I was barely one year old on September 11th, 2001 - sitting in front of the TV with my mother, awed by bright colours and loud noises. I don’t remember 9/11, and because I don’t wear a hijab and had never lived in North America until I moved for university, I didn’t feel myself turn into an enemy overnight in the same way that so many Muslims did immediately following the attacks. Instead, I grew up with the full knowledge and awareness that I was, for some reason that I couldn’t explain, an enemy to the West. I knew that border control officers trembled in fear at the sight of a nine year old Pakistani girl, and I knew not to speak Urdu in public. I knew to be careful, I just didn’t know why.