On not Belonging

Many of us carry our trauma in every word that we say

“So, how does it feel to always tick ‘Other’?” asks my friend? I shrug. “Just one of so many ‘Others,’” I reply. Even after many years of being ‘Other’, I still feel weird when a document asks me to tick the box on race. It’s complicated. My Dad is Turkish and my Mum Greek, but it doesn’t stop there — my Mum is a Greek Muslim. Well, to be more precise, she’s a Pomak, belonging to a Slavic-speaking minority Muslim population in Thrace. I was born and raised in Germany, but my DNA is 59% Greek and Italian, 19% Baltic and the remaining 22% a mix of East European, Balkans, Central Asian and Ashkenazi Jewish.

I know, I know — it’s DNA overload. Even I feel overwhelmed, knowing I’ve inherited all this genetic information but although I’m so many things, I often feel I’m nothing at all. Years of being ‘Other’ has caused a lot of confusion, pain and also identity problems. There have been countless times when I wished my looks and heritage were not at odds with the nationality stated on my passport so people would stop asking me, “But where are you really from?” Worse still, when I say I’m German, my sense of not belonging is often reinforced when people unthinkingly respond, “But you can only be German if you have German blood.”

Even after so many years, the question, “Where are you from?” still triggers a reaction so strong that I freeze and feel suffocated. In those moments, I hear this voice inside me getting louder and louder, screaming, “But where do you belong?” It’s then that another voice, deep inside me, jumps in and says, “Nowhere. You don’t belong anywhere,” and those words, though seemingly harsh, are somehow also liberating. I’ve asked myself many times why I feel that way, but I now believe the voice expressing the pain I feel inside acts as a safety valve which protects me from the pain of not belonging. I’ve come to realize that to be an immigrant is about straddling two homelands or more as in my case, whilst knowing you don’t really belong anywhere. For the longest time, I thought by working hard, studying at a top university abroad, getting a good job in a high-profile company and being the perfect immigrant, I would finally be accepted in Germany. And yes, my efforts have paid off to some degree, but only until the next person comes along and questions my identity, forcing me once again to face the reality that I will never belong 100% anywhere.

This constant anxiety we feel as people of colour to justify our space and show we have earned our place at the table continues to hound us all our life. In the past, I felt that when I was born my score wasn’t zero vs another German woman, but more like a score of -10. All my life I’ve worked really hard to be equal, only to realize I wasn’t getting anywhere. I have often wondered how it feels to be born and raised in a country where I’m the majority. To walk on the street and never be questioned about my identity. To never feel I need to add a ‘But…’, apologizing for my nationality. To never face prejudice just because I have dark skin and dark hair. To not have to correct people for the 10th time when they still get my name wrong. I’ve had a lot of these thoughts growing up and I know I’m not alone in this. Many of us carry our trauma in every word that we say.

My mum being Greek made my life much easier growing up, to the point that I often over-emphasized the fact that I’m half Greek when I talked about my heritage to feel more accepted. Greece is seen as the more glamorous country and, being a Christian country, is less judged. I sense this every time I tell people about my background. People get overly excited about the Greek part, but feel wary about my Turkish side. Turkey is still very much seen as ‘Other’ in terms of religion, culture and not really being part of Europe.

My religion is a much more complicated topic. I usually don’t tell people I’m a Muslim as I’ve lost count of how many times people respond by telling me I don’t look like one. I often wonder what a Turkish/Muslim woman is supposed to look like? What are the stereotypes people attribute to others based on their kinships, religions, passport and nationalities? Islam has such a negative connotation in people’s minds as these days being a Muslim is associated with being a terrorist or extremist. Sometimes, when it comes up during conversation and I do say that I’m a Muslim, I have this strong urge to add ‘But I’m not religious’ so people don’t typecast me. For many years, I denied that part of me and told people I was born into a Muslim family but didn’t really have any religion. It’s only recently I’ve accepted that, even if I’m not very religious, I do like the cultural aspects of being a Muslim, freeing me to follow and enjoy our traditions and celebrations.

When I was 21, I moved to England. I studied and lived in Exeter for 6 years and worked another 6 years in London. I remember my time in London fondly as it was a place where identity didn’t matter nearly so much as it had until that point in my life. Surrounded by many nationalities, religions and skin colours, I could just get on with my life without worrying who I was. Now after being back in Germany for 5 years, I’m again facing many of the difficulties I experienced in my teenage years. This time though, I’m sensing a small shift in my inner world. I have found a kind of peace through accepting that it doesn’t matter what I do, I will never be German, but I will also never be Turkish or Greek either. It’s been freeing to realize that most people aren’t simply one or the other, either black or white. I can be part of this world without belonging anywhere. I can travel the world, fall in love with different cities and call many cities home. I can be truly a citizen of the world. I can also be a Muslim and live my religion on my own terms and if people still want to judge me, then so be it. I’m tired of hiding behind a mask and acting a part. I’m ready now to share my authentic self with the world.

I started writing being confident I’d reached the point where I could share these deeply personal thoughts freely. However, opening up like this has been a real struggle. While writing, I’ve had so many spiralling thoughts, questioning whether I should really share so much of myself. Is it wise to make myself vulnerable? What if people judge me? What if they call me ungrateful for not appreciating all the privileges my German passport gives me which I’m actually truly grateful for? What if people think, “Her views are worthless. She’s just another angry immigrant…”? What if people ignore what I say, pointing to my conflicting emotions and thoughts as too emotional and sensitive to be taken seriously?

The list of What Ifs is never-ending, giving rise to many doubts and fears, but even if it’s scary, I will share this in the hope that someone else will read my story and find themselves in my words. Most importantly, I hope anyone reading this understands that it’s ok to feel both broken and strong, grief and gratitude, pain and purpose.

Vulnerability is not winning or losing. It’s having the courage to show up and be seen when we have no control over the outcome. Owning our story can be hard, but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it — Brene Brown

I want to encourage us that inside every human is a story worth sharing. Your story matters. Our stories bring us together. Keep sharing your story because you never know who you will inspire!

With love, your friend, Tugba