It was Saturday at the indoor farmers market, and I was half awake as I stood in line for pickles. “Where are you from?” the vendor asked. My stomach clenched. It was soon after the Muslim ban in early 2017. I named a wealthy suburb (a true-enough answer), and then shame filled my belly. In this sea of white faces, his was brown like mine. He was probably just seeking connection, for where I was from before. I’ll never know. I took my quart of sour pickles and joined the crowd in search of the best loaf of artisan bread.
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**Maya Benattar** is a music psychotherapist and writer. Her client work and writing focus on family stories, intergenerational trauma, and an inherited sense of “otherness.” More at mayabenattar.com and on Instagram @mayabenattar.
This essay first appeared in Five Minutes (2024).
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