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Thursday, July 16, 2020
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com MICHIGAN IN COLOR

The implications of a dual-faithful
upbringing

The smoke of burnt incense 
fills the measureless rows of pews 
as 
each 
churchgoer 
fervently 
bows their head in intense prayer. 
Stained-glass windows encompass 
the brick sanctuary and I hear the 
childrens’ choir singing “Amazing 
Grace” — the inspiration for my 
name. 
In the evening, I drive to my 
aunt’s house for Iftar, the meal 
eaten after sunset during the 
month of Ramadan. The sound of 
the sizzling halal chicken on the 
grill is drowned out by ardent con-
versations in Arabic, Chaldean, 
English or a mix of all three. With 
both sides of my family all together, 
I become aware of the uniqueness 
of my circumstances. Not many 
people can say they began their day 
in Catholic mass and end it with a 
traditionally Muslim celebration.
I’ve had an uncommon fam-

GRACE GARMO
MiC Staff Writer

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what are you?

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 Design by Hibah Chughtai

Within my first two weeks at 
Michigan I was
asked by a drunk white frat 
brother whether it was hard to see 
out of my eyes (they were half way 
squinty, not all the way there)
I was called ‘halfie’ and ‘wasian’ 
by a chinese woman whom I had 
never met before — the conversa-
tion reminded me of the way one 
discusses mutt dogs, cavapoos and 
goldendoodles
And I was told by my good 
friend, a black woman, that I wasn’t 
really asian at all
So you tell me. Or rather, let me 
tell you a story.

Tucked in a corner occupied by 
unused wine glasses and those that 
wear the blacks and whites of wait-
staff
Deep in the ugliness and insecu-
rity of high school
I knew a sweet boy, one who 
smiled easy and had a lyricism to 
his voice
Wide hands and long fingers, 
worn from the burns of ovens or 
stoves
Skin tanner than mine in those 
spring days

VICTORIA MINKA

MiC Staff Writer

Between patrons, he watched 
me intently
I felt his gaze on the corners of 
my eyes and the arch of my skull 
where it breaks into my hairline
Letting him look, I cleaned 
glasses slowly
Studying each one, admiring 
how it sat in my hand, stubbornly 
holding on to scuffs and lint
what are you?

Stopping, I gazed up
White shirt loosely tucked in, 
hands in apron, smiling lazily
I knew him but in this moment, I 

saw many faces below his smile
Faces of my past, as well as those 
of the future
Because this question never tires 
itself, constantly circling and cir-
cling above my head.

In the english language, the use 
of what indicates a holding of con-
tent—a description beyond simple 
identification, but an explanation 
of existence 
To be asked what you are is to be 
asked to justify your own place
Not through ownership of iden-
tity, but through those that brought 

 Photo by Madeline Hinkley

ily situation my entire life. I’m a 
first-generation American with a 
Catholic-raised father from Iraq 
and a Muslim-raised mother from 
Lebanon. Even though my extend-
ed family has been vastly accepting 
and tolerant of our dual-religious 
dynamic, I find it difficult to 
explain to my friends, teachers and 
even strangers that it is possible 
to be raised inter-faithfully. This 
notion was seemingly too complex 
for the masses to comprehend. The 
Muslim community viewed me as 
a complete outsider and my Catho-
lic school classmates didn’t even 
consider me to be a “real” Catho-
lic. I felt as though my completion 
of Baptism and Confirmation was 
invalidated merely because I didn’t 
regularly attend Sunday mass.
Regardless of the unsolicited 
criticism from my peers, I consid-
er myself vastly fortunate to have 
been brought up with such reli-
gious duality. I learned religious 
tolerance from a young age, and I 

never devoutly practiced one reli-
gion or claimed I belonged to one. 
Rather than my parents negotiat-
ing a settlement between Catholi-
cism and Islam, they celebrated 
both and were transparent with the 
differences between the two faiths 
instead of surpressing one. Grow-
ing up surrounded by both Catholi-
cism and Islam has allowed me to 
integrate two worldviews despite 
the fact that both faiths have been 
in conflict with one another my 
entire life. In fact, as I emerge into 
adulthood and further delve into 
what I truly believe, I have gained 
a greater sense of respect for my 
parents for not coercing me to fol-
low a singular religion and allow-
ing me to make my own decisions 
about what I believe. My dual-faith 
upbringing has given me the free-
dom to compare and contrast in a 
way which is often hardly encour-
aged in a single-faith setting. 
Of course, there are myths that 
growing up with two religions 

causes a child to become confused 
or forces them to ally with one 
side, but in reality this couldn’t be 
further from the truth. Both faiths 
embrace certain truths which reso-
nate with me. Despite the absence 
of my allegiance to one religion, 
I have still been able to dissect 
the aspects of each faith I feel as 
though I truly believe in: humil-

ity, selflessness, courage, peace and 
patience.
I’ve recognized the inherent 
similarities of each religion, and I 
don’t believe them to be so differ-
ent. At the end of the day, there will 
always be Catholics and Muslims 
who hold judgements against...

you here
What, rather than who, treats an 
individual as a vessel, which can be 
filled with so much contents

To be mixed race is to be hyper-
visible and yet deeply unplaceable 
I am merely a cradle for this 
unique blend of manifested fea-
tures, 
The outcome of lack of belonging
An embodiment of distance from 
homeland
Creation of those that stray from 
origins

I am known for what I carry, but 
never valued for who I am 
Which is a deeply fragile state to 
exist within
To be told, not in word but in 
action, in the uncomfortable shift 
of gazes
That I am hollow, worthless 
without some sort of description

Relating more to the wine glass 
than the person beside me
I provide extra care, forcing a 
smile, bringing the glass’ spindly 
neck to a shine, letting everything 
that is me sink deep within, squint-
ing at its design
I tell him to guess

Because the only answer more 
pleasurable for him than a real 
explanation is a moment of mys-
tery, a fulfillment of fantasy
And my identity has always been 
about fantasy

The story of how I came to be, 
what fills me up, is more worthy 
than the vessel which cradles it
Yet, I give it shape, but my 
miracle of making it valuable and 
attainable, the pearl of the matter, 
quickly overshadows...

