Because I wear a hijab, I’m automatically the national spokeswoman for every Muslim in the country. It’s like there’s a stamp on my forehead that reads, “Complaints? Comments? Rage? Bring it all here.”

Last year, I was verbally attacked in the washroom at Union Station. A lady walked in, interrupted a light talk I was having with a mother and her baby, and started shouting, pointing to my hijab, to take my “s***” off. She said it was all my fault terrorism is coming to the west and that I train undercover.

Whoa, there. Terrorist? Me? I can’t even kill a spider. The only trainer I have is the one at Good Life Fitness, and the only thing I load is my Presto.

I stood up for myself, which resulted in a loud, ongoing back and forth. What struck me most was that people walked in and out, but no one said anything. The woman I was just having a heartwarming conversation with didn’t say anything. There was another Muslim woman, who didn’t wear a hijab and even she didn’t say anything. She only came to me after I left the washroom and told me she was sorry I went through that. I thanked her, but couldn’t help but think, where were you back there?

Confidence isn’t foreign to me, but I found myself crying the entire train-ride home. I couldn’t help but think, I knew how to get out of this and stand up for myself. But what about others who face this and are unable to respond or hold it together? Why does anyone even have to go through that?

Born in Egypt, I’ve been in Canada since the first grade. This was the only shockingly discriminatory incident I’ve faced. I know most people aren’t like this; it’s just the one per cent who feel like they need to vent their ignorance. The other 99 per cent are as friendly as Canadians and as curious as George — and curiosity is the first step toward a less ignorant society.

People aren’t afraid of people; they’re afraid of what they think about people. Instances like the Peterborough mosque burning or the Muslim woman who was attacked outside her children’s school in what police say was allegedly a hate crime left me shocked, just as I was when I heard about the attacks on Paris, Beirut and every other city that doesn’t end up trending worldwide.

A friend asked me if I had apologized on my social media yet for the attacks. I’m sorry — what? One and a half billion Muslims shouldn’t feel like they need to “apologize” or condemn what happened in Paris anymore than every white person shouldn’t feel the need to apologize for slavery.

Islam teaches that an unjust attack on one person is an attack on all humanity. So, yes. I stand in solidarity for justice, and I send my prayers and condolences to all who were affected. But I do not apologize for what I haven’t done. I am not accountable for the actions of some crazy nut-head who claims to be a Muslim.

I don’t condemn an act of violence because someone thinks “my people” did it. I condemn an act of violence because I’m human.

So do I feel safe in Toronto? I do. This is home. But just because I feel safe, doesn’t mean the thousands of Muslims here do; the issue is real. Some Muslims, and other visible minorities, face discrimination daily.

There’s a fine line between pity and understanding; no one wants to be pitied, but everyone hopes to be understood. So don’t give your pity; just try to understand.

So when I’m on the subway and you hear my alarm go off, don’t think it’s a bomb. It’s my alarm clock that I left on snooze, because, like you, I was dreading leaving my warm, cozy bed to face the monstrous -30C weather. And yes, I see you staring — but I just think you love my outfit.