Before I was even old enough to recognize the abnormality of it, I felt a constant need to fly under the radar, to blend in, to not draw attention to myself. My parents taught me to evade the subject of religion. It was irrelevant and nonessential to survival--so why complicate things? Living in the Bible Belt during 9/11 didn't exactly help my parents feel normal given the rising tensions and prejudices against Muslims in the US, so I went to a Presbytarian preschool where I learned that (somehow?) Jesus had the power to light candles in pitch black auditoriums and turn water into wine. Wondering why my parents never explained this magical guy to me, I assumed he must be the equivalent of a fairy godfather. I continued through elementary school still not understanding the concept of religion nor what mine was, so I assumed that everyone was Christian and church was a cool club that I would never become a part of.

"What religion are you?"

We were in the cafeteria, and every kid at the table turned their head to look at me, expecting me to divulge all of my secrets as a member of that other religion. I remember not only being increasingly confused by the question, but also by the pointedness of the question toward me. Thinking back on it, kids have absolutely zero filter, but, frankly, kids become adults. By the looks of it now, there must not be a difference.

"What is my religion?"

It was with hesitation and few words that my parents told me to simply tell people I was Muslim and leave it at that. It felt like I was assigned a mission to maintain an image of "normalcy" whatever that looked like, by becoming a token Muslim when it was convenient to use the label, but burying that part of my identity in every other scenario. Like I said before, kids become adults, and I guess my parents were well aware. Going through middle and high school, I finally became educated about Islam and the many other religions that exist through my culture classes, but a part of me couldn't help but to be ashamed. Ashamed of the knowledge I now had, which only emphasized the knowledge I had lacked. I felt so disconnected from one of the biggest parts of me, and I had no one to blame but my parents. How could anyone feel justified in burying their identity like this?

And then I remembered: the spring had brought what seemed a new life to the air, it smelled like grass and pollen, and my dad and I were walking. As we passed the same house with the poodle that couldn't bare to stop barking, he pointed out a small pigeon on a powerline.

"Those birds are called qumri (‎قمري) in Farsi. They're the most gullible birds; I remember seeing a hawk just come and snatch its baby right in front of one, and it did absolutely nothing. You'd think that would make survival as a species kind of difficult, considering the only job a parent has is to protect their child from its environment."

Not to compare my suburban town to the wild, but it was a useful fight or flight analogy. In a time (and especially a place) where any relation to Islamic culture could draw negative attention, my parents did the only thing they knew would ensure an easier life, and essentially "flew." They evaded talking about religion as much as possible since it only complicated their lives, given their fear of how they would be perceived by others. In a way, what they did was wise, but to be human is to both fly when necessary and fight for what you believe in.

...

"What is my religion?"

My religion is making my dad laugh until tears fall from his eyes. My religion is brewing my mom a cup of coffee because she will never ask for it, but I still know she wants one. My religion is helping without expecting anything in return. My religion is smiling even when I'm very, very tired. My religion is the warm fullness I feel in my chest--the closest thing I know to prayer--when a friend calls me out of the blue, and I realize that I am loved. My religion is empathy, love, compassion, patience, loyalty, honesty, optimism, and pride. And who to learn it from but the people who raised me? You might be interested to find that it has many of the same values as the most popular religions in the world. It has no book and it has no place of worship, but it is real. With that, I am proud of who I am, where I came from, and that pride will never escape me.