Embracing Cultural Identity: My Journey as an Arab-American

Throughout my life, I have navigated a complex path marked by relentless conflicts with both direct and indirect family members. Many of these conflicts were intricately linked to my cultural heritage and its timeless traditions. I am an Arab, yet I often feel like a stranger to the Middle East. I am an Arab, yet I can barely speak the language. I am an Arab, yet I was born in the American Midwest and raised beneath the liberal skies of the Montreal metropolis.

I am an Arab, yet I have often grappled with a sense of not truly belonging.

A Cultural Identity in Flux

My familial lineage is deeply rooted in Arab heritage—my mother is Arab, my father is Arab, and, by techniques of cultural association, I necessarily equate to an Arab of purest blood. Yet, there was a time when this identity brought about feelings of shame and embarrassment. As a person of Middle Eastern descent, even if not of the Muslim faith, I frequently found myself confronted with negative stereotypes and biases.

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These biases stemmed from the actions of a small group of individuals, and yet, we, as a broader community, bore the brunt of discrimination. I often hesitated to openly embrace my cultural identity when meeting new acquaintances, fearing that I might unwittingly trigger latent prejudices and jeopardize potential friendships. It was not that I harbored any disdain for my own culture or people; it was more a question of lacking the courage to proudly proclaim my heritage in the face of media-fueled antagonism.

A Burden of Stereotypes

I have since shed the weight of shame that once accompanied my cultural identity. I have grown increasingly weary of the old Arab mentality that staunchly advocates the preservation of our culture at any cost. This mindset perpetuates the belief that we must adhere to the traditions of our homeland, regardless of the circumstances of our new lives. As a child, I was discouraged from forming friendships outside my cultural and religious boundaries and strictly forbidden from spending a night at the home of someone from a different cultural or religious background, including fellow Arabs of the Muslim faith.

According to this perspective, the new homeland is to be treated as anything but a place to call home. I, however, vehemently rejected this policy, leading to a temporary estrangement from my cultural roots. During my last years of high school, I underwent a peculiar transformation. I began associating with fellow Arabs, mostly Lebanese boys, not out of a newfound pride in my identity, but rather due to a desire for power and a sense of belonging to a group.

I temporarily dumbed myself down and immersed myself in a group of delinquents, thus gaining notoriety among my peers. This "born-again" attitude pleased my family, who saw a shift from raising a black sheep to proudly embracing the image of the quintessential Syrian teenager from the old country.

A Temporary Detour

During this phase, I adopted habits and behaviors that were far from commendable. When surrounded by my Arab friends, I smoked excessively, displayed a greater tendency to break the law, and was more exposed to drugs and monetary fraud. My parents were aware of this, but they seemed willing to take the risk. They found solace in the fact that I was not associating with "strangers," as the fear of the unknown was their primary concern. The danger I faced in these gangs, they felt, was at least familiar—it was reminiscent of juvenile delinquency they had witnessed in the old country.

A Journey Towards Self-Acceptance

Today, I have come a long way from those turbulent years. I strive to see people for who they are, disregarding their racial or cultural backgrounds. I have reconciled with the fact that I may always feel somewhat out of place among my people, but I no longer feel the need to don a facade.

When in the company of fellow Arabs, I no longer attempt to integrate myself into their society or mold myself into someone I am not. Instead, I choose to be my authentic self, treating them as I would anyone else. This newfound maturity has allowed me to embrace my culture rather than reject it, and I have overcome the fear of being rejected by it.

The Power to Shape One's Identity

I firmly believe that human beings are not static entities; we continuously evolve and adapt. Our identities are shaped by the world, the people we encounter, and the cultural mosaic that surrounds us. I refuse to conform to predetermined cultural obligations and reject the notion of stagnation. I believe that as I evolve, so should my culture. There is no higher authority that dictates how one should interpret their cultural heritage. I am an Arab, and I am proud of it, but I am not a stereotype.

I am determined to construct my own cultural identity, interpreting it in a way that resonates with my personal growth and experiences. My cultural heritage is mine to shape, and I refuse to be bound by the limitations of tradition. This I believe.

Conclusion

In conclusion, my journey as an Arab-American has been one of self-discovery, self-acceptance, and defiance of cultural stereotypes. While my cultural identity has often been a source of internal conflict, I have learned to embrace it on my own terms. I have discarded the shame and embarrassment that once clouded my perception of my heritage.

Today, I proudly declare my Arab heritage while refusing to be confined by antiquated cultural norms. I recognize that culture is a dynamic entity that should evolve alongside the individuals who embody it. By charting my own path, I have come to appreciate the rich tapestry of experiences that have contributed to my unique cultural identity.

Ultimately, I believe in the power of individuals to shape their own identities, free from the constraints of societal expectations. I am an Arab-American, and I am unapologetically myself.