Midnight Impulse

learning experiences and impulsive decisions

On Nationalistic-based Hatred


Alrighty, it’s long post time because I need to get this off my chest so I can maybe stop thinking about it for a minute straight.  

For the past exact twelve hours I’ve been replaying and reliving a moment in my head that happened this morning, and I cannot seem to get away from it due to the absolute absurdness of it.  

First off, I’d like to share a bit of background and a bit of my dream-subconscience thoughts once more.  This year two new girls came into my school, sisters.  Me, being uneducated in modern history and my country’s own past wars, did not realise that my and these two girls’s people basically hate each other.  I honestly did not find out about my country’s invasion into theirs until I went home and told my parents about where they’re from, to which my mother and father told me a bit (a biased bit) of the tension between the two countries.  I later found out that the family these two sisters belonged to was personally affected by this war by the murder of one of their family members by one of my own countrymen, apparently.  However, this horrible incident cannot in any way be connected to me on a personal level.  My family nor anyone I’m related to was in that war, and ethnically I am barely OF the invading country itself.  

The first time I spoke to the older sister was not at all pleasant, but rather was quite a rude encounter.  On their first day at school, the two sisters were immediately “claimed” by the other group of girls, the one I’d earlier mentioned that I’ve never been on good terms with.  We were all sitting outside during our morning break.  I hear an incessant shriek and ask out loud, “Who is that?” 

“Me.  Is it bothering you?”  She retorts in an unpleasant tone.

“Yes.  Can you please stop?”  I reply sharply.

“No.  How about you move?”

“How about you shut your mouth?”

Now here, I fully claim responsibility for what I said and I understand I wasn’t being nice.  Something in her voice, however, told me that she was not speaking to me out of judgement made from what her new group of friends had told her about me.  She was speaking out of innate, baseless hatred.  I let it go.

Ever since then, she began glaring at me when she passed me in the hallways.  I believe I eventually began to glare back (I’m not fully sure, I usually don’t notice the facial expressions I make.)  Nothing to complain about here.  I let it go.

A couple weeks back I had a dream where I for some reason made up with this girl.  I suggested a truce of some kind.  I don’t know what her reply was, but I remember I was focused on her long, dark, straight hair in the dream.  Once I woke up, I told my best friend about the dream and later searched it up on the internet.  The first search result that came up was from a site called My Islamic Dream.  It explained that having such a dream obviously meant to make peace with an enemy and to lead them “in Allah’s path of peace” or something on the lines.  Oh, the irony.  God, it killed me.

So much for peace.  Today my school held a Science Fair.  I was walking around, reading everyone else’s posters, until I finally approached hers.  I began to read it, and before I could finish, she came in and sort of guided me away, excusing herself and speaking with her friend.  I told my own friend about it, who was just as perplexed as I was.  I figured I’d come again later.  And so I did.  Out of nowhere, she rushes in and does the same thing once more and stands in front of her project, blocking all view, till I left the area.  

At this point, I was pissed off.  She thinks she can shove me away?  I don’t think so.  I went again a third time, near when the event was ending.  She came and blocked her poster once more.  This time, however, I spoke up.  

“Excuse me, can you move please?”  Dead stone.

“Hey, I’m trying to read your poster, can you please move a little?”  My words fell upon pretend-deaf ears.

Exasperated, I tapped her with my index finger twice on the shoulder.  That got her attention.  She sharply turns her head towards me and spits out, “Don’t you even touch me.”  

“Ok then.”  You’re insane.  And I leave.  And I get teary eyed.  And I go to the bathroom upstairs.  And I start hyperventilating.  I don’t know why that happens.  I can never control my crying, let alone figure out the reason why.  And hyperventilation?  That hasn’t happened to me since the 8th grade.  Once more, I am wearing my cursed non-waterproof mascara, yet today I’d had the sense not to apply any to my bottom lashes.  Oh thank god.  I get out of there after blowing my nose several times and uselessly blotting my eyes.  I get out of the stall and look into the mirror.  Bloodshot red and puffy.  Fuck.

I walk outside towards my locker, where a couple of my friends are hanging out.  The rest of the hall is empty.  All of a sudden, I spot my mother walking down the hall.  Figuring that she’d come here for the Science Fair, I walk towards her and she immediately sees I’m not alright.  She asks me what’s going on and I lead her away from the open-doored classrooms (I am supposed to have a study period at this time) and I retell everything in Arabic, holding back tears and failing.  (Honestly, it’s uncontrollable   I cry when I argue, I cry when I’m scared, I cry when I’m panicked and I cry when I’m angry.  I hate it.)  

My mother is surprised by the events of the day.  She curses the girl and tells me not to upset myself over her.  I tell her I’m going to tell a teacher.  This is an international school where acting intolerable and immature towards others is not taken well.  

To be fully honest, I’ve been waiting for this kind of an opportunity since the beginning of the year, when I’d first learned she hated me before she’d even spoken to me.  Yes, I’m a vengeful person, but I’ve never wanted to see someone punished for their actions as much as I wanted to see her do.  I guided my mother to where the Science Fair actually was and left her.  My mother was asking who this girl was.  Coincidentally, she appeared in the hallway right then.  

For the remaining 20 minutes or so of the period, I tried to read a book in the library yet miserably failed.  I was too upset to focus on anything and kept on getting a quivering upper lip and sniffly nose.  Afterward, I was called back down to the Science Fair and happily discovered I’d been awarded third place.  That kept me on higher morale for the rest of the day.  

About 3 hours later, I finally had the chance to talk to the teacher I’d been planning on telling.  She immediately understood the problem I was facing, saying she’d known about the tension from the beginning of the year and hoped it wouldn’t happen, yet it did.  She told me she’d speak with the girl and tell her how this is not alright.  I’ll see how that turns out tomorrow.  

I came home and told my dad about everything.  He told me to stay away and not even bother with her.  My mom said something along the lines, except more affectionately and rationally.  She asked me why I care so much to read the poster in the first place.  I said I didn’t care, and that I was just reading it because I’ve read everyone else’s.  In truth, I did want to get under her skin after she pushed me away that first time.  

Neither my mother nor father understand why I want so badly for her not to hate me.  I’m not used to being treated this way and it truly hurts me.  You hear about racism and how it’s bad and wrong and how you shouldn’t hate an entire race just because, and you hear about it happening around you, but once someone actually comes into your life and refuses to speak to you purely because of what you were born into… it changes the way you see things.  I cannot stand it. She doesn’t know me.  She came in, heard where I’m from, and immediately decided to never speak to me nor show any kindness or humanity, for that matter.  

I keep replaying and reliving this moment for almost 13 hours now.  I cannot believe how childish     uneducated   close-minded          opinionless     bitchy   cruel      biased   immature       unreasonable  idiotic     mean     brainwashed  and most of all pure racist she’d acted towards me.  It’s not right.  I understand it’s a personal matter for her, but that gives her no right to hate me for something I was not born to do, nor had any relation to.  

As my mother told me when she was comforting me, “Everyone was a victim of our dictator.  The government changed now.  It wasn’t our fault.  This girl wasn’t born at the time of the war either.  She’s been drilled since she was a child.  It’s the fault of those who raised her.”  

I need some sleep.




Author: Adelaide Martin

18 year old international student's transition into college life on a new continent.

2 thoughts on “On Nationalistic-based Hatred

  1. Pingback: I’m Upset | Midnight Impulse

  2. Pingback: [Not My] Graduation Part II: Young’s Advice | Midnight Impulse

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