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14 - The Oakville Beaver, Friday February 20, 2009 www.oakvillebeaver.com Connecting with roots counts By Ramona Kapoor GRADE 11, MACLACHLAN COLLEGE B eing the child of immigrants isn't easy for many and it wasn't easy for me. I'd always felt like I didn't belong -- neither was I Canadian, nor was I Indian. Was I to follow the ways of my peers and share their values or was I expected to make the traditions passed on to me from my parents my own? It was difficult, trying to understand who I really was, since every time I felt like I belonged I found out otherwise. As a child, I didn't understand the importance of having a distinct culture. It all seemed so complicated. My parents always emphasized how lucky I was to have a place to call home other than here, to have family other than my parents. I never made an effort, since I didn't understand the importance of what I was being taught. Their values seemed backward and unreasonable and I felt like I was forced to learn a language that didn't feel like my own. I didn't understand why I was forced to communicate and keep in touch with people whose names I couldn't remember. By the time my ignorance struck me it was too late. When I was 11, my mother passed away, and I'd done nothing to show her that I cared. She was always encouraging me to be involved with my community, but it hadn't occurred to me until the few months after she had passed away that she was right, roots were important. I had grandparents in their late 70s that I hadn't made an effort to communicate with. How long was it before I lost them too? The thought scared me: I had so much back home that I'd taken for granted. I didn't want to live my life not appreciating something so precious, something I had that so many other people would die for -- the love of my family back home and my roots. The perfect opportunity to explore my identity arose when I went to India without the comfort of a communicator, without my father. I spent time with my family and learned about my traditions, values, religion and the duties that I was expected to follow. I could now convey what I wanted to say in three different languages. When English didn't work Hindi did, and when Hindi didn't Punjabi did. My vocabulary grew, along with my identity. I came back a changed person. I now felt like there was more to me than I'd realized before. I had values that weren't unreasonable or backward, but full of love and respect. I am proud of being a Canadian, of living in this society. I will always fulfill my duties as a Canadian, but there will always be more to my identity. I will always have a part of me that carries my culture with pride, the part of me that clearly states that I am Indian as well as Canadian.