From nudes to skin tones, to skin talks

Today, I sat in a talk which I thought would influence, inspire or entice me to like my supposed career path.

Here we go...

So, as I sit trying to catch my breath as quietly and as subtly as I could, the speaker is sat on the stage with a lecturer from my university in a Newsnight fashion.

At first, I heard “being the only Asian at that time,” he instantly got my attention.

He talked a lot, the questions formed by the lecturer were shit to be honest, “who was your favourite lecturer?” for example, what a time waste. If this was 20 years back is that question still relevant now? No.

I looked around, there was a mix of males and females from all backgrounds listening in to what this talk entailed. Not going to lie, I was waiting for one question. And that one question was brought up at about 13.37 when I was just about to check my notifications on Facebook.

I threw my phone into my bag.

“So I mean, erm so like would you say that the posh Asian girl who went to posh schools and received proper education is more likely to get to where you are at now, I mean working for the BBC etc…” and he went off on a dry ending as he adjusted his choking belt around his pregnant belly.

Hold up though.

“Posh Asian girl?” 

Who’s that pls?.

My neck twitched. My curls now stuck to my lip gloss.

I thought to myself…

Is this dick for real? I’m no toff, but I’m no scrounger either. But wow, that was a big dose of “fuck you”. Number one, what the hell is “proper education”, and two I ain’t from no posh school. So suck on my dick when I sit here knowing fully well I worked my arse to get to where I am, through cultural and religious barriers. Not a silver spoon stuck up my arse and Dr Khan as my dad. I want no medal, but that was insensitive and benefited no one in the room, instead he embarrassed his toff ass and grew pink in his porky cheeks.

“So how did you feel being brown, I mean is that why you got into the positions you did...?”

Lol, “feel being brown” ??  Like it’s a symptom of God’s mishap.

“It’s not about skin colour, it’s about the cultural and social background that you come from.”

I became nostalgic of that one time (in band camp) in year 10, I was pulled into an empty room and was sat at a table of Asian girls, and this one line shrieked in my right ear “don’t end up cooking chapati, we want to see you girls in uni!!” as I sat with sweaty palms and a throat full of phlegm ready to spit at this ethnic representative authority figure.

So I guess now I class as a brown face in university, and perhaps ten years down the line I’ll be asked the exact same question about “feeling brown”. Lol

Back to this talk.

The guy went on to say how he was someone who no one had come across before, he was new something fresh. All because he was a Muslim Asian male, full of ideas to make these controversial, religiously touching and political documentaries.

Okay. I can do that without having a dick.

My conscience spoke to me.

“If you’re from a background where you know you won’t get any help, it’s better to recognise that as early as possible, it’s very important.” 

Okay... 

“If you know you’re from an immigrant background, back then no one gave a shit what you thought about."

Right...

“If you are from a certain social status, or class then you immediately fall into the trap of being disadvantaged in the world of work.”

Yes I fucking get it!

I know the reality but can you give me something to take away from this please?!

Where’s my motivation? 

(Plays Motivation by Kelly Rowland.)

What I wanted to ask before his ass left the auditorium was, “where the fuck do I fit into this?”

I'm an Asian female! Does that mean I can tick a professional’s boxes like he did?

Am I supposed to seek creativity through “keep doing what I'm doing?” cos what the fuck does that mean any more?

“The degree didn't even help me where I am now, it was taking every work experience I could.”

Someone take me!!!

You know what? It fucking sucks having all the passion but no one to push you further. No Asian female that has actually made me go “woah shit, if she can do it then so can I!” Instead I'm seeing Riz Lateef presenting the news looking pretty and Mishal Hussain talking to Syrian political figures. They are symbols of success but…. I don’t see them for who they are, I'm blinded by their BBC microphones for crying out loud!

Instead, I'm behind the bars of higher education, work experience: work for other people so that I can gain a few more bullet points under the “skills” subheading on my CV.

“The BBC employs 12.4% (BAME) staff.” That stands for Black and Asian Ethnic minority people btw.

So you tell me, whether that’s deflating or motivating?

I need my bed. Where’s bae at?

*Realises there isn't one, eats cold pizza and sways to Isaiah Rashid.*

I didn't order an Eton Mess?

The one place where the air is thick with toffee syrup, ground coffee and middle class dribble. Costa. I'm with my sister and as usual we look around for two spaces that aren't next to a family, a couple or a mute old man. We join the queue made up of grey haired women, men in suits and now us. As we stand looking like two specs of cocoa in a glass of warm milk my eyes are struggling to read the price list. Yes, I keep forgetting to wear my bleeding contacts. My mind was set on a pot of tea and a lemon muffin. (I definitely recommend it!) So, we stand and sigh as we wait. Then, two boys with silver spoons stuck up their backside join the queue. I didn't think nothing of it until they began to elbow my back as they laughed about their amusing cocaine incident at their last party. See, this is why being short isn't fun. People are often mislead about my height, thinking I'll smile at the idea of being pushed a little and fucking elbowed for that matter. 

I stand containing my anger and finally I order the pot of tea and two lemon muffins. The boys continue to talk so loudly, I don't understand how they were so casual about it but to be fair they were surrounded by their usual environment; the proud middle classes. As the barrister set up my tray, these buffoons thought it was wise to put their stinking sandwiches, innocent smoothies 'what-have-you' in front of my tray. Now look, like I said, I am short. I can't reach the tray to save my life. 

"Would you please excuse me, I can't get to my tray"

"hahahahahahahah oh shit"

"Did I say something that upset you?"

"hahahahahahaha" the two Tesco value blocks of butter were in hysterics.

Spraying their spit. 

"well?"

Both gave a look of *wtf* and *who does this thing think she is?*

Fuming, but nevertheless we sat down next to this Portuguese man and my sister sat opposite me. I take a look around. No one's brown. Does this effect me? Yeah, because I was put in a situation where I fought the stink of internalized racism. Being laughed at just because a brown girl spoke back. No one understood that one very moment of being undermined. Do you think the same would have happened if I was white? No it wouldn't have. What got to my tits the most was eavesdropping their conversation as they rejoiced their mums at the table behind us.

"ahahahaha, and she was like..."EXCUSE ME" who does she think she is?"

"I know, all she had to do was lift the tray over our food, so stupid"

"Why would you even say that to us?"

"hahahahaha, oh just leave it hahaha" one of the mums concluded.

Good thinking bitch. 

You may question why I was passive to the situation itself but to be honest my mind was dealing with more important shit at the time. Besides, my sister kept me sane by grabbing my hand and warning me not to turn around. But can you fucking blame me? People laughing at my expense and for what? 

It's true. I'm sat in an Italian established coffee shop which gave birth in 1971, London. I wouldn't know how a non-white person would feel in that time and place. Ah yes, time and place. Maybe these factors are to blame for why the shop wasn't full of non-white people. This particular coffee shop was on top of a book shop. Oh yes!! that explains it (!). The uneducated, problem causing, terrorist talking non-whites aren't found in places like these you see (!). They prefer to sit by with blue collared jobs whilst their women produce babies and orgasm over patriarchy (!). My only message to those two Eton mess' is fuck you. Fuck you and I hope you choke on your next popodom and whilst you're at it shove another silver spoon up your arse until you're in so much agony that you need to call your Pakistani private doctor "Dr. Shah" to leave you with a fat bill, leaving your Barclays saving's account to a minus four digit figure. 

If they are all rich, does that mean I am poor?

March

You know what, whether your name is Victoria Rose Smith or Shaniqua Glory we are all women at the end of the day.

I say this because I am just reflecting on my day you know. I attended an Asia House Fair which was held on New Cavendish Street in London. Okay, so this was actually to assist my friend Lauren who was documenting the event as part of her project. But see, that wasn't the issue because when I heard about it I was more than happy to go along.

The observing started as soon as we stepped foot into the place.

Okay first, yes the doors were thick Matt glass with golden embossed handles. As soon as you walk in you see a stall with prestige jewelry, then you just can't help but freeze as you notice the price tags screaming "£200". Anyhow, that wasn't the case either, because to be honest the place was beautiful. On your right there was a room converted into a café serving wine, wine and wine. So, as you would, we carried on walking to the next room, the door way inviting us to warm colours of browns and golds: this room represented textiles from Turkey.

Now..I am dressed in a jumper, black jeans and black trainers, Lauren was dressed in all black with a denim jacket. Our lipstick was fine, so what was the issue you ask? well...

You had Patricia on your right talking to Evangeline about her pin tucks, in front of you there was Geraldine talking to Rose about her wine and her collectibles of ceramic buttons at home. Johnathan and Henry were stood observing the paintwork of the golden staircase, Isabel was asked what she wanted from the stall of  hand made Kazakhstan scarves to which she replied "I like this one mummy" smiling and twirling without creasing her boots.

Yes, this was just entering a madhouse of elites because they had money to spend, I get it.

What I don't get is when I am told things about myself through the eyes and words of others. This is what I mean. So...I am conversing with a Japanese woman who is showcasing some hand made jewelry, very delicate and sophisticated. I decide to look at the most striking bracelet, a giant green stone was surrounded by chunky white stones and I was simply like 'dayumm' but she added "perhaps not your style".

Okay number one, you are judging by what I am wearing at that particular moment in time to suddenly know what my 'style' is. Two, was there any need? Three, why am I undermined like that?

Okay big deal, I honestly don't care, but I just wanted to add that.

Then, as I left the room a woman half my height, spectacles balancing on the tip of her nose with a full fringe bumped in to me. She looked up into my face like she was about to spit on me.

An Indian woman in a black striped suit, probably in her late 50's stood in crimson lipstick and her hair in a tight bun. We asked whether it was possible to interview her she simply tuned her back on us and said "no."

A lady behind a stall showcasing crafts from Kashmir, Sindh and India tried to tell me what India is. Do I look like I can't spell Geography? I just don't get why there was this attitude to automatically undermine us.

I will not lie, yes we stood out, not because we were walking around with a Cannon in our hands, but purely because we looked young, broke-"er" and clearly had "no idea" what these people were talking about.

Just because you can talk well, elaborate your vowels and wear cashmere doesn't mean you're more educated than me in any way. Yes, your daughter may be in private school right now, so what? Yes, your hair was cut at the salon and mine was simply brushed, so what? Yeah, I am not representing Cartier on my wrist but you are, so what? Money is a staple, the way it fuels power into people is crazy.

Elites turning their nose up at me is no bother, I don't give a crap that they have money to make it rain. I know that once I have money like that I will earn it, through means where I know I have worked hard. When I attended this even today, I looked around like..yeah but what do you do for yourself? Apart from inheritance where has the money come from? And more importantly is everything about you is money, do you still stand for anything without it?

Just this competing battle between the rich and poor is an ongoing issue. Rich people and poor people will forever shape society in one way or another. To think richer people hold more power is what sickens me, and to think poor people are powerless is just insane.

The experience was moving and empowering. You know what, it only made me want to prove people wrong even more. At the end of the day they don't know where you will be in 5 years time, your success is in your hands, not their words.

Burning desire to write a poem

He just wanna smoke and fuck, so I guess we both speak Hebrew

Now he talking my language, but would it work when I ain’t Jew?

Rents due late, and so’s your love when we come through,

In due time we’ll cash all these memories

Stack all these memories, in my mind bank full of sanity

But your back’s turned to face me,

Face screwed up, back stabbing, always injure me

Injuries that A&E can’t stitch up, see...

The threads getting thicker, my words are getting quicker,

The bloods just iron bars, pump fist I'm a prisoner

In this dark world, I walk but run to find cover

Under my cover, stand cover when my eyes close,

The only warmth was your hand and now it’s the fire that’s under me

Ash in my eyes, sting from the morgue

Where our past lays, ashes to ashes,

No dust to dust,

Cos the dust is in my lungs, I suffocate in the prison,

But the bars break-up like us,

Like me, like you, like what the fuck

Fuck feelings, flippin' weight on my sanity,

And your carcass rots as I run free. 

-Asma Qureshi

My relationship with time

I don't seem to find the time to write on my blog as frequently as I would want to, but I think that is purely because I am always busy doing other things. Also, my blog is mostly for reflection...nowadays I seem to forget to reflect.

Yes, I have faced a heavy work load over the past week and I sit to ponder, when will I find time to chill and make time for myself. Yeah I won't go on to bore you...in fact I just want to say...

I learn things everyday, it seems like I am making it up, but it's true. I experience things and when I do, I mentally take note. You know, at times we sacrifice our thought process for others, the people that we prioritize. I have always done it, maybe you have too. These people are the ones we choose to think about, isn't that weird? There's billions of people we meet on an everyday basis, people we exchange two words with or even those people who you have known for a lifetime, and suddenly they pop into your head.

It freaks us out sometimes. You then decide to carry on thinking about them, or you choose to block it out. I always pick the second option, not because I am selfish, but because I am careful. The mind is too powerful to think about someone. This is because personally, when I think, I then imagine and then I fight patience.

Reality dominates imagination. That's what kills me. No wonder my dreams are always realistic. I think it's because I don't allow myself to hallucinate 'what life would be like if...'  that thought is lethal.

One thing I do believe is that, your relationship with your time reflects you. I don't know how, and I can't explain why...I just totally believe in it. And for me I am punctual but patient. That is what I am. And with that said, I conclude by saying that...
                                                With time it'll turn out just great.

Let me just rant for a bit

Don't underestimate me or assume that I now am something that i'm not. Shit man.
Why be like that, it takes time and patience to realise what you have..and usually you realise what you had till it's gone. Yeah if you click that you know.

Seriously, I can't be bothered, you make so much effort with people and they have the audacity to let you go. But...what if I'm gone tomorrow, what then? There's no time to hold shit in, what the hell do you have to lose. Do you have Drake's reputation, that maybe if you say how you feel you'll be laughed at. Please.

Balls were made for a reason. God said 'shit let me give you these so you can feel like a true man when your voice drops'. But nah, it's like you're just staring at your balls thinking they're going to feel themself. No life don't work like that. Everyday having to go through emotions is long. But we all do it, why hide. You saying how you feel is being human.

Shame if you can't do that though, cuh I ain't fucking with no one if you fuckin with me. Period.

FAM-I (don't) Love You

"Let's go to your aunts" she said. "People visit family all the time Asma, that's what being a family is all about."

Okay. Hold the fuck up what.

Me, yes I am a family person...if that means to stay in your own household and act like a complete goon within the walls of my own flesh and blood. But if a 'family person' means having to visit other people...you know what I mean. That aunt who has 3 kids now. The uncle who recently wed that hoe. The cousin who is pregnant. The long one hour drive to that random woman, who saw you 10 years ago. That whole package, are you with me?

I stood at the glass stained door only to fear the smells that are about to cling onto my military coat. The stench threw itself on me as I entered the door. I look back to see my mum put a smile on (you know them happy family ones) and I was not going to smile back. Don't get me wrong, I like seeing family...if they care about you that is. If they remember your birthday and notice that you aren't at school anymore and that you are a grown adult. So I shook hands and french kissed all the women and greeted the children. The baby started crying as soon as I walked past it, so they made some next excuse like..."oh she's just getting to know you haha". Haha. No. Does it look like I have 'lets be friends' on my forehead? So I sat down, the TV was off (great nothing to look at) so I began to scan the walls and what they displayed on them. There were artificial flowers and paintings of idealic sceneries. Little stone birds perched on their mantle piece and a whiteboard with Arabic on it placed just behind. My aunt sat next to me and dropped the 'how are studies going?'...that one question that my parents don't really bother with. I answered with a smile and said they're alright and then outlined the basics of my course at university. She smiled with pride, that was humbling. From the corner of my eye the baby started making it's way towards me, I got up without a care and wanted to check out what the other walls looked like. lol.

On the plus the food was alright, but I just saw all these numbers rushing around me..all them calories and saturated fats just put me off. Played Ludo with one of the girls, yeah that was pleasant as it brought back memories of being 6 and playing board games all day long. Then I spotted some glitter gel pens, another leaf in the chapter of my younger days. I then starred at my siblings drawing, then all of a sudden I wanted to draw to, but then changed my mind and had a great urge to write a poem. It was called "No Broom in the Room"- the title is pretty self explanatory. Yeah the girls laughed whilst reading it. At last that feeling of naturally laughing seeped into my emotions and I laughed too. Hmm..then time passed, I look across the living room and my parents are now watching the news...politics. Yawn. Then I made my way to the front door and we left. My aunt said "Till next time...probably Easter yeah?" I nodded with a 'yeah' and she concluded with that heart warming "Take care."

This post doesn't really have much to say to be honest. But it's an emotion within me that I can hardly put into straight forward English, I mean right now I feel deceived and angry. You will frown and think "but why?" that's another question that I can't get across either. But somehow coming home and running into my room to write about it just takes a weight off. A weight that is made up of family tradition, neglect, unbalance, unfulfillment, vomit and claustrophobia.

I am encased in this cocoon of pretence, London is calling my name; I am not a celebrity but get me the fuck out of here!!!

[if you didn't get anything...don't worry you weren't meant to]

Sour

*Starring in the mirror*

I'm sitting in that room in university, doing something cool in it
Doing it better than anybody I ever seen do it
Screams from the fire bell, got a ratchet ring to it
I guess every hot gyal needs reminding
That no one person should have all that sour
To make you feel shit, gosh I'm only getting louder
Stop thinking, cos I'm thinking 'they just being sour' (2013 coming to an end)
My mind's open, the school is bruk, now the future's open
I got nothing to lose, cos i'm not even balling
Huh? cos i'm not even balling
I need an internship and a box of Thorntons
In this white girl fame, they make you feel chosen
So wake up, false hope, lol who am I fooling
Huh? lol Who am I fooling
This is just too much, I need a caution.

(( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ouwCWDbBskU ))