Child of many

I have grown in a land in which my maman and papa have constantly referred as foreign.

Foreign people, with a foreign mindset.

Foreign reactions in a foreign culture.

I have grown up in a land in which people have constantly asked me of where I was from. Reminding me that perhaps I was not like them. Which I must admit, is confusing for a child that has just hit the age in which she must learn of her home address. I remember one day, I sat by my family after finishing morning prayer in which I asked my maman “Maman of where am I from?” In which she answered sweetly “from me my child” embracing me for a hug. From god, my papa stated with pride. From Toronto, my brother would pipe up. From across the great sea, my grandmaman would whisper.

I have grown up in a culture that I have been told is not my birthright. I have grown up in a culture that I have been adopted as my own.

Being from the faith of Islam the only instruments that I play are those that composite natural sounds. My father from Arabia, believes that means only the drum can be our tool of rhythm.

Eastern mindsets. Eastern horizons.

My flute is my instrument.

Western world.

Eastern traditions.