When I was in Germany I was robbed by two Turkish guys. They took my purse, which at the time contained: tissues, hand sanitizer, expensive lip tint from Lush, eyeliner, my pre-paid Bahn card, my driver’s license, my credit cards, two hundred euros, my keys, my phone and my passport.
I stopped eating falafel and smoking hookah after that.
I used to love falafel.
I used to love hanging out in hookah lounges.
I used to.
I told my roommate to dump her Turkish boyfriend.
I swipe left on guys who look like they might be Turkish.
I was watching The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe on television, and the scene where Edmund eats Turkish delight made me vomit all over myself.
This past thanksgiving, my mom asked if I wanted some turkey, and I started crying uncontrollably. The tears wouldn’t stop.
The tears. They roll down my face in rivets.