Originally appeared in The Toronto Film Scene in 2015; some language has been updated to be correct in 2023 with the exception of direct quotations.
One thing our society is very often guilty of is ignoring the voices of the people whose opinions should matter most. We seem to think that if our intentions were good, it doesn’t matter if people are offended because we didn’t mean for it to happen.
Read MoreOne thing that always annoys the hell out of me is when people equate my fictional short stories to my lived experiences or emotions. The things I write in my fiction, even when inspired by or closely resembling real life, are not real life; they are fiction. This is a concept that seems to be incredibly difficult for many people to grasp, especially when they see a familiar aspect in one of my stories.
Read MoreToday marks a full decade since my father died. I was 19 and had had a premonition of disaster the entire day, which I naively attributed to something that now seems so mundane and unimportant. My kid brother—who was 16 at the time—found my dad, and he was the one who called 911 and performed CPR while my mother and I stood stunned. My mother insisted on an Islamic funeral, even though my father was a lapsed Muslim, and for up to three days after, our apartment was filled with neighbours, friends and family—some of whom we hadn’t seen or talked to in years, but who had heard through the grapevine of my father’s passing and dropped everything to lend their support. I didn’t cry at all.
Read MoreWithout the courtesy of a doorbell or knock, the Sads have barged in and taken you hostage.
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