I was born at a time that my country was embroiled in a civil war. It’s the oldest story in the book: ethnic groups within a country clash when one wants to separate for independence and the other disapproves. War brews between the factions and tears the country apart. In this process terrorists are born. They plan to overthrow the government through severely violent means such as mass shootings and abductions. I grew up in such an atmosphere where it was common to hear about bomb blasts in the news on a regular basis. What was even more normal was the relief of evading the bomb blast by just a few minutes. People would tell stories of how they would walk out of a department store and 5 minutes later it explodes, killing everyone inside. Life was not hard back in my native land, as I had an amazing life. We had health, wealth, and wisdom but we always yearned for the opportunity to make our lives better. The civil war devastating the country was one of the main reasons for our immigration to Canada.
We arrived when I was twelve years old. Having lived in a South Asian country, we quickly got used to the hot summer days. However, we weren’t prepared for the culture shock. Raised in a religious and conservative household, faith was always of utmost importance to our collective identity. Canada’s secular cultural mores didn’t particularly sit well with us. With great patience we managed to find our identity as Muslim Canadians within the melting pot of Toronto. Fortunately, adjusted to Canada quite well after a few weeks. Yet, money put a strain on our lives. My father was the sole breadwinner back in the native land, but when his qualifications and achievements meant nothing in this foreign place. Despite the twenty plus years of owning a business, his experience couldn’t grant him a decent job. In the wake of this, my mother stepped in to find an entry level job in the school board. Financial worries were certainly number one but we held our spirits high.
My first day in middle school was the most awful day, at least that’s how I felt then. I was immersed in an entirely new system of schooling, thousands of miles away from where I was used to. Back in the native land, I attended a religious girls school my whole life. I barely knew what Canadian high schools were like before I came here. I didn’t need to wear a starch-white uniform, I didn’t need to braid my hair a certain way, I didn’t have to stand up and greet every teacher, and I didn’t have to stay in one class the whole day. The rules were different and I felt out of place. It took quite some time to adapt, especially to the presence male classmates. The only boys who I used to be friends with were my brothers and my cousins.
The rest of my years before I came to Ryerson is what I would say shaped me to be who I am. As I became older I realised that living in this country required me to live a different lifestyle as well. i was expected to be self-sufficient, but as a visible Muslim sometimes I struggled to establish my independence. Going in for my first job interview was a challenge. I found my modest attire to be a barrier for the work environment. I desperately wanted a solid part-time job so that I could financially contribute to my family and save up for my university education. Early on I realised that I would have to support myself. My parents worked hard enough to put a roof over my head and feed me and my five other siblings. If I wanted anything beyond bare necessities I knew I had to work, which is why I never gave up with job-hunting. I started working part time a few months after I started high school. Preserving my identity as a Muslim while balancing my newfound status as a Canadian, I managed to work in the retail sector for years.
Retaining my identity as a Muslim was a hard task in a society that is still plagued with Islamophobia. I remember when a Caucasian customer spitting in my face as she demanded that I fetch someone who “looks more like [her]” to assist her. I remember when a man told me that my face was a perfect cut for a “dirty terrorist.” I remember not getting tipped because the colour of my skin apparently undermined my quality service. I remember when a man pushed me and claimed that even hell would be too nice of an option for me. The times I never gave up in those instances of despair made me stronger in the face of adversity. It’s something I like to put in my list of achievements on my résumé of life.
I started Ryerson some years ago. I felt like I had crossed borders to get there. I made the choice of studying business while still working part time. It was a stressful four years: balancing work and school was a huge chore but I never surrendered. I always felt like I was fighting some sort of war ever since my childhood. It wasn’t until when I graduated that I felt the battle draw to a close and I saw the beginning of prosperity. I just started working at a full time job this past month, one that I once would have never dreamed of. I’ve conquered a lot in my years here and I am positive that I will continue to flourish.