Not Being
I had an interesting weekend. Someone told me that my thoughts and values didn't reflect my cultural heritage (being a Bohra muslim), that I was basically living a lie, or to put it plainly, that I was too "whitewashed." Then, the person indicated to me exactly where I failed (because I eat pork and don't respect the religious establishment of the community I come from).
It left me balking. Am I not as good as that person because my belief system is integral to me, and not to the community I come from? Am I not as good enough because I'm not domestic-minded and knitted to my religious community? Am I not good enough because I refuse to bow my head to something I don't believe in? Am I not good enough because I'm closer to my friends -- who are all Hindus and Parsis -- than my community? My friends are just like me. Does that make them "whitewashed" too? I was told, maybe it's the people you associate with, not from your community or background -- that's what makes you shun your heritage.
And what if I am whitewashed? What does that even mean? That I believe in respecting other people? That I don't want to sit at home and cook for my husband while he goes out to work and play? That I reject hypocritical belief systems and choose to live by my own set of values - based in religious study, but not subscribing to one religion? That I choose my friends based on the commonality of our minds and interests? That I eat bacon?
Give me a break.
I felt insulted. Then sad. Then bad. And now I'm sort of between ticked off and perplexed. I don't shun my heritage. I love it. It's like Catholic people who never go to church, but will still observe Good Friday and Easter Sunday, or Jewish people who'll still light a menorah once, even if they don't observe the Shabbat each week. There's a comfort that comes from the symbolism when you're far away from home -- how else to describe it other than heartwarming.
My family was never like other families, so no, us kids aren't cut from the same cloth as everyone else from my community. My parents actually made us think for ourselves and let us fly in every which direction to educate ourselves. My parents didn't clip my wings and sit me down and tell me I should get engaged when I was eighteen years old. I'm sure they regret it sometimes because I'm now so far away, but I hope they're proud of who I am.
Going to college in the States confused the hell out of me. All of I sudden, I wasn't someone's daughter, someone's sister, someone's neice. I was me, and people accepted me for who I was, not whose daughter I was, or what my financial and social background was. Going home became an ordeal in resuming roles that I had played all my life: say hello to aunty; go and meet uncle; don't sit like that, what will the cook say; don't wear that, what will the watchman say; don't don't don't do do do.
I'm used to it now, so I just accept it as a part of my life. I slip into my expected guises even before I'm asked to. I guess it's become as much a part of me as this life I live here is. I know who I am, but I sure as hell don't know who I am, and for that matter, does anyone? Yeah, this person feels a sense of belonging by sticking to the community, and that's where their identity comes from. But what makes it more real than mine? I've been pulled apart before, between cultures, in a very real way, between a man who loved me, and a family who loved me, neither of whom could bear to see the other person's point of view. I was in the middle, trying to make everyone happy. And frankly, trying to make them happy made me very, very angry.
It also made me realize that I'm stuck in the middle, and I always will be, and that's my place of belonging. A Japanese couple I met in Spain told me this middle path was called "Chuo Do," and that one day, the whole world would be on that path, as races and cultures mix, and geographic spaces change.
"Just think of yourself as a pioneer," he said.
