You know when you have always had a dream?
And this one dream — this one thing that you want so badly, more than anything continues to pummel you until you sit down and get to work, trying to claw its way to reality. And reality did come. In the form of a novel I wrote, The Art of Faking It. I wrote this years ago, in the midst of a depression wave and episodes of constant sadness, listening to the Aladdin (2019) soundtrack on repeat — especially Speechless. This song embodies my life as a South Asian woman, having to follow rules that are centuries old and unbending. This song embodies The Art of Faking It.
I wanted to write about the untold stories of women who have had to face struggle, abuse, heartbreak and cope by . . . well, the same way Sabrina copes. It’s not a perfect story, at all, but it’s one I needed to write and share. I didn’t want to have to go through the endless querying of agents and then have to shift things, or even add in some minor translations in the very brief sentences because really, I want it to stay authentic, stay raw. It’s not perfect and even with all the proof-reading, I’m sure I overlooked some errors.
But the thing is — I’m damn proud I wrote this. You know when you feel like you need to tell a story, no matter what? No matter the criticisms or rejections, or whatever else there is — because it’s so damn important? Well, that’s The Art of Faking It for me. It’s available on Amazon to purchase (and for everyone with a library card, please please please please request this book!!)
Buy The Art of Faking It.
❝sometimes it’s better to just fake it than be honest. it’s safer for everyone. ❞
Getting over a break up is hard, but it’s even harder when you’re still in love with your ex.
It’s been nearly two years since Sabrina’s relationship met its end and she’s still mourning what-once-was and what-should’ve-been. It doesn’t seem to get easier, even though everyone has been telling her that it will and all she needs is to start dating again.
She knows they’re right. She needs to move on.
So when one of her friends suggests she hook up with Daniel Fitzgerald, a charming, handsome teacher by day, and artist by night, she agrees, thinking maybe this is just what she needs.
But letting go of the past is a lot harder than she anticipated. Pair that with a sprinkling of mistakes and consequences rushing to the surface, the brown girl guilt from choosing to step out of a house immersed in cultural traditions and the inability to move on from what she’s lost, and this dating journey becomes more than just a casual, no strings attached situation-ship.
After all, faking it only gets you so far, and Sabrina can’t run from her feelings forever.
I will be dropping some excerpts here and there, as well.
Sabrina cracked a grin, “you should’ve seen her when we watched Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham. She was bawling her eyes out, more than I was, which is saying something because I’m such a baby. My mum was just there, staring at us like what the fuck and laughing.”
“Oh, my god,” Tasnia’s eyes widened. “We should have a day where we just watch Bollywood movies. It’ll be so fun.”
“Sure,” Sabrina said.
“Which ones though?” Amanee asked.
“You haven’t really seen any of them, so we’ll start with the classics, like Main Hoon Na, which is the best one ever. I cry every time I watch it,” Sabrina said.
“By the sounds of it, you cry at every movie you watch,” Hifsah interrupted, laughing.
“Shut up,” Sabrina rolled her eyes, smiling. “As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted—” at this, she gave a pointed look to Hifsah, who smiled sweetly. “There’s also Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge and Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, but I didn’t really like that one much. Om Shanti Om is pretty good, too, oh my god and Deepika is in it. She’s so beautiful.”
“Who is she?” Amanee asked.
“How do you not know who Deepika Padukone is?” Tasnia stared, dubious.
“Only the most gorgeous woman to ever grace this earth,” Sabrina replied, sighing. “She’s in Cocktail too, which is actually my favourite movie. Musa told me about it. I watched it after we—” she stopped, catching herself. She felt a hollow pang in her chest, the kind that was always there whenever she thought of him, and, sadly, that was almost all of the time.