After nine months of chilling rent free in my mother’s womb, I got evicted and landed in Southern California 28 years ago. My childhood in Hilastan, also known as ‘It’s-actually-not-that-bad-stan,’ was like a reality TV show minus the cameras. At a year and a half, I lost my dad to leukemia, which honestly was not part of my five-year plan. Then, at three, I mistook my KinderCare instructor’s index finger for a carrot, leaving it a shade of blue that Picasso would envy. By five, my unibrow and burgeoning mustache made me so humble I practically invented humility. At 16, I ditched high school for the glamorous life of a college student because who needs prom when you can have existential crises over term papers? Now, I’m living the so-called dream, getting paid in pennies to write and produce—Alhamdulilah—and wondering if my mom still wishes I’d chosen a more ‘practical’ career.
My passion for storytelling ignited at the tender age of eleven on a family vacation to Afghanistan—the premium version of Hilastan. My mother had her heart set on me rebuilding the country as an architect/engineer.
But instead, I embraced my role as the family’s charming disappointment, graduating from USC with a fancy degree in Business and Screenwriting and launching my very own creative agency. So, instead of constructing buildings, I construct narratives, which is almost the same thing, right?
My redemption arc began with gigs at National Geographic, Warner Bros. Stage 13, and a Chuck Lorre sitcom—a journey from CBS to FOX, snagging more plot twists than a season of ‘Days of Our Lives.’ When I’m not crafting epic tales, I’m the head honcho of my blog, dissecting my life as a Muslim-American and Afghan-American. It’s like being a cultural ambassador but with more blog posts and less diplomatic immunity. Join me in Hilastan, where every post is an adventure, and the unibrow is always welcome.