I was recently at the doctor's office when the doctor asked, "Where are you from?"
"Afghanistan," I answered.
Her fingers paused at her keyboard. "So, not Hispanic?"
"No," I replied, stifling a chuckle.
"Then?" She was simply trying to select the right box.
"Other."
Unfazed, she clicked a button and continued without hesitation. I smiled to myself. Neither she nor I found anything particularly remarkable about that moment, to be honest.
In a world where identities are fluid, perceptions are subjective, and belonging is constantly renegotiated, being Afghan in America is living in a state of perpetual otherness. That mundane moment at the doctor’s office captured the struggle of living beyond the boundaries of traditional labels. The doctor’s attempt to neatly categorize me mirrored society’s inclination to reduce identity into a simple checkbox. But as an Afghan, navigating America’s black-white-Hispanic trichotomy is an ongoing experience of constantly being placed in boxes that never quite fit. Where Yelda transforms into Jelda, and perceptions vary depending on the observer. To a black person, I appear white; to a white person, I seem brown; and to both, I am deemed exotic.
In a land where my identity is constantly redefined by others, being Afghan in America requires unwavering determination. It’s more than dealing with external perceptions, it’s also about confronting internal struggles. The sensation of being viewed as the enemy externally and a victim internally is a paradoxical existence. Pride in heritage entwines with the pain of displacement. Is home a location on a map, or is it a state of being that transcends borders and labels? When you’re forcibly uprooted from your homeland, it’s hard not to fixate on that geographical location and forever yearn for that land. Moreover, when returning home isn't an option, it becomes especially hurtful to repeatedly hear the directive to “go back to where you came from”.
Aside from complexities of identity, being Afghan in America is layered with cultural clashes. A poignant example of this clash occurred during a game of chess I was playing on Tompkins Avenue this past summer. Chess, a pastime deeply rooted in Afghan culture, is a game I have compulsively played since childhood. To us, it's more than a strategic pursuit; it embodies values like protection, preservation, and the reverence for each piece. However, when facing an American opponent, the clash of ideologies becomes stark, mirroring the cultural dissonance prevalent in America.
My opp played with ruthless efficiency, employing a strategy that wiped out the entire kingdom using pawns. Sound familiar? He showed no regard for the intentional protection of pieces and initiated a slaughter. In our ancient language, we have a saying about chess: victory doesn't "taste good" unless the board is still full of pieces. His approach echoed the pervasive mindset of dominant white culture that disregards the integrity of the game (akin to war) and the dignity of each piece (akin to a human). Losing to him was not just frustrating; it deeply offended me. It starkly reminded me that for individuals from the global South, there remains a steadfast resolve to uphold cultural values and maintain personal integrity but the pursuit of success often demands sacrifice.
In the end, whether it's at the doctor's office, during a game of chess, or simply navigating daily interactions, being Afghan in America is a delicate balancing act between honoring heritage and succumbing to the pressures of assimilation, between preserving identity and adapting to survive. It's a journey marked by resilience, a commitment to tradition, and the ongoing struggle for recognition and belonging. Amidst this relentless battle, one undeniable truth stands out: real life isn't about victory at all costs but about the unwavering human spirit, too dynamic and resilient to be confined to a predefined label.
very thoughtful and powerful. thank you for these insights.