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.

Read More

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.

Read More