2

The truth is, (I ended up getting my tattoo as an Assyrian symbol; it had sentimental significance) the idea of people not knowing where I was from shook my ground -sometimes I even began to believe I was from a fake place (you would understand the somewhat extraordinary mindset of a child who likes to fantasize)- along with the disgust automatically painted on my face when people offered me the clueless, innocent stare as soon as the words “ I’m Assyrian” spoke from my mouth. I saw those people to be inarticulate, and informally; dumb.

I aim to increase my knowledge, when others question me, my answer will spill into their brains like filter coffee. I will fill up the tiny spaces left for questions so much that there would be no more room for suspicion; I would just know it all.

Dolefully, I don’t even believe in knowing it all.

Recently I travelled to Iraq. My flight went through and past Europe, into the middle East. Considering that there is a zero chance in getting tickets straight from London to Iraq, it became part of the journey to stop off at Jordan as part of the connection. After we landed in Erbil we sat in a car that drove 12 hours for us to reach North Iraq. Long huh.

Everyone spoke Assyrian, they all understood my language, we even built a certain sociolect to banter during discussions. The village was very small, every evening I walked from home to the casino (not a gambling area as here in London, more of a social club) where we would all spend time and hang out. Assyrians have a mediterranean look to them, not so much Arab. Light brown hair, dark eyes and reciprocated energy which is so noticeable once you’re in the environment and combined with the dense population of Kurdish people, we might as well be deemed as diamonds.

It isn’t so serendipitous of me to be racist, but they have a thing for pets( i’m terrified!); predominantly donkeys. My fear for the breed is considerably large, I mean a certain one, in a sense pursued me by following me down a mountain to my village, and it galloped so hard behind me as i ran, it reminded me of a pervert, you know the ones who don’t seem to understand the meaning of ‘i don’t have a phone’, they just don’t leave you alone, they kind of chase you until they get what they selfishly desire, regardless if it makes you comfortable or not. It’s also similar to when dogs get let off their leash in a park and race you, into your picnic food or in front of your bike to prevent you from going forward. I recall waltzing around in my summery dress, not caring about a thing, sparking a skinny, so feminine vogue cigarette. The sun shone directly on my back as i felt a transformation into a darker more generically ‘buff’ version of myself. This scene was destroyed by the foreshadow of my next experience. Within seconds a furry animal raced behind me, as if I was prey; a piece of meat. It obviously preferred a rare steak to a well-done, in which I would completely agree, but I simply wasn’t in the mood to be a donkey’s dinner, not on the day and not ever. For this reason my feet took me straight into my beautiful home on the end of the hill, a meter or a few from the village church. The door shut with me on the safe side, in the same moment, the development of such nerve racking senses as a result of anaerobic respiration inside my body faded away, the feeling deserted me in the sight of my mother offering a mint tea, unaware of my previous state. Sounds trivial, except I have a thing for caffeine. Coffee, tea, I may appear fairly optimistic however an espresso shot, or glass of black chai could motivate me to climb Mt. Everest, or maybe just go to college..well something like that.