Sorry for the Inconvenience: A Memoir

by Farah Naz Rishi

Except cruelty can also be stealthy and insidious. Like dismissing one’s feelings, over and over again—until one day you start to forget how to feel anything.

be steadfast with religion, but appreciate and enjoy the gift of life. And good music, he felt, brought us closer to God.

But I hated being in a world that demanded women protect themselves instead of punishing the men who would harm them in the first place.

I’ve always hated that phrase. Half the time, whenever someone says It’s not personal, it feels like a get-out-of-jail-free card. It’s a way to refuse responsibility for hurting someone.

But perhaps that was the problem with finding someone whose company you enjoy; the world without them feels dulled. You become greedy for their presence, even when you’re too afraid to ask for it.

But real, meaningful change needs no announcement. Real change speaks for itself.

Perhaps this is why we forgive people who don’t deserve it: nostalgia is a hell of a drug. It blurred all the bad, brightened the scant good, and told you pretty lies.

Tuesday is (usually) forgettable. Tuesday is (usually) uneventful. Tuesday is (always) the slog.

Sometimes I wondered if people used religion as an excuse to ignore the humanity of others, and instead reduce them to their sins.

“Rarely, if ever, are any of us healed in isolation. Healing is an act of communion.”

maybe love simply sees you in a room when no one else does. Love was a pat on the head at the end of a hard day, a kind word of acknowledgment in a world so damn hard to live in. Love was refuge. Love was comfort. Love was ease. And, sometimes, that was enough to hold on to.