Misconceptions

Recently, I had a phone conversation with my dad. He jokingly asked me how life was in the Middle East. As with many jokes, there was an underlying sense of anxiety to it. Slightly offended, and wanting to set things right, I firmly reminded him that I don’t live in the Middle East. Technically, I live in Europe. While Istanbul isn’t as “European” (whatever that means) as say, Paris or London, it’s not Beirut either. I live in no more danger than in New York or Bloomer, Wisconsin for that matter so don’t worry about me Dad.


On a recent trip to the United States, two of my ultra-conservative, hyper-Catholic (we are meant to suffer in this world so we can gain an eternity of happiness) relatives made derogatory references to my proximity to Muslims. With mouths squeezed into sphincters “So, how are those Muslims treating you?” and “Whatever you do, don’t let those Muslims get you down.” In both instances, my back went stiff and all the hairs on my neck stood straight. I wasn’t nice to the first relative by coldly stating that there were stauncher nationalists and more narrow-minded people in the same room as we were. Their beloved Christian, god-fearing George Bush and friends are far more dangerous to all of us than the man from whom I buy dried figs. I was too aggravated to deal with the second. I can’t unpaint that black and white world, a world in which there is only one true god and all other people regardless of religious affiliation will burn in the hellfire of damnation.


It’s already established that I’m going to hell in a hand basket.