This is one story I’ve never told before. I wouldn’t consider myself as an American. But now that I think about it, maybe I am an American. There is no proper definition or race for being an American. Americans are from an accumulation of different races and nationalities from around the world; basically a foreigner. I, myself, am a foreigner. It’s so hard to identify your ethnicity while being half Turkish and a Sri Lankan Moor and being born and raised up in an Arabian country called Oman. But perhaps I wouldn’t like to call myself an American just because I wasn’t born here and don’t have any sort of background from America what’s so ever. I’m a Muslim who is proud of my religion and culture and proud of wearing my head scarf. I’m not ashamed …show more content…
I don’t care whether people judge me because of my hijab. Hijab is like a book cover. If you judge me by it, you will never know who I really am. I have known many Muslims who were immigrants to America and there seems to always be this one similarity that I noticed that appeared frequently in some of the individuals. They would forget about their culture and religion when they came to America and would change their identity to fit in. And I have known many Muslims who take off their hijab only because they were scared about what people would think about them. But I mean, honestly, who cares? Who cares about what others think about you? Others’ opinions don’t matter to me. You’re more than welcome to think whatever you want about me and my hijab. But that’s not going to stop me from achieving what I want and won’t stop me from succeeding. I wear my hijab because I choose to. I knew that moving to America would be hard especially since I was wearing hijab and I knew I would be judged