Whether you or your loved one has experienced or is experiencing a mental health problem, life can feel almost impossible at times and you can feel as if nobody understands you. Developing your knowledge on mental health conditions can not only help you understand and help,…
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I was born in a remote village during my country's liberation war in 1971. At that time Bangladesh was called East Pakistan. I was born in August, and in December we won liberation. Three years later I was living in England, growing up in the City of Bradford. There was only one problem: I hated all things Bengali. I did. I wanted to be like the English girls in my school, able to go out here and there, go to a friend's, have a friend over for dinner. Be normal, do normal things. Not wear a headscarf all day and make tea for the old Bengali women my mum liked hanging out with. Are u kidding me? I hated all that crap. So just before I was about to turn 15 in 1985, I ran away with my boyfriend, Idris, who, by the way, was Pakistani, a no-no in our culture. He said we could go to Pakistan and get married. "Okay," I said. "Let's go." But my dad had other plans. He saw me walking around the city centre one day with Idris and chased him with a pocketknife. He had a pocketknife! Do u believe it? "Run!" I told Idris. Then he took me home, but when we got home he didn't even yell at me or hit me. What is going on? I wondered. Because that's not usually what happened whenever I did anything wrong, which was usually all the time. Then about 2 weeks later, I walked into the front room and saw my mum crying, wailing at the top of her breath, saying something about her brother, my uncle, that he's dying. She asked my dad if she could go to Bangladesh and see him before he dies and my dad said you can go but only if someone accompanies you. "I'll go," I said. After all, it was the least I could do after upsetting him when I ran away. Well, to make a long story short, after we got to my uncle's place in Bangladesh, they took my passport and told me they were marrying me off, that an older man had offered a good dowry for me and that they had accepted. "What?" I said. "What are you talking about? I thought you said we'd only be gone 2 weeks?" "Don't worry," my mum said. "As soon as you get married you can come back." Well, as it turned out, that didn't happen. I did get married but never got to go back. Luckily I won the visa lottery for America (thank God for America) when I turned 19, otherwise I'd still be stuck there. In general, I have a - Happy-go-lucky view on life. Even though my dad misspelled my name when he applied for our British visas by leaving off the c.
What is your blogging philosophy?
I blog about real life things that are funny.
I have been blogging since...
This is the cover to my book, Bengali Girls Don't, which will be out this summer.
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Hey Mate, I'm writing in regards to that message I sent through yesterday, we have been nominated as being one of the Top Aussie Blogs on the famous Circle Of Moms website and at the moment are coming #1 but we'll still need our friends and followers help as our challanger has a wider support network than we do and is catching up fast! If you could vote for our blog every day or just once it would make a big difference.
If you do decide you'd like to help out daily, I can pop you on our notification list and have spesh little reminders send to you, just let me know!
Thanks for being our friend on here and have a fabulous weekend!!