I'm not sure why it makes me uncomfortable, but it does. I usually don't tell people that my family is Shi'a. When you meet me you might think, oh, typical desi girl that's wearing hijab. For the most part I am a typical desi girl. Except my parents and extended family are staunch Shi'as.

So for the past 9 years, I've argued, debated and in more recent years tempered our differences by remembering they are my parents and family. I give precendence to the fact that they are my parents. I ignore things that I can. I bite my tounge more than I would like to. I treat them better now than when I first had my differences with them. i don't say this as self-praise, if anything it is /was implementing the most common emotion and action of a child...to please their parents and to want love from them. To be cared for by them, to be able to hug your mom and act normal around your dad. This would not be possible if I continued to talk about religion. I conducted a balancing act between keeping them happy and pleased with me, without overlooking the major points of disparagement between us. I didn't want to anger God while making them happy, so I didn't quite give in to everything. I hoped we had gotten to a point of mutual co-existance. Since I was obviously not influencing them to convert, they were now "ok" with me not being Shi'a. However, that was not quite the case.

In fact, I am still 15 years old standing in front of my parents, hoping they'll for once HEAR and LISTEN that I'm not being brainwashed. I'm not being spiteful, or ungrateful, or hasty or ruining my life. Sobs are choked in my throat for never being given a fair chance, my hands are quivering from holding in the anger that I can not show, my jaw is clenched holding back the angry words that don't have much to do with religion anymore, but are there because I don't feel like a human being anymore.

I hate loving them because it can shred my principles to pieces and I have to continuously fight that.