
This isn’t to say they changed, never, they’re beautiful people, my chosen family; but the pain of being a persecuted community cannot be put in words, it cannot he phrased, it can’t be explained. It is betrayal, it is heartbreak. 2/
You begin to think about how lucky people are to not have to think about your name and what feelings it might garner in a random person when they read it. “Will they hate me too?” becomes your life’s theme. 3/
You see people like you die everyday and nobody blinks an eye. That teaches you a thing or two about what happens when sh*t comes down, and how you’ve probably been the quiet one in someone else’ story of persecution. Just very glad I found a lot of you here, my IMT, hugs. 4/
