By sreyavaidya
At home, we are often in our own bubbles that tend to shape our identity to a point where we are desensitized to it. At home, little did I realize the diversity of American identity. Whether it is Indian-American, Asian American, or Italian-American we come in a spectrum that often eventually blurs out in the chaos of daily life.
However, in Morocco I’ve been forced to step out of this comfort zone. Never have I been made more aware of my Indian identity than when I encounter a cab driver in Rabat. He looks at my friends and immediately acknowledges “Ah, Amreekia” and then turns to me, with a pending curiosity and asks “But…what are you really”. One gentleman did not even give me the liberty to respond; he immediately questioned “Indian or Pakistani?”
Initially when the frequency with my “true” identity was question, began to annoy me. Why is it that I had to explain myself as an American when my friends did not? Suddenly, there was a barrier between us, which I either nor they had put up. At one point, this bothered even my friends. I remember my roommate responding very loudly before I could even process his question,
“No, she is American”.
But the more I began to think about, through these small interactions, I was proud of both my identities. Whenever a cab driver asked me if I was Indian, I began to proudly state, that in fact, I was. With my Indian heritage, I was able to relate to Moroccans I met on several levels. A bit of Hindi with cab drivers, my host mother’s love for Bollywood movies, and certain cultural nuances that mirrored my eastern upbringing.
These encounters also increased the pride I had for my American identity. At home talking about our identity is almost a social faux pas in some situations. In an effort to accept everyone or to feel accepted we often forget to embrace where we come from. Being in Morocco, has opened my eyes to the beauty of American diversity, little do we realize how vibrant it truly is. For my “typically” American friends, homesickness reverts to a longing for Thanksgiving and Christmas. For me it is a longing for Diwali and Navratri celebrations. Somehow, both are references to home and familiarity, both are American.