So what is my Australian story? My Australian story began in 1982, with my mother migrating to Australia when she was 11 years old. My childhood memories are filled with stereotypical Aussie pastimes, backyard cricket and playing footy in the middle of the road. I played with my two brothers and what seemed to be countless cousins (and yes I was the only girl).
Simple things like these are what make up my identity. They are what make me Australian. Having a BBQ every AFL Grand Final (watching the footy as a family) makes us Lebanese with a difference: we are also Australian. I laugh when I see my dad (with his broken English accent) talking to the neighbours about how the Blues are going this year and how Chris Judd is an overrated superstar. "Its derr year dis year" he says. Football is a huge part of my upbringing. It was a foreign sport to my dad when he came out here until my mum introduced him to 'Our Game'.
It can be argued that I've had a very Australian upbringing. Yet I've remained respectful towards my Lebanese and Muslim heritage. I fasted the entire month of Ramadan, but also played every round of football last year.
Being a Muslim I do feel like an outsider at times. Why do we constantly have to be portrayed as evil people? 'We're not all like that', I find myself shouting at certain news stories. 'Those extremists should just keep their mouths shut', I tell my mum. They're not talking on behalf of me or my family. At times like these I feel as if there is a great divide between myself and 'Australians'. Just as we get closer to assimilating, something else comes up. I find myself thinking that I'm not Australian. I don't belong. My mum only came here because she had nowhere else to go. She was an orphan at the age of 8 about to head to an orphanage and this was a great land. It was where lives were made. Sometimes I think to myself 'Why couldn't we just be like them? Why do we have to do things differently? Why can't we eat pork?' Then I think to myself that