The Thing About Being Jeddahwi

In Jeddah, I had the privilege (or the curse, according to the elders) of being part of a circle of open-minded young people who can discuss and accept non-Jeddahwi concepts, such as being non-Muslim, non-male/female, non-conservative, non-traditional, non-Arab, non-Saudi, non-whatever WE were.

Being outside of Jeddah as that person means complications – I'm so open-minded, why am I, deep down inside, such a traditionally Jeddahwi chick? This double-think, these double standards, are so alien to people in the free world. So hypocritical.

The truth is that however open I am, there are major parts of who I am that believes in the culture of Saudi/Jeddah. My ideals on Respect, Love, Acceptance – they are all Jeddahwi.

I can adapt to different cultures because of where I'm from. I can respect anyone's close-minded culture because of how I was raised. I can understand people and their demons because of Jeddah.

If there was any place, any time, when you can have a group of deeply intelligent and confused people in space, it was Jeddah when I was there. It doesn't matter who I've become now, I was shaped by my past, by the place that held me in its closed off little area, to "protect".

I am NOT protected. In the outside world, I am a hypocrite. A weirdo. A double-thinker. A walking contradiction. A judger. A person who, one minute can expertly cover every part of herself, a fake muhajibah with my veil on so perfectly, and another minute is a drunk truck driver with a potty mouth.

No one can fuck you up like your hometown can.

And no one can understand you better than the very same people who grew up with you, in that very same godforsaken place.

For a very long time, I worried about what people think about me, in this foreign, outside world. I still do. I'm so concerned that people would think I'm weak, especially because I'm a woman, especially because I'm a woman FROM SAUDI ARABIA. For a very long time, until just an hour ago, I couldn't even BE myself, because it's so much easier to be someone else. It would be so much easier for people to read me if I was familiar to them.

But I understand something now, after some assurance from my Jeddahwi family. That I can only be myself. That if I wasn't good enough for the people who meet me, then they're not good enough for me. That if they can't understand and they don't even try, then it's time to move on.

And it's time to move on.