I Deleted It From My Profile, But It Was Me

Sometimes the truest parts of us are the ones we don’t share… because they ask too many questions.

There are things I used to say out loud.

About who I am.
Where I come from.
The bloodlines that shaped me ... from both sides.

But somewhere along the way… I stopped.

I stopped saying my father’s lineage because I got tired of hearing, “Where’s the proof?”
Like I was trying to sell a myth. Like I needed a certificate for my own bones.

I stopped saying my mother’s background because I got tired of the conspiracy theories.
The Illuminati jokes. The “so you’re one of those people” looks.
As if loving your ancestry meant endorsing everything someone’s been taught to fear about it.

So bit by bit, I erased those parts.
Not from my memory. Not from my family.
Just… from the parts of me people could access.

I stopped talking about it in Saudi when I was young.
I stopped talking about it in college when I was trying to blend in.
And eventually, I stopped talking about it even when I wanted to be known.

Instead, I leaned into my Saudi identity ... not performatively, but strategically.
It was the piece of me I could offer up without friction.
The part I could use to build bridges.
The version of me that didn’t get interrogated.

And to be clear ... it wasn’t fake. It was real.
But it wasn’t complete.

What most people didn’t know… is that I kept the rest tucked away.
Like a ticket in my back pocket.

I didn’t need to show it.
I didn’t even plan to use it.
But it was there. Quiet. Undeniable.

I remember being in Japan once, years later, and someone ... a complete stranger ... recognized my grandfather’s name.
Not with doubt. Not with suspicion.
With respect.

And in that moment, I didn’t feel the need to explain.
Didn’t feel the urge to call my mom, or tell anyone, or document it.

I just held it.

That ticket.
That silent proof.
That part of me I had almost convinced myself didn’t matter.

It’s strange, what we delete.
Not because it’s untrue… but because it’s too true.
Too sacred. Too complicated. Too exhausting to translate again and again for people who don’t really want to understand.

But I’ve learned something since.

What you delete to keep the peace… still lives in you.
And one day, it might rise. Not to demand attention ... but to remind you:

You are more than the version you’ve edited for comfort.

And even if no one else ever sees it…
you know what’s in your back pocket.
And that’s enough.