The Side Entrance

It was written for me.
The part. The moment. The breakout role in a friend’s film.
He even told me: “This one’s yours, I wrote it for you.”

I waited years , as this happens in the industry. But when it came time to shoot, I was working in LA… and he gave me one week’s notice.
Just one week.

I wanted to scream, but instead, I just sat there ... Angry. Torn. Overly dramatic with a sense of betrayal.

Later after film wrapped I was invited to dinner at our favorite spot. Surrounded by his family, friends... all of them talking about how fun it was, because they were in the film. How special. How great it turned out.
And I snapped.

I didn’t mean to. But the words came out hot and louder than I wanted:
“OK! I got it! Stop rubbing it in! Enough. I get it, i missed an apportunity! I wish I was there too.”

The table went quiet.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt ashamed for letting people see how much it hurt. I was devistated.

Because it did hurt.
Not just missing the role.
But knowing deep down that I would’ve flown to the moon for him.
And I felt he didn’t even give me the propper chance.

I know how this industry works.
I know how fast timelines shift, how casting changes, how “meant for you” can become “sorry, we had to.”
But I wasn’t mad at the system.
I was mad that someone I believed in didn’t believe in me enough to wait.
Or even just call sooner.
Even though I know thats not how it works, thats still how I felt. Petty? Immature? I still wont appologize for my feelings, because this was a big deal. I felt I was part of something for years, that ended up just being... something i whitnessed.

I didn’t yell again.
But I did retreat.
Maybe they did too.

And that moment ... that one rupture ... made me quietly punish the dream itself.
I started backing away from acting.
Ran away to Japan for the weekend to take my mind of it.
Told myself I was done.
That if this one didn’t work out, maybe nothing would.

It wasn’t dramatic.
It was slow.
Sad.
Quiet.
Like watching a fire burn out but still pretending you’re warm.

And then something strange happened.

Firstly while I was in Japan, a director friend called and needed me the next day in LA to film a scene.
Because thats how it works sometimes, and I had to admit, the universe does work in mysterious ways.

But the big turn was in May 2019 and James Corden.

Not the interview.
Not the jokes or the banter.
But the aftermath ... when someone translated the clip… and it exploded across the Middle East.

Suddenly, I wasn’t forgotten.
I wasn’t a missed opportunity.
I was a voice.
A Hollywood entertainer who happened to be Saudi ... not the other way around.

And that’s where the tension came in.

People told me, “Now’s your chance. Pivot. Become a Saudi celebrity. Ride the wave.”
And maybe they were right.
Maybe that’s what smart people do ... ride momentum, capitalize, shape-shift.

But here’s the thing:

I didn’t go viral for pretending to be someone else.
I went viral for being me.
Messy. Playful. Bilingual. Rooted in two worlds, fluent in neither.
And somehow… that worked.

So no.
I didn’t sell my voice to fit a mold.
I started building something that didn’t exist until I stepped into it.

It didn’t happen overnight.
There was no big movie deal or giant comeback.

But the shift was real.

I stopped waiting to be cast.
And I started creating ... stories, scripts, characters ... all with my DNA in them.

Because when the door didn’t open, I didn’t break it down.
I built a side entrance.
And it turns out…
I like the view from here.