When people ask about my ethnicity or try to guess my heritage, I smile because so far, no one has ever guessed correctly. People wonder if I’m Latino or Italian. Once, on Throwback Day in high school, I dressed as a hippie and my bus driver thought I was Native American. Such scenarios don’t offend me, rather they make me swell with warmth because I am unique. My mother is caucasian. She was born in the United States and raised a Catholic, while my father is a native of India and was raised a Hindu. My parents are not only of two different races, but of two entirely different cultures and ways of life. They married in a time when it was highly unusual to marry out of one’s own race and to this day, people are often confused when they see my family. When I was a child, a lady approached my mother with the words “oh, it’s so nice you’ve adopted these children from India,” and even in 2015, people are amazed when they learn that my parents were born on opposite sides of the planet. To me, however, being a part of such a diverse family is so much deeper than simple amazement.

All of my life, I have been a part of two cultures and two religions: I go to weddings with both a sari and a dress from Macy’s in my bag. As a child, I went to the temple as often as I attended church-- until my parents gave me the option to choose a religion. I chose Catholicism, for the wrong reasons at the time (I did not want to give up the prospect of Christmas presents), yet as a baptized and confirmed Catholic, I am still also a Hindu. People ask me so often about the differences between the two religions or what it’s like to experience Hinduism through a Catholic’s eyes, but to me, the differences are not what stand out. It’s the similarities between the two religions: the references to one God or Godly force that manifests itself in many forms, the lessons of respect and kindness, as well as a sense of community and love that move me. My paternal grandfather passed away when I was eight, and the night my mother got the phone call, I knew because she was crying. I had never seen my mother cry before, and I did not want to believe that someone I loved was gone. Recently, I unearthed a letter from my parents' room that I wrote to God asking him to let my grandfather live longer. The letter makes me tear up, not only because of my love for my family, but because I realize that when I wrote the letter, it was not to a “Hindu” god or “Christian” god. It was simply to a higher power who I loved and trusted.

Wars start over religion and the clashes that people perceive between cultures. Often, we forget that people in other countries—the immigrants in Europe, the persecuted Christians in the Middle East, and more—are humans. If another person’s life doesn’t seem to affect us, it’s easy to brush it off, to not care about the news. It is easy to turn against people of your own nationality because they are “different,” whether for their skin color, religion, gender, or sexuality. As a child of two cultures and continents, I have travelled the world and even spent a month with my grandmother in India. In the time I spent abroad, I soaked up the knowledge of each intricate culture, so complex that spending a lifetime studying them would not afford one a fraction of their immensity. Every society is beautiful, and at the same time flawed because no human is perfect. There may never be a time when our world is not wrought with some problem, but it is up to us to pay attention to the world. It is our duty, as humans, to recognize cultures not only for their differences, but for their similarities, and to recognize that we are all one species. I am baffled and speechless for the discrimination that occurs because of religion or ethnicity, for my parents, in their diversity, have the strongest bond I have ever seen.

My parents are best friends, and even when they fight, they love each other. They realize their differences and expect to make compromises. I am lucky to have them as my parents, for their open-mindedness and acceptance of others has wafted onto me. The other day, my mother misinterpreted a conversation I had with a friend, thinking that I had said I’ve been struggling with my gender identity. She came over, looked me in the eyes, and gently told me that it’s okay if I am. While I am not, tears almost climbed to my eyes for how sweetly she asked, when so many people do not have the luxury of acceptance in their lives. It makes me want, all the more, to spend time with my own friends, loving them and taking an interest in their lives. I am not perfect, and I know that at some point I probably—subconsciously—perpetuated the objectification or misappropriation of a culture. I’ve been through times that I wish I could undo, that I am still not ready to share, but now, I am so happy and a better person for both the hard time and the good times I have been through. The same goes for everyone else in the world: we all have times that make us smile, while we all also have struggles.

Every person on Earth has at least one—extremely valid—struggle, from hiding a scar to battling depression, going through the loss of a loved one to wading through the residue of a rough childhood. Flaws, or perceived flaws, as well as the good times: the cultures, religions, and other identities or achievements that shape us, are evidence that the human experience is inescapably shared. I would not trade the knowledge and experiences I have gained through my unique childhood for the world, for it showed me how to love. While it might seem strange to love a person or being so much that you cry, I absolutely do: all the time. Love is the most powerful feeling on Earth: far more than hatred and anger. A little more love will infinitely enhance the quality of our society and of our lives. Without the love my parents have that overpowered the status quo, I would not be here to share my story, and when someone mistakes my ethnicity, it is never bad. Instead, it allows me to share my experience with various cultures and the love that wove them together in my life.