Love, Hate and Other Filters

by Samira Ahmed

“He’s with the police. They’re charging him with assault.”

Shit.

“Mom. Mom. I’m hungry. Can you make me something to eat, please?” With the mention of food, my mom perks up. She hurries out and downstairs to the kitchen.

So cute

I slip the phone into my pocket. I smile, a plan taking seed.

My devious child

He sweeps it to the side and traces his fingers over my lips. Phil kisses me, his lips hesitant. I kiss him back, deeply and softly.

Im screaming

Phil, who is explaining where he found me. The censored version.

😏😉

Phil waits for the front door to shut. “I don’t suppose I can kiss you now?” “I guarantee it’s a drive-in movie at my front window.” “I’ll take a rain check, then.”

Im blushing

“Even if we lived in India, I would still be who I am and want what I want. Geography wouldn’t have changed that.”

We are American and Indian and Muslim.”

So now you must choose—your parents or New York.”

Oh shit.

“You’ve made your decision and now understand mine. As a daughter, you are dead to us. When you turn eighteen in June, you will leave this house.” My dad’s words are like a punch to the gut. He can’t mean them. This can’t be real. “But Dad, school doesn’t start till September, and—” “You want to be emancipated. So be it.”

Oh no!!!!!! My heart

I don’t feel brave at all. I feel scared. No camera. No filter. Just my life, totally unscripted.

We must build bridges, conquer hate with love, and meet intolerance with a renewed commitment to education and open-mindedness. From many, we are one.

“Look at you. A couple months ago, you could barely imagine talking to Phil, and now you’re planning on summering with him after macking, half-naked, in a secret cabin in the woods. I’m so proud.” Violet dabs away fake tears.

Me too

“Your hair smells so . . . so . . . clean.” I laugh. “I have been known to shower occasionally.” “I mean . . . you smell good.”

☺☺ so cute

I want to take you. It’s the end of senior year. It’s tradition. It’s cheesy, but there’s no one I’d rather be cheesy with.”

I love about you,”

LOVE?!?!

me. I no longer have to document it all from the perimeter. I am the girl, and this is my story.

“You’re carrying me?” Normally, I would be irritated, but I’m so out-of-my-brain ecstatic, it amuses me.

this boi isnt real

That you are here—that life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

And for those who bear the brunt of hate because of the color of their skin, or the sound of their name, or the scarf on their head, or the person they love; for those who are spat upon, for those who are told to “go home” when they are home: you are known. You are loved. You are enough. Let your light shine. I wrote this book for you.