Personal Narrative: My First Day Of Lutheran School

It took merely seconds during my first day of Lutheran school to realize I stood out like a drop of grease in an oasis. There was only one other South Asian attending the institution— my older brother. My parents enrolled me in a school they could hardly afford because they hoped it would improve my educational prowess, but it did a lot more than improve my erudition. I quickly became a chameleon, desperate to be accepted. I was the first child to be born in America throughout my entire ancestry. However, I assimilated so rapidly that I neglected my cultural roots. After two years in a school with no South Asian companions, my parents noticed that not only did I never speak anything but English at home, but also that the intended pronunciation of my name became Raúl, my more common, easier to pronounce alter ego. My parents hoped to revive my lost interest in our cultural heritage, so they completed the tedious task of transferring me to a public school before I could learn the word assimilation.

There, I met my first Bengali friend outside of a temple: Arman Mridha. I was ecstatic to finally encounter another student I could relate to, who spoke the same languages I spoke, consumed the same cuisines I devoured, and smelled the same zesty aroma of curry as I did. Of course, the opening question he addresses to my dismay is: “Are you Muslim?” I freeze. First race, now religion? Is there anything else that sets me apart from people? I do not even know my own religion. I was born and brought up as a strict Hindu because of my Brahman father, but I also attended a Lutheran school for two