I Am CJ Run

I am standing in the main room at the Empty Bottle on a cool Friday evening ready to listen to a set by CJ Run. CJ Who? CJ Run.

Driving to work that morning, I was listening to Jenn White, WBEZ's Morning Shift host interview CJ Run, a 21 year-old Nigerian-Geman-British-now-Chicagoan young lesbian/queer (what's the difference?) woman(?) singing and talking about identity. The only identity she was sure of what that she was Nigerian because that's the food her mom made every day. After Germany, then Britain, and before Illinois, she moved to S.Carolina for high school. She spoke of being a curiosity to the white kids in school because of her English accent. But she was too black to be regular company. Because of her "Britishness" she was not black enough to fit in with the other African-Americans in her high school. She finally decided to move for college to the U of Illinois mostly to find freedom to be who she wanted to be. It was the first place she come out and be who she felt she was and wanted to develop into being. And now she was releasing her first rap record detailing her life.

Somehow, somehow, somehow I connected with this person's story. I was her! I was her?

Yes I was! No. I didn't go to college to come out. At least not in that way. I came out as me- the flawed but believing Muslim-Indian yet thoroughly American young man I was and am. I didn't experience abject disconnection or loneliness before college. I had wonderful friends in my neighborhood and... separately,,,at my mosque. But I can't truly say that I felt whole. To my friends, I was just another kid who would play running bases, street hockey, smear the queer (*I didn't admit that to CJ Run). Yet there was something exotic enough about my life that when the alarm for.prayers went off in our house, they would roll around in laughter screaming "gada gompu doo". I even got my entire high school to believe a story my friends and I made up that my parents had gotten me married to someone sight unseen during junior year of high school. Yet, to at least a portion of my Muslim friends, I wasn't Muslim enough. When at communal Eid prayers, I would be asked why I was wearing a suit instead of a salwar kameez. Why was I bringing my Jewish neighbors to our Mosque bazaar. When, just before departing from college, I came home late from a night out watching Stop Making Sense, my parents wanted to kick me out of the house because I was being too American!

When I got to Northwestern, I felt whole for the first time in my life. I didn't have to pretend to be one thing or another. I could be a decent Muslim who believes in Allah but maybe not great at practicing and also be among friends who drank plenty yet allowed me to enjoy their company without any pressure or judgement. I could chase after women (though never catching them) and not feel like a kafir. I could be friends with pretty much anyone. I didn't feel like I was "too American", "too Indian", "too Muslim" or "too heathen". I was Ahsan or "Bash". I whole-heartedly thank friends like Jon, Kurt, Paul, Bill, Bimal, John, Maria, Lena, Mushir, Saima, Scott, Masarrath, Tracy, and so so many others. My cup overfloweth. Until just very recently, that has been the freest I have ever felt.

Once College was over, I had to return to the guy who lives in silos. One person among Muslims and one among non-Muslims. Always only a part of myself Never a whole. And in being a part of myself, I was never good enough at that part. Around my former wife and in some ways my parents, I am not a good enough Muslim..and now at "non-Muslim" gatherings and parties (at school and stuff), I just couldn't connect with the people like I used to be at ease with. The one place I felt perfectly at joy with was with my daughters...as a father. Now since my divorce, I don't have that anymore either.

Since completing my divorce, I have spent time learning more about myself and my relationship to Allah. I am still not an impeccable practicing Muslim. I believe Allah knows everything- and therefore knows my intentions and character. I have learnt that I enjoy creativity. I have the power to create who I want to be in this world.

I am not CJ Run. I'm not a 29-something year old completely free LGBTQ energy-filled young person.

I am CJ Run. I am grateful for the life I have. I am self-expressed. I am a recovering 50-something year-old responsible inquisitive self-discovering middle-aged man. I am Ahsan.

Post-Script:

I went to the concert and realized that CJ Run was not a woman, nor a man. Not a he nor a she. CJ Run was a person. They appreciated that despite us being worlds apart that their story touched me enough to relate to their world. Then we connected about shared Bollywood movies and music.