Quotes About Belonging

In 1975, I left the burning city of Beirut for the quiet insanity of England. To say that short, frail and wispy 15-year-old me didn't fit in would be such an understatement as to be a joke.

My past was always there. And I always understood that I was adopted. It wasn't like a massive issue to me. But identity was an issue. I knew that I was Indian, but I didn't really know much about myself, really. I mean, I really disassociated myself from what happened in the past to present. But, it was affecting in regards to identity.

The black immigrant experience in the U.S. must be understood not in contrast to the African American experience but as an integral part of it.

All of nationalism can be understood as a kind of collective narcissism.

I was born in Iran, my parents are Armenian. We fled from Iran to the Netherlands when I was eight years old. We had a lot of family and friends in Iran, so it was hard to leave, especially for my parents. But we managed to settle well in the Netherlands, after a year in refugee camps. But I understood it was a process.

I've never really understood attachment to a place for reasons of birth. That my mother happened to give birth to me in a certain place doesn't, to my mind, justify any thankfulness towards that place. It could have been anywhere.

I'm Asian-American, and I was the only Chinese girl growing up in a white school in San Diego. So I understood what it was like to be different, to always want to fit in and never feel like you ever could.

Although I was always very happy in Britain, I never stopped thinking of America as home, in the fundamental sense of the term. It was where I came from, what I really understood, the base against which all else was measured.

Once I was embraced by gay culture, I finally started to feel I was fitting in. I was understood by those people in a way I had never predicted or courted.

I never understood why the metal heads in my school hated the punks.

In the fall of 1978, I left the religious, conservative, biracial, slow-paced culture of South Carolina for the secular, liberal, multi-ethnic, intense culture of Princeton University. Like most immigrants, I was looking for a better life in a place I only half understood.

I remember the first article I ever wrote, and I saw my name in the paper, and I already knew I was undocumented, and I was thinking: 'How can they now say I don't exist?'

On the surface, I've created a good life. I've lived the American dream. But I am still an undocumented immigrant.

I'm a gay, undocumented immigrant; I have to be optimistic.

Within the Filipino community, everybody knows somebody who's undocumented.

I think any immigrant who comes to this country also knows somebody who is undocumented.

I am undoubtedly one of the more, if not the most, privileged undocumented immigrants in America. And for us at Define American, which is this culture campaign group that I founded with some friends, culture trumps politics.

When I was a teenager, I was like, 'Something is wrong with me. I don't fit in. I'm not like everybody else.' So, I always knew that I wanted to explore and move on, but it was completely unexpected, the way it happened.

The biggest thing I lost when I left religion was that sense of community and the culture. It was an unexpected kind of free-falling. When I was in it, I didn't understand how much the community was a part of my life.

We grew up as kids watching those movies and we were exposed to themes of civil rights, unfairness, bigotry and fathers struggling against the kind of mob of the town, so you remember how you felt as a kid being taken seriously, that you are part of the human drama.

Growing up in New Orleans, I was always the only black kid, or one of two, on the school soccer team. While I was always conscious of this status, what took precedent was my unfettered love of the game.

I don't know whether it is fortunate or unfortunate, but I have no such thing as national pride. I don't feel proud that I am Iranian. I happen to be who I am.

I moved to Humble under really unfortunate circumstances obviously, Hurricane Katrina, so our family was displaced here for four months. Humble was a home for us.

I do not have a family, per se. When I was younger, I grew up in foster care with my brother and sister. It was really a struggle, and knowing that there were people out there with tight-knit families really made my childhood an unfortunate one.