As a first-generation American and child of immigrants, my upbringing was infused with a mix of South Asian and (what my family could make of) American culture. I began my school career in an Islamic school, my parents believing by enrolling me I would have a good understanding of religion. There most of my classmates looked like me, I never felt like an outsider. Following Sept. 11, out of fear of the threats the school kept receiving, my parents removed me from a full-time Islamic school. When I made that switch to public school in fourth grade, things changed. Don’t get me wrong: my parents still fully practiced Islam, but they thought that as elementary school children, my brother and I should not be fearing for our safety every day.
I didn’t think how I was perceived would change, I was just excited to attend a new school and make new friends. As a proud Pakistani I never thought I’d want to hide my identity, and looking back on the conversations I had as a fourth-grader is baffling. Only days after starting to attend my new school, a friend told me they couldn’t speak to me anymore because my country hated America. I was confused: My country was America. I later learned she assumed I was from Afghanistan and was under the impression that all Afghans hated America. This experience amongst others on being different started my journey toward poetry. Being a brown kid in a predominantly white school changed how I looked at culture and religion. I found myself hiding my roots, being embarrassed by not bringing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to school but having the ability to be my complete self in my writing.
As an aspiring poet, to this day I express myself best through poetry. Poetry allows me to exemplify my thoughts—my identity screams to be heard within my writing.
Here’s a poem I wrote on how it feels being questioned on how American I am.
Are you American?
I would be asked as the summer grew hotter
Where is the flag waving at your front door?
The colors red, white, and blue on your shirt?
Where is your pride in the country that represents your freedom?
I did not understand at that age
that I was expected to fill each page
with an apology for my skin
with an apology for my culture
with an apology for my religion
with an apology for my people
I did not understand at that age
that I was expected to condemn
each act of terrorism
each act of sexism
that was associated with my people
I did not understand at that age
that I was not considered American
that not openly expressing my pride
was taking the wrong side
I will not apologize for my identity
continuously explain to you
that we are the same
despite my name
I am as American as you
and although I often feel shame
at the decisions our country has made
it does not make it any less of mine
as it is yours
realize
America is made on the bricks of diversity
since the beginning of its time
and that is the truth
not just some damn line.