"Hipster?" I asked, brimming with good-natured curiosity.
"It's, uh... I think it's what we are..." he replied.
The topic changed and the dark cloud moved right along with me, as usual, oblivious to its presence. There was talk of random things like books and movies and hopes and pasts amongst all of us. It ended well and I didn't bother realizing the weight of the word for a while.
One day, Wikipedia happened to be open on Tuffa7a and I randomly think of the word I didn't know. The black cloud looms again, ever so slowly and surely because it knows it has time to kill (the bastard wants to make an entrance), and it hits me.
I, Khayra Bundakji, am an overused depleted idea.
A computer science major in the Environmental Club who writes for the newsletter and drowns in women empowerment workshops.
The green tech enthusiast who named her MacBook Tuffa7a (Tuffaha: Apple in Arabic) and her iPhone Farawlah (Strawberry).
Skinny jeans, t-shirts riddled with expressions of peace and love, and a soon-to-be scene mullet. Did I mention the retrophilia that I experience when I go shopping? No? Well, there you go.
"Philosophical" and "intellectual" books on everything from the universe to romance.
Golden oldies, house, progressive-house, progressive-rock, indie-rock, rock, buddha-bar stuff, white-girl-on-guitar, Emiliana Torrini, The Beatles, and classical music.
Close to natural with vintage-esque liquid eyeliner involved.
Love, green tech, the planet, children, and a husband. In that order.
I don't think I can go on. Every key that gets pushed into the keyboard while this is being typed is a click of misery and disillusionment.
Okay, so it's not that bad when I look at it in perspective. It's even refreshing to realize how much I fit in to society after all those pubescent years of lonely anguish... However there is something afoot when it comes to my feelings... A negative sort of afoot, at that. I love me, that's clear in all aspects. I love my priorities and think that if everyone shared them, we would have the Utopia we've all been waiting for.
So the issue? Molly Finkelstein bundles up all my icky feelings when she says
But something about these so-called hipsters seems to me as forced as the entry into their too-tight pants. If I can picture you carefully arranging your hair to look perfectly disheveled, the magic is gone.
I know I'm genuine and I know I wouldn't ever prefer a certain style or book because it "fits" with the image I'm setting... But it's still an unnerving thought that I might get shoved into the pool of posers that I happen to look like! Beyond that, though, is a much bigger issue that I don't really want to admit to myself but will because I'm cool like that...
Am I a poser in denial?
No! It's so silly! Everyone I know would guffaw at that because I have no concept of what's going on in the world, let alone trying to imitate it.
As thought my existence possibly being a self-made clone of an idea isn't enough, it seeps to the way I express myself.
It can be argued that the 'negative usage of the term Cliché in order to belittle an idea or an expression' is itself is becoming a cliché.
I simply don't know how to feel about any of this, so I'm just going to go ahead and say that I was the one who set the trend. Mofos think they know me.