An Artistic Epiphany

On a whim, I happened to read through some of my older non-fiction work, most of which has me very delicately and romantically describing my depression. But I was actually shocked by how good it was — how lovely and melancholic with perfect similes and metaphors that still so perfectly describe the hell I suffer when the sads come to visit.

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The Myth of "High" and "Low" Culture

I’ve been thinking about the concept of “high” and “low” art a lot lately, and the more I think of it, the more it infuriates me. The concept itself as it was conceived doesn’t bother me as much as does the fact that in this day and age there are people who unironically still use the terms to differenciate between “good” and “bad” art — or worse, “worthy” and “unworthy” art. The fact that they fail to acknowledge (or even recognize themselves) that the terms are rooted in classism and continue to widen the gap between classes is infuriating.

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Movies That Are Better than the Books

People who claim that the book is always better than the movie either haven’t seen enough movies or haven’t read enough — usually both. This idea that books are inherently a higher art form than film (or television) is such classist bullshit that I can’t say much more than that about it lest this turn into a furious rant about the deeply ingrained classism in art.

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Two Short Stories (or Pint-Sized Prattle about Prose)

You may or may not know that I have a TinyLetter in which I send out short stories I've written to the hapless few who (now likely regret having) signed up for this newsletter. It started out being a biweekly thing but then I got bored, like I do with most things, and now it's a whenever-the-hell-I-feel-like-it deal.

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11 Memories of My Late Father

The death certificate says my dad’s date of death is February 4 because the paramedics declared him deceased after midnight, but when my brother found him unresponsive and hollered for my mum and me to come, it was still February 3. Since we know now that he was gone when my brother found him, the Khans observe February 3 as the day the Khan Family patriarch passed away.

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A Note on My Facts and Fictions

One 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.

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I Think I’m Glad that Daddy’s Dead

Today 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.

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A Brief Reflection on My Emotions

How can you stop yourself from feeling too deeply? I’ve wondered and tried and found that it’s impossible for me. Even when I decide not to feel anything at all, it only numbs the emotions and stores them up deep within, weighing me down and making me foggy and unintelligible to myself. It’s not possible to just stop feeling and, more importantly, it shouldn’t be allowed

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Harpo Trades in His Horn for a Pen

Turns out Harpo Marx isn’t a mute after all. Harpo Speaks! is the aptly yet obviously titled autobiography of Harpo Marx in which he (with help from Rowland Barber) regales us with his amusing history. I was worried about Harpo breaking his vow of public silence because how could he possibly compete with outspoken, well read and wildly witty Groucho? My concern was in vain because Harpo isn’t out to compete at all.

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