আমার সংস্কৃতি সমর্থন (Embracing My Culture)

by nabeeha islam

For a while I've been in this rut where I don't feel like I have much of my own identity, making it hard to fit in. In a way, I guess I’ve become completely Americanized without knowing so, which I'm starting to regret. ​

I guess I can't exactly avoid that since I only have “Western” influence around me. This was fine honestly up until I came to occasions that made me envy what I lack in knowing my culture. Every event we go to, I see all of my cousins or family friends knowing dances and performing our national songs. I never had any sort of experience with these things. At first, I allowed myself to not think too much of it because I’m Muslim, and I thought that the naturally conservative aspects of my religion were the reason behind my lack of “knowledge.” However, as I’ve gotten older, I feel like I seriously missed out. I never had Bengali dance/singing classes or had teachers to learn to read/write in my language as a kid. I weirdly feel like I’m past some subconscious expiration date at this point, and that it's too late to learn anything new. Sometimes my mom or dad, or their brothers or sisters will tell me about their childhoods which also pains me to hear since I’m longing for their experiences. Don't get me wrong, I’m extremely privileged and my entire family had much more to deal with and struggle with than I do right now, but those vibrant moments they’ve had are the ones I envy. My father used to be the one to bring the fun to any event. My eldest cousin would go on and on, always telling me about her childhood with my dad as her uncle. My father was only fifteen when my cousin was old enough to go to school in Bangladesh. He used to play football (soccer in America) constantly, especially when there was pouring rain outside, no matter how many times he got spanked or yelled at by my grandmother. He and the entire neighborhood would follow suit and carry on with their antics, despite literal monsoons or floods happening because it was so embedded in their lifestyle/culture. My cousin vividly remembers peering out the window at her eccentric uncle, waiting by the aam (mango) tree as the rain tapped on their stained glass that each house had. It's those memories that make me jealous of the sort of childhood my parents had, one that may have had hardships, but overflowed with freedom. All of the customs, the dancing, the huge weddings, have diminished over time. Nothing is the same anymore, even my carefree parents. To my disbelief, my mother was similar to me, chatting while sipping chai (tea) with her hostel friends during college. It’s such a contrast to the scene I can paint now, where that same woman stays in her quiet corner at work, surrounded by primarily white coworkers who she can’t relate to in lifestyle or culture. Still, when my parents have gatherings with their friends from 50 years ago, they transform back into those little kids and it makes me feel like I would have loved to have grown up with them. I want to be proud and feel a part of my culture, but I’m stuck in this back and forth issue that most immigrant kids go through, where I don't exactly know where I belong. Either I’m too whitewashed, or too brown for certain friend groups or activities, but either way, I hope to start embracing a side of me I haven’t explored yet.

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Nabeeha Islam, Benjamin N. Cardozo High School
Staff Writer

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