JOONS, I promise not to disappear like this again without advanced notice, but I can’t help playing hot/cold. I’m told that’s how I’ll get rid of my meth, and get all my men ;)
On another note: Memorial DAY WEEKEND Is approaching!! The first reality check on how far you are from BEACH BODY ready…
And also sorry for the title, I just watched THE DICTATOR yesterday and couldn’t help myself…only Sacha Baron Cohen could be offensive/crude/funny all at the same time. Not gonna lie though– you can get all the funny scenes in this 3 minute trailer:
And if you fast forward to 2:19, you’ll know what this post is going to be about!
Honestly, I’m sure nobody’s dad wanted to throw their daughters in the trash can because its not 500AD, however I know for a fact my dad treats me like the ‘son he didn’t have til a few years later’.
I’m the oldest. I’m a girl. And I’m Middle Eastern. Screwed isn’t even the word, I assure you.
And I’m willing to bet my Bachelor’s Degree, that if we did a study on all first-born girls in Middle Eastern families, they would be significantly less feminine and girly (aka into pinkruffles and playing house).
I was obsessed with wearing skirts, but that was to compensate for the boyish hair I had for the first 9 years of my life. My gender-neutral year in the 5th grade is a post on its own.
Anyway, my brother came along soon after me, giving my parents the heir to carry the beloved name- and a partner in crime for me. I loved/still love having a sibling, it’s such a relief to be able to joke about my parents accents, WHY WE SWITCH TABLES AT EVERY RESTAURANT, and other various immigrant problems. However, being a girl, and having a BOY as your younger sibling– the double standards become obvious.
Because from the moment Gender Y stepped his foot into the house, he was crowned Prince Doodool Tala.
& I definitely was the brown Cinderella (not as cute or innocent), all because I had a vagina.
It didn’t help that between the both of us, my brother got the more white-washed handsomeness, was mazloom a.k.a mute until he was 5, and athletic. No one could picture my brother doing evil, and so he was labeled the angel.
1. In Middle School, my brother could stay out on weeknights to play in the neighborhood, and on special occasions (WWF fights that he attended as a 7th grader) was allowed to stay out past midnight. He ate hot dogs (PORK!!!) and meatballs (PORK!!!!).
I did not even get to go to the mall on my own until my sophomore year of high school. My dad trailed behind my friends and I, as if he was in the Arab Secret Service.
2. As we got older, I would get yelled at if I compared myself to my brother, but I genuinely couldn’t help myself.
Think: as a 5th grader his computer was Windows XP, and I was a freshman in HS still on Windows 98 with a Monitor the size of an aquarium. I legit couldn’t start using any applications on my computer, without hitting Task Manager and ‘END TASK’ing all these random programs. According to my dad, I spilled CranApple Juice on the keyboard once–and therefore had to deal with the consequences…for three years.
What about when my brother lost his GameBoys and broke his Playstation? They seemed replacable. Oh, and did I mention my brother had a TV in his room since he was 10 years old (CABLE included). I, SAAGHI, the older sister, had to sneak into my brother’s room to watch the VMA’s.
3. DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON DRIVING & DATING Privileges. They mirror each other. In high school, I was not allowed to drive to school, eat lunch off campus, go to school dances or house parties (“BOY AND ALCOHOL DO NOT MIIX SAAGHI”). Everything I did in high school, was in secret– and planned to the T… the way I went about regular youthful activities was like CIA covert operations, with that much anxiety. When I came home with roses from a guy asking me to prom, I stuffed them in a drawer so my dad wouldn’t find out. Prom was absolutely out of the question.
My brother, on the other hand, had my dad buy his prom tickets, went suit shopping with KANYE as his fashion inspiration– and enjoyed it to the last photo opp. His high school journey was more American— my parents went to his football games, my dad cheered from the bleachers like his name was Mike, and my mom volunteered at the ‘snack shack’.
My brother went out on weeknights, never got grounded despite his lower grades, and dating was ‘up for discussion’– like his blonde bimbo prom date. He got a car immediately when he got a licence, and he drives my parents’ luxury cars on the regular (the cars I am still not allowed to touch despite my driving experience).
You may be thinking, I am not telling one side of the story. Maybe I’ve been caught more, and so my parents have a reason to allow so many privileges to PRINCE DOODOOL TALA.
No, its actually really how I’m telling it. In terms of getting caught:
My brother was caught with weed, and my dad did not even scold him. He left the disciplining to the Persian Mother (and we all know how that went…)
I have never been caught with alcohol, drugs, or boys.
My brother got C’s in high school and barely got a lecture, I came home CRYING when I had B’s- because my once a month Friday privilege to have a social life were out the door.
It seemed like my brother came out of the womb with a blank check to do what he wants, with much less severe parenting. Even now that we’re older, if he does something wrong– “time out time” -yelling, lecturing, ghahring (cold-shouldering)- is around 30 minutes to half a day.
Mine is at least 10 days, and it gets put in the mental ‘my documents’ folder of my parents’ brain, under: SAAGHI’S FUCK UPS.
Every thing I did was questioned, and when I got older and asked why, he’d say
Trust, but verify.
To my dad, I was Gorbachev…my brother was JFK.
But it’s not all my dad, My MOM is definitely the driving force: “VAAY, pesaram” (OH, my son) “Azizamii, baacham” (My dear, my child)…
I just want to scream: Mom, he’s not 7. He’s potty trained.
Anyway, I complained a lot today- not my usual thing. But for all the other SISters with DOODOOL tala siblings, I FEEL FOR YOU.
& I leave you with one of ALI G’s best interviews, with the NBA possy– there is no better moment than when he calls DWade, Shaq’s PLUS ONE.
TWEET ME: @SAAGHI_JOON
THE BROWN CINDERELLA,