Who's different?

(From Philippine Daily Inquirer)

Byline: Raiza Katrina Abubakar

IT'S summertime again and I greet the humid heat of Zamboanga City with the familiarity of an old friend. My days are spent in front of the television, the piano, or the computer. But none of these can entertain me.

Last summer wasn't quite as boring. In fact, it was a revelation for me. For only the third time in my whole life, my family and I went to Jolo, Sulu, where my grandparents own some property by the sea. We spent our summer vacation in a place that has the reputation for being one of the 10 most dangerous places on earth.

Being there was like living a dream. It wasn't like the way the media described it. All that I saw was the reality of who I was and of my heritage. It was stunning. The place could induce fear, sadness and an odd sense of belonging from deep inside of me. But most of all, it brought up old memories and thoughts that I had tried to put behind me.

My past life has been a struggle to fit in, but never seeming to be able to do so. When I was four years old, I went to a nice school near our village in Quezon City. Unknown to me, I was the only Muslim student there. Of course, as time went by, the people got used to my being Muslim and stopped asking me about it. Still I remember days when some of my classmates would ask me if I had smelly feet because I was a Muslim. Thinking about it now, it seems amusing and childish, but looking back, I can remember that the question made me resent my religion.

There were times when I tried to hide behind pretense. When people asked me if I was a Muslim, I would answer yes, but add that I didn't know how to act like one, as if that would make the situation better.