An introduction...

I hate Leban. This puts me in the minority among most Arabs. Leban is yogurt - specifically, an Arabic yogurt drink. If you've ever eaten at an Indian restaurant, you're probably familiar with Lassi, which is like Leban. It's a salty, milky drink, which is apparently very refreshing on a hot desert day. I wouldn't know. I prefer lemonade. Leban also has other health benefits. But I'm not going to go into all that, lest you think this is some sort of foodie blog. It's not. (While we're on the subject of 'Lassi', it should be noted that if you type the word into Wikipedia you get a short italicized line directly below it which reads: "Not to be confused with Lassie." Just in case you were wondering.) Anyway back to the topic at hand. I'm also not that fond of dates -- another food which figures prominently in the Arab diet. I do however love dolmah --stuffed grape leaves. But again, let me get off the subject of food. I only bring it up as one example of how completely different I am from the bulk of the Middle-Eastern community. Most Arabs love the stuff. My father for one, credits his health and livelihood in recent years to Leban. I personally think it has to do with the fact that he stopped eating fried chicken around the same time, but you can't argue with the man. He loves his Leban. And so do many Arabs I know. See for yourself. The next time you encounter an Arab, ask them if how they feel about Leban. Their answer will usually give you a clue as to how 'Arabic' they are. I suppose I should tell you a bit about myself. My name is Samira Beker -- people call me Sami for short. I was born in Iraq and my family moved to the States when I was four years old. I want to believe that as a baby I drank Leban happily from my sippy-cup and that somehow during the move to the NEW WORLD, I lost that cup and it was replaced with a thermos of cherry kool-aid. But the sad reality is I don't like cherry kool-aid either. So there you go. Stuck in the middle. Sami Beker. It sounds pretty American. And with my green eyes, I look pretty American -- if you get past the thick eyebrows and SOMEWHAT prominent nose. I use the word SOMEWHAT because it is big. I can't lie. I'm an Iraqi, a race not generally known for our ski-slope noses. But I say SOMEWHAT because though my nose was the subject of light ridicule in grade school (You may be familiar with the taunt, "Big Nose, Big Nose. Don't suck all the air out of the room.") it still wasn't emotionally scarring enough for me to rush out and get rhinoplasty when I turned 18, like my best friend Laura Weisenstein. Like I said, I’m first generation Iraqi-American. I was born in Baghdad, and my parents came to the States in the 1970's, to get away from the oppressive regime back home and for the opportunities that could only be found in the United States. As dad would say, “Here we’ll have the best of the best.” And we did. I don’t think anyone loves America more than my father. He cries during the National Anthem. So that's a little introduction. You'll probably see more of it in future posts. My family is very...interesting and perhaps the reason for my lack of identity (but my therapist and I are currently working through this stuff.)