Day Eighty Eight - Single White Female

Being the only white female at a restaurant is certainly a special experience. Especially after a walk down the streets as the only khawaja female, light brown hair blowing in the wind, attracting attention by the sole fact that I exist here on earth. Special. I wish I could explain it in a way that you could really understand what it feels like to have every eye on you and experiencing being a foreigner who cannot even attempt to blend in. Maybe if you can picture in your mind a moment in your life when you walked into a room full of people who you did not know, and everyone including yourself knew you did not belong there. And then instead of removing yourself from that situation you continued to walk in the room and take a seat. Khawaja. The one that does not belong, but tries to make it work.