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“Where are you from?”
This is a question I have received countless times. If I had a dime for every time I was asked this question, I’d be rich.
Ironically, when I answer, “From Ann Arbor,” the response is always, “No, I mean, where are you really from?”
I recently went to Iowa, where I had this encounter almost word for word. I’ve been calling it my Iowa story, but it could have happened anywhere, and it does happen everywhere.
We all have things that are essential to our character, things that make us who we are. But how would it feel if you were questioned about your identity on a regular basis? If everywhere you went, someone stopped you and asked you about yourself, your values and your beliefs?
This is the daily experience of American Muslim women. This is my experience.
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