Where Do I Belong? A Young Girl’s Experience of Identity Crisis

Last updated on April 24, 2024

Table of Contents

Toggle

Where do I belong? A young girl’s experience of identity crisis

“If you’re an Indian, why don’t you have an Indian name?” I was asked earlier that day.

Lost in thought, I sat by myself that evening, piling up feeble attempts to conjure up an answer to that question. When that didn’t work, I ended up muttering all the botched pronunciations of my name I had ever heard. No one around me got it right. My Anglicized Hebrew name was a strange concept to them, despite being an otherwise popular name.

In a traditional sense of nationality, I am an Indian. Originally from the state of Kerala, I was born in Hyderabad, the state of Telangana and lived there for a short while. Before I was old enough to even develop a taste for either state’s local food, I moved to Saudi Arabia. I was then three years of age; easy to lose in the crowd and easy to influence.

Surrounded by people of different nationalities, this served as a firmer ground to grow up culturally disoriented. Soon enough, with the advent of reason in my mind, I decided I needed some traditions to call my own (I was seven and curiously performative). I looked around – Filipinos, Egyptians, Indians – lots of Indians, traces of Westerners, and many other people who stuck to their traditions rather strongly in a foreign land.

Suddenly I realized everything I had ever experienced in my birth country, I could not remember anymore. Despite being surrounded by a decent amount of Indians; and being well versed with my culture, in theory, I had the flimsiest ties to my “home”.

An Identity Crisis: Realizing the presence of culture gaps

Simultaneously, being raised in a traditional Christian household, I was expected to adhere to my Christian culture strictly.

The only way to relate to this part of my identity was the shows I watched growing up. Behind the screen were people who celebrated the holidays like I did, names familiar to my tongue, and practices and phrases I thought were unique to only my house.

But in stark contrast, the world around me was full of people who ridiculed my name, failed to see the reason behind my choices, and greeted my beliefs with hurtful disregard. None of which they should be blamed for. It was the least intentional.

Each time I visited India, I grew further apart from the culture I was born into. To both sides of my family, I was foreign; a crude hybrid of cultures adulterated with elements of both states. And my struggle to fit into Indian culture, the target of unkind laughter.

Superficially, I was scarcely affected. However, this mocking burned into my subconscious that I was far too inferior to Indians to even try and fit in anymore.

An Identity Crisis: Trying to find a Home

Following this, I got my identity parched hands on the next best option; Arab culture.

I put extra effort into my Arabic classes, crammed my playlist with Arabic music, and familiarized myself with Saudi Arabian history and traditions. Only to be irked by the fact that no matter how much of myself I struggled to weave into Arabic fabric, my roots would always stick out.

A little too brutal for my taste, I was labeled a “traitor” of sorts for falling in love with a culture that was not my own. Justifiable enough, the hyphenated sentences I spoke in my language(s), the face of displeasure I made looking at a plate of ethnic food and my growing inability to find common ground between fellow Indians were just a few instances of me slowly distancing myself from my culture.

So there I finally stood, in a Greek tragedy of my own, neither sure of my Indian side; nor of my immigrant side. Clutching onto the few shreds of the one culture I was sure of, my Christian side, that nobody around me understood, I was all alone. Alone with my identity – the forsaken product of duality. Neither had I found a home in Saudi Arabia nor in India.

So, where did I belong?

I did not know back then but I had close to fifteen years in Saudi Arabia to come up with an answer to that question before I moved to India for college. I was suddenly surrounded by people who were effortlessly comfortable with their cultures, spoke the local languages with ease, and had at least five familiar faces in any crowd. Once again, I was miserably out of place; only this time I was in a whole new country.

Although my initial response to this predicament was to indulge in self-pity and romanticize being something of an outcast, I eventually came to my senses.

Maybe being an outcast is exactly what I was supposed to feel as a Christian. The world compels us to be a part of it but Jesus tells us that He has chosen us out of it. (John 15:19) And although your cultural/national identity has little to do with being a carnal person, I find it comforting that anyone can come to Jesus regardless of race, nationality, ethnicity, or any other factor of identity.

Whatever part of the world you find yourself in, you will always be a citizen of Heaven.

I have written about my experience of confusion in excruciating detail so that my experience of clarity and the relief it brought can be just as clear.

I am no longer identity-starved because I realized my identity does not come from a language, a way of dressing, or a heritage. It comes from Christ. When we give our lives to Him, He gives us a new identity.

I am thus branded as a citizen of Heaven before anything else. (Philippians 3:20) I have a place I can truly call home. I have a Heavenly Father and a family of saints around the world. And I cannot imagine a blessing bigger than that.

Take it from someone who has adopted quite a few cultures throughout the years – nothing beats being part of a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, and a peculiar people! (1 . Peter 2:9)