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After a moment of thought, your mother speaks.
“Her race!” She says through tears. “Keep her beautiful mind and personality intact!”
Kurt hushes her. “Shhhh. I shall do that. But first...”
He entrances your mother briefly, saying that she will remember her old life but be affected by changes to. He lets her out of trance once he’s finished.
“Alright. It’s time.”
Turning back to you, Kurt begins to swing the pendulum again.
“Valerie...you are Middle-Eastern.”
You raise an eyebrow. “No...I’m n-n-n-not m-middle-eastern...” you stutter. That’s just not true. Your family was white and you had fair skin and blonde hair. That’s who you are.
Your mother’s head begins to hurt, but she knows better than to interfere.
“You’re right,” says Kurt. “You are half middle-eastern.”
“I’m half...middle-eastern?” You ask, Kurt’s new statement a little easier to swallow. You start feeling very confused as your skin begins to slowly darken. You weren’t all white...but what else were you? When you try to picture yourself or remember your ethnicity, it’s blank.
“Yes. Your mother’s side is arab, and your father’s side is white. You’re half arab.”
“I’m...half arab...” you say again, your skin darkening more and your hair beginning to lose its blondeness. You think of your mom, but instead of those golden locks and fair skin you see a beautiful, tanned Arab woman. Your mom was the epitome of Arab beauty, and one of the best Arab models (really models, period) in the country. Your father talked at length about how gorgeous she was, and how you were shaping up to be as good a model as she was. Although your mother never wore any coverings nor followed religion, you proudly wore your hijab as your way of expressing your muslim faith. As these thoughts race through your mind and replace your old ones, your skin finally settles on a nice, moderate tanned color as your hair is now brunette. Your face is also just a bit different, and you became a lot more slender.
“You are proud of your racial identity.”
“I’m proud of my racial i-identity,” you say without too much effort, your lipstick now darker, your dress more modestly, and your hair now tied up nicely in your hijab. You WERE proud of you who were and always embraced both sides of you. You feel all warm inside because you know who you are.
This whole time, your mother has been silent.
“And your name is Rabeeba.”
“R-Rabeeba? I’m Valerie...” you say back. You loved your name. Sure, it was bland and boring, but it was your name!
“No. You’re a Rabeeba.”
“I’m...I’m Va...Val...” you say, struggling to complete your name...that you now forgot. All that you can remember being called now is...
“Rabeeba? Say your name please. Your name is Rabeeba.”
“My name is Rabeeba...” you say at last, finally at ease.
“You adore your name.”
“I...adore...my name...” you say. You loved your name. It’s a name that feels regal, almost, and it’s very, very sexy in your opinion.
Kurt, finished, stops swinging but keeps you in trance. He turns to your mother...
“Her race!” She says through tears. “Keep her beautiful mind and personality intact!”
Kurt hushes her. “Shhhh. I shall do that. But first...”
He entrances your mother briefly, saying that she will remember her old life but be affected by changes to. He lets her out of trance once he’s finished.
“Alright. It’s time.”
Turning back to you, Kurt begins to swing the pendulum again.
“Valerie...you are Middle-Eastern.”
You raise an eyebrow. “No...I’m n-n-n-not m-middle-eastern...” you stutter. That’s just not true. Your family was white and you had fair skin and blonde hair. That’s who you are.
Your mother’s head begins to hurt, but she knows better than to interfere.
“You’re right,” says Kurt. “You are half middle-eastern.”
“I’m half...middle-eastern?” You ask, Kurt’s new statement a little easier to swallow. You start feeling very confused as your skin begins to slowly darken. You weren’t all white...but what else were you? When you try to picture yourself or remember your ethnicity, it’s blank.
“Yes. Your mother’s side is arab, and your father’s side is white. You’re half arab.”
“I’m...half arab...” you say again, your skin darkening more and your hair beginning to lose its blondeness. You think of your mom, but instead of those golden locks and fair skin you see a beautiful, tanned Arab woman. Your mom was the epitome of Arab beauty, and one of the best Arab models (really models, period) in the country. Your father talked at length about how gorgeous she was, and how you were shaping up to be as good a model as she was. Although your mother never wore any coverings nor followed religion, you proudly wore your hijab as your way of expressing your muslim faith. As these thoughts race through your mind and replace your old ones, your skin finally settles on a nice, moderate tanned color as your hair is now brunette. Your face is also just a bit different, and you became a lot more slender.
“You are proud of your racial identity.”
“I’m proud of my racial i-identity,” you say without too much effort, your lipstick now darker, your dress more modestly, and your hair now tied up nicely in your hijab. You WERE proud of you who were and always embraced both sides of you. You feel all warm inside because you know who you are.
This whole time, your mother has been silent.
“And your name is Rabeeba.”
“R-Rabeeba? I’m Valerie...” you say back. You loved your name. Sure, it was bland and boring, but it was your name!
“No. You’re a Rabeeba.”
“I’m...I’m Va...Val...” you say, struggling to complete your name...that you now forgot. All that you can remember being called now is...
“Rabeeba? Say your name please. Your name is Rabeeba.”
“My name is Rabeeba...” you say at last, finally at ease.
“You adore your name.”
“I...adore...my name...” you say. You loved your name. It’s a name that feels regal, almost, and it’s very, very sexy in your opinion.
Kurt, finished, stops swinging but keeps you in trance. He turns to your mother...
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