I’m making a very big effort to not start off this post bitching about the fact that it’s Monday. Seriously…
It was the freakin’ weekend and weekends are bomb because it involves no work and all play- unless you do work on the weekends, then I feel for you #madrespect.
My weekends usually consist of a lot of food and good friends.
Good friends are hard to come by – especially ones who know what the real meaning of friendship is.
I’ve had a lot of bad friends. Friends who think it’s okay to call my mom a bitch, just because I do. Or friends who think it’s okay to tell me what to do rather than to support my decisions and let me make my own mistakes.
And as a result, I’m blunt.
I say what I mean and I mean what I say.
I think “being fake” or being “nice” to someone who doesn’t deserve it is a waste of time. And I have more respect for people who can tell me how they really feel about me versus the people who pretend to like me to my face.
I have a tendency to believe people until proven otherwise — so me and fake [Iranian] girls usually aren’t the best combination. I believe them, they talk shit, and I end up slapping them with my words. It’s the never-ending cycle or I’m just a lot bitchier than I like to admit (doubtful).
News flash: people aren’t stupid and if you’re bullshitting someone, chances are… they know.
And let’s be honest, many Iranian girls have a tendency to be the sweetest, most loving person to your face – but behind your back, all hell breaks loose.
Our culture produces the epitome of “poz-dadan.” Translation: uhhh fake mother f#ckers.
We’re taught from early on that we need to create an image. An image that somehow proves we are better, that we are superior to our peers.
The image we create of ourselves somehow leads to our “survival” in the Iranian community.
Because if we are viewed negatively in the community then we are shunned – no one wants to be friends with us and no one wants to marry us. We create an image to be well-liked, appear to be successful, and happy.
For Iranians, it’s more important to maintain your group than your individuality.
But all this fakeness and need to be liked doesn’t really create honest relationships. We’re never real with each other. We act nice and talk shit in private as if somehow it will further our status.
We stress the importance of respect in our culture, but respect doesn’t exist through dishonesty.
I grew up surrounded with Iroonis whose parents were doctors, lawyers, and entrepreneurs — the amount of money they had flowing from their pockets was incredible. These kids had elevators in their houses, tennis courts in their backyards, and numerous fast cars at their disposal.
My father is a professor, and while he is the smartest person I know and works damn hard for his money – he just doesn’t rake in as much as an anesthesiologist.
I used to be so shy – I was quiet, reserved, and I clung to my mother’s side as if someone would murder me if I walked away. I would go to these people’s houses and get lost in their spa basements. I was required to play with their kids and they were forced to be nice to me because of our parents.
But I was constantly judged for driving a Toyota Corolla and never wearing designer clothes – they talked shit about me because in their eyes, “my dad didn’t make enough money.”
The image my mom strived to create never succeeded. We hung out with ridiculously rich people, yet we were the topic of discussion because our house only had one floor versus 3+.
And despite the reality of our monetary status, my mom left every mehmooni hating on the “hideous” fur coat so-and-so’s mother was wearing and the “tacky” number of diamonds whoever the f#ck had on that night. But all that shit talking was an effort to maintain our family’s “image,” our non-existent respect.
For a long time, I really didn’t realize why these kids – who were not much older than me – tried to shun me every chance they had. And instead of realizing their shortcomings, I was hurt. I hated going to their houses because I felt so out of place. Until we grew up.
They stayed home while I went to college. And despite my family’s “low status,” I don’t have any college loans to pay off because my dad is a baller. They continued to live off their family’s money in their late 20’s while I live across the country independently.
It’s a give and take. We talk and hate on people in an effort to make ourselves feel better, but all that “poz-dadan” really doesn’t get you anywhere. Especially when you enter the real world — because there might be some girls who will humor and follow you, but at the end of the day – you’re just the person who’s continuously putting their foot in their mouth.
“Omg she’s had sex… what a slore.”
- Um aren’t you hooking up with that guy who has a girlfriend?
“Omg she’s not wearing ANYTHING designer.”
- Um didn’t your daddy pay for that?
What’s the point? How are we supposed to evolve as a culture if we continue to maintain these standards that our family has taught us?
We learn by example… but does that mean we have to copy? We should be learning from our parent’s mistakes – and stop judging people for having less money or for having sex or for not owning designer sh*t because none of that means anything in the harsh light of reality.
Aight I’ll be honest – I’m running out material – there are only so many people I can tell off in a weekend.
TWEET AT ME: @FARRAH_JOON