Hello world, I’m mentally stable and lovely. Promise.

Am I a sceptic for believing not everyone would have the honour of a letter informing them of being under police surveillance? See here.

It’s a funny joke amongst Muslims on the phone, when discussing politics or religion, to send fond regards to the MI5 we like to believe are listening in, often followed by a giggle and an ALLAHU AKBAR! ‘If they weren’t listening before, they are now.’ Not that we lack understanding as to why there’s a need for such surveillance- Muslims are just as concerned over terrorism as our non-Muslim neighbours. Our fear however is twofold: being the subject of a terrorist attack (do you think a terrorist would stop because we were there? He’d want to take us to heaven too), and being the subject of an attack that we are a terrorist. Now that’s real fear.

The fear is instilled in my liberal Father. Growing up, if I told him I’m going out with friends, he wouldn’t bat an eyelid. Tell him I’m going to an Islamic event, I get the 20 questions. Who’s going, who’s organized it, where is it, what time, do you have to go? I know that as I grew older and forged my own separate Islamic beliefs, there was worry; he could rest assured I was chasing the spiritual, non-political Islamic ideologies. The hippy Muslim. Cue the big sigh of relief: ahhh. But I guess for the rest of the world, the state of my heart isn’t printed on my headscarf.

I was once told by my supervisor years ago when I worked in a cough wonderful department store (merely to fund my studies I’ll have you know), that the level of security had increased because they were sure of an imminent attack. How so, I asked? She replied in Daily Mail style: a decrease in Muslim shoppers. I gawped at her slightly in my headscarf as she awaited a reaction. Why would she tell ME that?! So that’s what security do…Muslim headcounts. I think in reply I laughed awkwardly, my default uncomfortable mode, and then explained that there may well be less Muslims because Ramadan had just started… give it 2 weeks and they would be over-running the place buying Eid clothes. It was only on reflection the thought crossed my mind she may have been looking for a confession. ‘Ooooh you’re on to us aren’t you…I’ll call my people and have them cancel the 6pm show in The Orient.’ (Terrorists, don’t you dare use that time against me).

I realise now I was a complete idiot; maybe in a subconscious attempt to blend in, but mostly due to my own idiocy. The number of racially-ignorant comments made by my colleagues, admittedly mostly from the same supervisor, I never really took seriously. I found them amusing. I could have made some serious compo claims; alas, my mother raised me well. I tried to educate instead: explaining that my Father didn’t forbid me from leaving the house, that I genuinely didn’t want to go clubbing and get wasted because it appealed to me as much as being trapped in a dark room with white noise and 10,000 groping potatoes, and that I would never want to get off with loads of boys because, well, bleugh.

In the wake of the Beslan siege, I really got a grilling. A quiet night on the tills, my colleagues were discussing the disgusting nature of the events with the classic, ‘those people’ line- and I admit I felt defensive and embarrassed. What would they be saying if I wasn’t there? I was disgusted and on the side of the victim yet victimized to be made to feel like one of the murderous child-killers. I remember trying to explain the politics behind the siege and the events running up to it (no terrorist is a happy terrorist: it’s a delicate blend of desperation, anger, frustration, brain washing and being crazy, the causes of which need to be cured). It didn’t go down too well.

Mental note: we do not negotiate with terrorists.

To be continued...