The Immigrant Dilemma and Privilege

I am Egyptian—physically, but not mentally. The colour of my skin is slightly olive-toned, and I am short; I have curly, maybe coily hair, with DNA that identifies me as Arab and a brain that might not. A brain that sometimes disagrees with its heritage but still struggles to embrace different views. My culture and tradition slowly fade to make room for new ideas. As I have learned, immigration takes people not only to new homes, but also to new minds. When exposed to a new society, a newcomer can experience internal conflict arising between beliefs native to the homeland and those belonging to the new—in this case, Western—culture. As a result, I am faced with both a cultural and moral dilemma.

I remember the night before moving, when I was surrounded by once cluttered walls, now blank. My childhood bedroom was infested with brown packing boxes. In front of my eyes, a shift was taking place from a home to a house, yet all I did was research my new school, hoping it would look like those clichéd high school movies. I had underestimated how immense this change would be. In just one night, immigration restarted my life.

Immigration is a transition into a world with opportunities unimaginable to the youth that blindly travel with their parents. Young, first-generation immigrants lack the one trait necessary for the transition: a sense of identity. The only thing to keep us grounded when a whirlwind of new opinions sweeps us off our feet is our identity; it encapsulates our morals, values, and traditions and holds them securely while leaving room for interests and knowledge to grow. The lack of this trait leaves our malleable minds to fill up with conflicting beliefs, which makes it hard to decide where we stand, what we choose, and what we believe is right or wrong. At the age of ten, my unqualified identity was forced to deal with the hardships ahead. From dating to drinking, and every moral decision in between, once-taboo topics were common practice in this new culture. But from my conflicted perspective, more traditional views against these actions were ingrained in my mind. The society in which I currently reside leaves me to be the one out of place. Parties and dates lead me to desire these experiences, but if I want to engage in them, I have to confront my past beliefs. According to my inherited views, these activities are deemed indulgent, which would make me a “bad” person. Who is to say which views are correct?

As a teenager, I am forced to confront myself with decisions to prepare for the possibility that I might go against my former ethics. Once solid morals now melt away in the heat of my reality. I am trying to discover my passions and interests, but now have to question my morality. The exhausting self-interrogation has taken a toll on my mind, and this internal conflict manifests into a constant turnover in character. In my own story, I am either the heroine who is growing as an individual, or I am the villain because of my inconstancy. I can never seem to accept either role. The abundance of arguments among conflicting beliefs is immeasurable. Remaining confused about my identity, interests, and values leaves me lost in my thoughts, adrift at sea. I know I will eventually find land, but I cannot help but suffer a sinking feeling.

In the end, there is no solution but to create my identity without societal boundaries. Creating my own personal code of ethics, one defiant of culture and tradition, as my life has been defiant of both. At the same time, even though immigration is stressful, the most challenging (but exciting) part of this transition is finding and creating an identity amidst old and new beliefs. I have learned that I am a developing project with many restarts and retakes; each venture brings me closer to my identity. Energy that was misused dwelling on internal conflict can now focus on discovering where we belong. While this revelation can be laborious, perhaps even draining, it is deeply rewarding. In the end, immigrants are left feeling unique, modelled by an irreplicable mix of our experiences. On that journey, we learn that being an immigrant has numerous benefits. As I write, I remember that my experiences are momentous. I have been exposed to enough knowledge and tradition for two lifetimes. The adventures that used to burden me only highlight how much I have encountered and how well I have learned to cope. The opportunity to be fully immersed in two vastly different cultures is a privilege only immigrants can possess.

Immigrants can be so easily stereotyped and victimized, seen as worth less than those who reside in their safe country of origin. Quite frankly, the opposite is correct. Immigrants are often worldly people, educated and enlightened by relationships to multiple cultures. Borders do not bind us to one way of thinking, an advantage I sometimes forget to own. As I grow and understand, my identity is mine for the choosing, contemplating my decisions between right and wrong without blindly following the culture in which I happen to live. I can identify as distinctive and still connect with the world outside myself. That is the immigrant privilege, that which is a gift.