Red, White, Blue, and Green
GABRIELLA HAMADA
Class of 2018
M
y dad is Lebanese. My mom is
American. Therefore, in t he
words of our neighbors from
Memphis, I am “partly cloudy.”
That basically means that one minute I’m
listening to Jason Aldean and eating fried okra
and the next I’m listening to Nancy Ajram while
helping my Situ make manouche.
At this point, it might not seem like that big
of a deal, so let me break it down for you.
The difference between being American and
being Lebanese is the difference between a law
and a suggestion. It’s the difference between
sunscreen and tanning oil. The difference
between chicken fried or on a stick. Being
both is constantly forgetting which language
you’re speaking and trying to remember if
this is the country where there are speed
limits or not. It’s a lifetime of conversions
between celsius and fahrenheit and miles and
kilometers. But more importantly, it’s having to
choose. It’s choosing between Arabic or English.
It’s choosing to leave the Lebanese part of me at
home so that I can fit in with the Americans at
school. People here look at me and see that I am
Lebanese… I am. The Lebanese look at me and
see that I’m American… I am. I look at myself,
and I don’t know what to see. The pressure to live
according to one culture has been suffocating me.
I have struggled with this decision my whole life; I
don’t know which heritage to claim and which to
let go of. On one hand, being Lebanese is dancing
through life, loving and serving everyone with a
full and happy heart, all while smoking shisha.
It’s materialistic and rebellious.
It’s not taking prices at face value, but arguing
until it matches the number of livres in your
pocket. On the other hand, being American is
taking pride in your work and standing up for what
you believe in. It’s creativity and free thinking,
never hiding what’s on your mind. That’s when I
realized: asking me to choose one of my cultures
is like asking a child to choose one of his/her
parents. It’s an unfair and arguably i mpossible
decision. Su re t here a re some frustrating
days when children would gladly give you an
answer. But in the end, taking away one of their
parents takes away part of who they are. It’s the
same way with cultures: to take away one would
quite literally tear my personality in half. I don’t
have to decide; I can choose to mash both cultures
into a beautiful, tangled mess that only bicultural
kids understand. I get to take all the good aspects
of each culture and enjoy living out the benefits.
In my opinion, this makes me one of the lucky
ones; and to be completely honest, I feel bad for
everyone that doesn’t get to experience this. This
way of life might be messier and more confusing
than others, but it makes me who I am, and to live
any other way would bore me to death. It doesn’t
matter how other people see me or what labels
they choose to give. My blood flows red, white,
and blue. And green.
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