Dear World, I’d like to request that you stop questioning my children about their origins.
My son, Amir, bears a name that holds cultural significance, yet he doesn’t speak Arabic. He was born in Australia, while I am not. He can recite verses from the Quran, and he also knows all the lyrics to the latest pop hits. He embodies a beautiful blend of cultures, and I take immense pride in that. I don’t wish to box my children into a single identity, nor do I want society to pigeonhole them.
All too frequently, well-intentioned strangers approach Amir with the question, “Where are you from?” I label them “well-intentioned” in an effort to stay positive, but honestly, it can be exasperating.
“What’s the harm in such a simple inquiry?” you might wonder. The trouble lies in the fact that no matter how he responds, it never feels adequate.
If Amir says “Australia,” he’s met with raised eyebrows—likely because I wear a hijab, and he has olive skin and dark hair. If he mentions “Lebanon,” despite the fact that we’ve never been there (my birthplace), it often leads to a barrage of further questions, like “When did you come to Australia?” His response is always, “I was born here,” and thus begins the cycle of awkwardness.
Just stop, please.
Recently, I had a particularly uncomfortable encounter. At a school sports day, a woman I had never met approached me and asked, “Are you Emma’s mom?”
“Yes, I’m Maysaa. Nice to meet you,” I replied.
“But you wear a hijab, and Emma speaks English so well,” she remarked, as I struggled to process her comment.
“Sure, she’s quite talented. She hasn’t caught hijabitis,” I said, before turning away.
Why must my daughter’s abilities be linked to my choice of attire? It’s baffling that even in 2023, our first impressions, dictated by appearance, often shape how we perceive one another. Everyone has a unique story; some are more intricate than others, yet every narrative deserves respect. My children’s story is a bit complex, and I’d prefer Amir not to feel the need to explain.
He shouldn’t have to say, “I’m from Australia. My dad was born here, too, but my mom came from Lebanon when she was three, so it’s practically like she’s a local. Would you like to see our citizenship papers? And thanks for the compliment about my English—I promise being Muslim doesn’t affect my grammar skills.”
Meanwhile, his friend Jake, who was born in Ireland and moved to Australia eight years ago, never faces such inquiries. I suspect it’s because his name and appearance are perceived as “normal” in Australia. This disparity is concerning, and one day Amir will likely recognize this unfairness, leaving me at a loss for answers.
For now, I’ll keep teaching my children about the multifaceted nature of human experiences. I want them to understand that their worth is based on their actions, not their backgrounds. They belong to planet Earth and to Team Humanity.
If you’re interested in more insights like this, check out some of our other blog posts on Cervical Insemination, or explore resources on pregnancy and home insemination at Mount Sinai. And if you’re considering home insemination, I recommend visiting Make a Mom for their reputable at-home insemination syringe kits.
In summary, let’s embrace the complexity of our identities and allow our children to feel proud of their unique stories without the pressure to conform to narrow expectations.