I Am Sam Kurdish [ LIMITED ]

If I say “Kurdish,” I get the follow-ups:

Let me start with something simple: my name is Sam. I drink coffee in the morning, scroll through my phone too much, and get annoyed when it rains on my commute. On paper, I’m just another guy trying to get through the week.

It’s such an innocent question. People ask it at parties, in waiting rooms, on first dates. And every time, my brain does a little gymnastics routine. i am sam kurdish

I don’t want pity. I don’t want political debates in my comment section (though I know I’ll get them). I just want you to know: we exist. We’re here. We’re not a footnote in someone else’s story.

And I’m Kurdish. I come from a people without a state but with an unshakable soul. A people whose anthem is called “Ey Reqîb” — “O, Enemy” — because even our love songs have a little defiance in them. If I say “Kurdish,” I get the follow-ups:

It means food that tastes like memory. Dolma, biryani, kuba, mastaw. The smell of lamb and spices drifting through my mother’s kitchen on a Friday afternoon. Meals that take six hours to prepare and twenty minutes to eat — and that’s exactly the point.

It means explaining to friends why you don’t visit your parents’ homeland as easily as they visit theirs. Why a “vacation” to that village your grandfather mentioned might involve military checkpoints and a language that isn’t yours and a flag you’re not technically allowed to fly. It’s such an innocent question

It means laughing harder than anywhere else. Kurdish humor is sharp, self-deprecating, and often involves someone’s uncle doing something ridiculous. We’ve survived so much that we’ve learned not to take ourselves too seriously.

We’ve got plenty of stories. And we’re finally ready to tell them ourselves.