The scent of cedar trees, the taste of my grandma's Tabbouleh, the undying ring of Arabic chatter; this was my childhood.
I was born in Lebanon and lived there for half of my life. In 2006, the place I called home became a speck far, far away. Now, nine years later, it is merely a distant memory...a vivid dream. America is my home now, for this is where I dwell.
Years ago, I stepped onto foreign land, and was expected to make it my home. Everything was different so adapting did not come easily. I entered the fourth grade being the new girl. I looked different, and I had a slight Middle Eastern accent. Having gone to an American school in Lebanon did not compare to what was ahead of me.
Day after day, my ethnicity was put into question, and as I got older and my accent diminished, people doubted my Middle Eastern roots. I soon became known as "the white girl." A friend of mine told me that I am lucky that I "don't look Middle Eastern like [my] brothers," implying that I will have a better life solely because people could not tell I am from the Middle East. My deceiving appearance, however, did not always protect me from the cruelty of racists. The terrorist jokes kept coming, and airport security still treated me as though I was a criminal.
Immigrating to another country was one of the most gruesome challenges I had as a child, but it was also one of the most beautiful experiences I have ever had. Coming to America meant I had to leave behind my relatives, my lifelong friends, my house, my possessions, and most importantly, a piece of myself. My family came to this country with no choice but to start over. The beautiful thing about it is, you create a new life for yourself, a new home. Lebanon will forever hold a special place in my heart, but for as long as I live in America, it will be my home.
As an immigrant, you may not always be wanted, and you may not always feel like you belong, but this is your home now. My greatest advice is: stay true to your roots, let your culture live on, and be proud of who you are.