#unease

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the fae don’t lie…

we just say things you wish were true

Not Enough Dough

Have you ever walked down an empty hallway and felt like you should walk faster? You get this sort of uncanny feeling, like shivers down your spine as you walk, you hear your own footsteps echoing, the buzz of the fluorescent lights and maybe even your own breathing. Have you ever questioned why? Because I have, I've walked down those hallways feeling that way countless times.

A self-reflective unease of sorts. 

We recently watched the film Us, and it really took me by surprise and shook me a little. I appreciated how the film did not hinge on the jump scares or the doubles, it was so unnerving to see such a relatable family, a mundane happy family, and then watch the order of their world fall apart. I think what stuck with me the most was Adelaide’s human reaction to “put on your shoes” to Zora. It reminded me of my family, how my mom’s voice would drop to that same exact serious but calm voice whenever things got tense between us in the car. She was someone who just took charge because there was no room for fear. 

However, what resonated even more profoundly was the idea of the tethered, an alternate version of yourself existing just beneath the surface, intertwined with your life in ways you can't even see. This concept led me to reflect on privilege and the facets of our identities and histories that we often try to hide. 

Having navigated the complexities of my multiple identities: Persian, Jewish, Israeli, and American, I often feel as though I lead a fragmented existence, trapped between different worlds. I contemplate the version of myself that can "pass" in American society, the one that carefully constructs sentences and explains ideas in a lot of detail to make sure my background is understood. At the same time, I recognize there is a version of me that remains largely hidden, carrying the unexpressed tension of those who feel misunderstood, despite the many efforts to help bridge that gap.

That is what I think I took away from Us, the reason why it not only scared me, but really haunted me, was that it was not just Adelaide I was watching. I perceived her connection in that manner too. I don't believe that Wanga was as difficult to observe for the same reasons; but honesty, I was angry watching that film. 

I could sense the ego of the filmmaker trying to use Blackness, but expecting to get away with it because, “Hey, I had two black people as the lead! Call me progressive.” However, it really did the opposite and I appreciated how the reading and in-class discussion taught me about just how rooted our film history is to those types of presentations and normalizations of Black bodies. 

What resonated with me in this case was the idea that we have witnessed a similar phenomenon with Middle Eastern identities, where they are often hypersexualized or dehumanized, reduced to a mere symbol rather than representing an authentic identity. This thought has really struck a chord with me.

I will admit, I enjoyed reading Dark Home and The Most Strongest Obia Woman in the World because we finally got to the women in the story having autonomy and power in stories where they are so often denied or victimized. I think the most empowering thing to me was that the stories did not gloss over fear, but still allowed the character to be human, messy, and brave. 

My African American Studies class made me realize that horror isn’t always in what we see on screen, but what lurks below the surface under everything.