Ever find yourself caught in the middle of an argument? Where one friend is telling you one thing and another friend is telling you something else? And both friends are expecting you to take their side but you’re not informed enough on the issue yourself so you struggle to pick who’s right? That’s what it’s like growing up as a Second Generation Muslim in the West.
It’s not something I would call an identity crisis, as you often hear people say.
I’ve never felt confused about who I am. I’m a Canadian Muslim and I’m clear on that. It was constantly having to meet people’s competing expectations on what my role in society should be.
When wearing tight fitted or slightly revealing clothes was considered immodest at home, the same outfit was considered too modest at school. Particularly in the summer months, girls would offer remarks that sounded something like, “aren’t you hot in that?”
“Do you ever wear booty shorts? I don’t know how you’re wearing pants. I could never.”
Similarly, when dating was forbidden during my younger years, not getting to know someone, have fun, or experiment before marriage was a foreign concept to my classmates.
There was an increasing tension between being viewed as too uncultured at home versus too cultured at school.
In both cases, I found myself at fault, constantly having to defend certain choices.
This was particularly difficult for an adolescent only just beginning to learn the religion and make informed decisions accordingly.
However, I knew I wasn’t alone in this. Most of my Muslim friends also found themselves struggling to meet certain expectations from different circles. But everyone dealt with the issue differently.
Some bypassed it. Keeping their western cultural practices hidden from their parents and their religious practices hidden from their friends.
For me, the challenge became to please both sides without having to change myself.
Fortunately, I have parents who now understand that religion can be practiced in more than one way. But in my earlier days, their views were largely influenced by traditional Pakistani cultural practices. Conversations about how modesty can be achieved in western clothing and that Islam permits getting to know a person before marriage were integral to our progress.
Having said that, integrating Western practices into my Islamic life at home wasn’t as difficult as answering people’s questions about why I never wore booty shorts in the summer, regardless of whether it was 50 degrees celsius outside.
Most of the time people assumed my strict parents had a watch on my every move.
When I explained to them it was just a matter of personal choice, they questioned that as well. “But why would you wear pants in the summer if you don’t have to?’
Thanks to religious freedom, I was able to use what I had learned from my own research of Islam to explain why I chose to cover myself despite the heat.
These experiences, though dreadful to deal with, have been a pivotal point in my understanding that it has always been a matter of separating yourself and those around you from the ‘us versus them’ ideology. Instead, we can lend our energy towards embracing each other’s diverse identities in an effort to create countries made up of cultural mosaic rather than melting pots.
