Not every story begins with once upon a time.
Some begin in silence.
The pause after a question,
The weight of a look,
The echo of words you never chose.
This isn’t just mine.
It belongs to anyone
Who’s been asked to prove they belong.
So hear me,
Not just with ears,
But with the part of you
That knows what it feels like
To be left out.
I am here.
No name to pin, no label to fold me into.
Not “foreigner,” not “outsider,” not “other.”
Still,
I can’t shake the fear
That your gaze will linger too long.
Not in anger, maybe,
But enough to remind me
That I don’t belong.
Perhaps that’s just fear.
Still, I am here.
Face to face.
Telling you my truth.
It started small.
Whispers in hallways:
“Where are you really from?”
As if the curve of my lips,
The shade of my skin,
The sound of my voice
Were riddles to be solved.
I wanted to answer:
“I’m from right here.
The same pavement you trip on,
The same air you breathe,
The same sky I bow under.”
But my voice stayed trapped.
Then came the names.
Thrown at me, sharp and cruel.
I laughed because at fourteen,
Laughter is armour.
Inside, I shrank.
Folded myself smaller,
Just to fit.
Walking home, head bent,
I prayed the world would look past me.
But the world slowed down,
And a window opened.
“Go back where you came from!”
Shouted into my skin.
Where would I go?
My home is here.
Yet they made me feel homeless.
The truth?
They weren’t monsters.
Just students of the wrong books.
Prejudice grows from careful planting.
Heirlooms passed down like anger.
I didn’t fight.
But I didn’t stay silent either.
Silence became my shield.
But it bites.
Each swallowed word
Chews through you,
Turns your name bitter,
Your story, an apology.
Slowly,
The pain becomes pretended laughter.
The sting becomes a joke to defend.
I despise it, but bite it down.
Smile at the mirror, coach myself,
“Stay strong. Don’t let them see.”
Acceptance never comes.
But hunger does
For the approval that never arrived.
Addicted, not to blending in,
But to erasing myself,
Dimming my edges,
Clipping roots,
Hiding light.
I was fourteen,
But inside I carried centuries.
Borders on my back
I never built.
Scarred, yes.
But a victim? Too neat.
Prejudice doesn’t strike once.
It lingers.
It stains.
Next time you mimic an accent,
Laugh at a scarf,
Call someone “exotic,”
Tell them to “go back,”
Remember:
Some of us wear silence
Like an invisible wound.
Some learned too young
That difference is dangerous.
But I am not vanishing.
Not anymore.
So don’t treat me like a stranger.
Look differently at the world
That made me one.
By Frah-Ilhan Mohamed
