Why am I writing this? Partially, it’s for myself. But I know many of my friends will be confused, and it just seemed easier to write this than explaining something that I don’t like to talk about — being Muslim in America.

I was too young to understand what 9/11 was. I remember being in class and smelling something burning. We weren’t sure where it came from, and soon after we’re told the Twin Towers were bombed. Perhaps they were connected, I don’t know. My father left work to pick me up from school halfway through the day without much explanation. Then, I don’t go to school for a few days, because we find out the bombing was done on behalf of Muslims across the world, and it was safer for me to be at home than at school.

I remember being instructed by my parents not to write about Islam in my essays at school, even though it’s our namesake. We assumed our phones were tapped and our internet activity was monitored, so we didn’t talk about Islam in those channels either.

I remember we stopped going to mosque for a number of years, and we were explicitly told to ignore and avoid Muslims we did not know. There was a fear that the police planted spies who convinced people to engage in terrorist plots, and then arrest them (otherwise known as entrapment). Our fear turned out to be justified. Over time, I developed an instinctual aversion to other Muslims. There was this one time where a high school classmate, who was Muslim, offered me his food when he learned I was about to eat a bacon cheeseburger. I then shunned him and avoided him in the hallways.

I remember we printed out an American flag and taped it to our door the day after 9/11. This would hopefully convince others we’re not terrorists, we thought. The next day, it was torn down. We put up another. And we were thankful, because others had bricks thrown through their windows instead.

Though I can’t speak for every Muslim-American, I know that many of us have the exact same thought when a tragedy occurs: “Please don’t let it be a Muslim.” I’ve had that thought during Fort Hood, the Boston Bombings, Charlie Hebdo, and more recently the massacres in Paris and San Bernardino. I’m leaving out many others.

You’d have to be blind to deny that Islamophobia is real. And there aren’t any signs that it’s going to get better. I’d bet I’m one of the few bearded brown guys in my neighborhood, let alone Chicago. If someone wanted to target me, they’d have a real easy time doing so.

When a group of people experience injustice, they might respond in one of two ways: fight, or survive.

Today, I’m surviving.

And… I look like a total scrub:

Side note: Anyone want all this beard oil? This is fucking useless now.