Showing posts with label discussion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label discussion. Show all posts

Tuesday, 26 August 2014

I have to eat curry because I'm brown

So I stand at my stall at an "all white" fair, with the exception of the stand on our left which polluted the air with samosas and salad. I'm cold, wet and shivering. Three feelings which come under neglect.
I stare at my table which looks like something out of 'My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding' I sigh at how I can't afford the maroon bag with embossed snake print because it's £4.99 and I only have three sorry pounds in my pocket.
I sold nothing. Minutes, hours went by and all I could think of was the samosas. They smelt like my aunts at Eid, but the association didn't put me off at all. We set up at 10am and now it's 12.45pm. Fuck it. I wanted tea. Yes. Best believe coffee has been eliminated from my diet because...I can't think of a reason but I'll get to it one day. So...I politely ask my colleagues and off I went. It was like God blessed me with the ice bucket challenge as soon as I left the stall. Soaking. Drenched. I now stood outside the burger bar. Two fat white men were "busy" assembling a burger for the old lady in front of me. I stood for three long minutes until I was noticed.
"Hello!"
"Hello, two teas please!"
"Two Teas!" and he poured hot water into two cups.
"We sell tea to everyone you know! Everyone."
Now hol' up. What?! Why is he saying that?
"Yeah...I know" I replied.
"I mean, everyone!"
I wanted to sandwich his dick in the grill.
The white old lady smiled to reveal her dentures and her side man smiled too.
"How much change would you like?"
Right he's testing me, brave.
"Well, considering one cup of tea is 60p, lets double that to make it £1.20, so £5- £1.20"
"Yeah, go on then" grinning.
Why the fuck is he smiling?
"£3.80"
His fat friend in the van laughs and drops his spatula.
Ben Dover for your man, prick.
"Thanks have a good day!" and I walked away with my tea+rain.

Next.

I'm stood behind my stall again. Waiting for customers to buy something again. My boots are wet and my feet are wet again. I can smell the waft of my aunt again.

"I'm SO hungry!" I moaned.
"So, what's it you eat then?"
"What?"
"I mean like, do you just eat curry and stuff?
Did I wake up to the year 1971?
"I like all cuisines, what makes you say that?"
"Well, you know you look like you really want a samosa so I thought..."
Wow
I smiled and replied "I enjoy every cuisine as much as you love your mum's bangers and mash."
He didn't know what to say so he shut his dumb-fuck mouth and continued to stare at his thumbs.

Now look. I'm not saying I want to create a jihad with people who aren't my skin colour. No. What I'm saying is, racism isn't as obvious anymore. It's not even religious discrimination. It's undermining the intelligence of someone who clearly looks different to you and the fuck load of ignorance that comes with it. I don't have to comment on these circumstances, but I think it's only right to confront this treatment. It's not the worst, but you have to let people know wagwarn.

I came across the mayor of Milton Keynes. A brown face. I wanted to shake his hand (whether that's religiously correct or not). He's Asian and he gave me the nod which equated to "respect".

I looked around and thought to myself about the lack of brown faces amongst the crowd. I feel sad that I am stood with stereotypical comments attacking me from left and right. I feel sad that my community is immersed in the regime of prayer, mute women and patriarchal men. What the fuck. Community only gets stronger once you let people understand you and it's sad that my family (community) aren't like that at all. I'm confined in my parent's culture where they state someones skin colour before their name and that isn't right either. I don't feel social solidarity at all. It's still fractured and it's because of this shitty little prejudice people contain inside them. 

And on that note, I just won 1-0 against India on Fifa. I was Côte d’Ivoire, big up my main man Yaya Toure.



Sunday, 15 June 2014

It's Fathers Day


I loved this top as a five year old, I was a diva.

"You're dressed like a tramp" said Dad.
"Thanks, I get it from you" I replied.

Fathers Day.

See, I have never celebrated it. Not because that's a sign of hatred or self loathing, it's just I don't do it.
Even with Mothers Day. Yeah, the kids make a card and sign their names blah blah, but my names always absent.

I show my love for my mother in every situation that I can. Whether that be in appreciation for something, or helping her, or even talking to her with kind words. I think that's what means most to me. I value the little things not the big commercial present with a label attached and the price scribbled out. We all show our love/affection in our own ways.

Tough Love.

Have you heard of it? I believe everyone's relationship with their parents is personal. Extremely personal. Therefor nah, I won't tweet or instagram a happy family portrait to signify my love in a picture. What for? Likes? Comments? It's all a facade.

Perhaps you're reading this thinking "damn this is deep". Well yeah, of course it is?!

I can't wait to be a parent myself. It'll be that one chance to maybe hinder the experiences I have had, take the moments I've had, the things I have seen and felt towards my child. Towards bringing them up in this world in my way. To make them feel absolute happiness that I maybe crave for but fear.