"The Struggle with Guilt as the Daughter of Immigrants" Essay by Hodan Sultan

My father always compliments my ability to dream big. We sit across from

each other once a week for lunch—we sit across from each other, and he sees

how ambitious I am.

“Maybe I got that from you,” I tell him. I most definitely did. My father fled war

in Somalia. He tells me he always knew he was leaving—and I guess he and I

are similar in that sense. The difficulty my parents faced travelling to the UK

weighs heavy on my heart everywhere I go. It follows me into every room.

I like my parents a lot. Of course, I love them, but I am saying I like their

character. I like who they are as people and what they stand for. I like how

they raised me. My parents have let me choose everything I wanted to be in

life—or everything I thought I wanted to be. My parents have never judged me

or vilified me for mistakes I have made, big or small. They have never sent me

away to become good or swayed me away from things I really wanted. My

mother often uses the word ‘Akhlaq, ’which means character.

Akhlaq is the plural form of ‘Khuluq.’ This refers to innate disposition; it is who

you are as a person.

This is one of my favourite things about Islam—it emphasises the importance

of character. The well-being of a human begins and ends with manners and

morals. How wonderful is this? I am glad my mother reminds me of Akhlaq

because having good character is necessary. No, you cannot be good all the

time, but trying to be, even in the littlest of ways, is enough.

‘The best of you are the best in character.’

My parents have never shamed me religiously, and I guess a fraction of that is

who they are as people—but also because they understand that being perfect

is near impossible. Walking a path completely straight and never diverting is

not possible. Religion is not easy—well, it isn’t for me—and my parents are

compassionate when it comes to this. Through the cracks, they see me trying,

and they see my Akhlaq.

‘The most beloved to me, and the nearest to me, are those of you who are the

best in character.’

How could you want mercy from your Creator but pose such judgment and

hatred on those who make mistakes? I urge you not to look down on those

who are not walking that path as straight as you are in that moment—because

with how easy it is to judge, it is just as easy to be in the exact same position,

making the exact same mistake.

I am a journalist who studied history and art history. I chose my career, and my

parents are proud of me, but I always get asked the question:

‘What do your parents think?’

I am then expected to say something along the lines of, ‘Oh, they were

opposed to it at first, but they eventually came around.’ But in all honesty, my

parents did not care. They did not care what I intended to study or what I

wanted to do with my life—they just wanted me to be happy, and they wanted

me to love what I did.

I show my parents all the articles I’ve written for newspapers—or my work

here on Substack—and I can see the trust they have in me to love what I do

and to continue to do it no matter how hard it is. I do not feel like I am

embarrassing my parents when it comes to what I have chosen to do with my

life—and that is down to them. They do not let me feel embarrassed and have

never indicated any sort of disappointment.

I do feel guilty sometimes when I am living my life as if it is only mine—when

truly it is not. My life is not only mine. I try to consult my parents in decisions I

make, and when I tell those who are not from an immigrant background

this—all hell breaks loose, and suddenly, I am solely living for my parents.

It may seem like a lot of pressure to have, but I guess I do not mind the fact

that my decisions and my choices in life affect my parents—because nothing

will compare to what they went through to get here. I would not have had this

life without their own brave choices—with the ultimate one being moving

halfway across the world. So no, my life is not only mine—I also live for them,

and I am okay with that.

But remember, I have said to you that my parents have been extremely

supportive in everything I have decided to do—which has slowly ebbed away

at my guilt. I know not everyone has that privilege, so I wanted to address

those whose guilt of choosing a life of passion has left them feeling

embarrassed or discouraged.

‘Like little branches that extend away from the tree that is our parents.’

Not everyone is meant to be like each other—and we are sure not supposed to

be carbon copies of what came before. I know that having parents who came

here to give you a better life is something that eats at you—but I

promise—whatever you do in this life, if you do it with such passion that it

feeds your soul, then there is no other choice but to live that way.

I read a book by Ocean Vuong called On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous when I

was eighteen. This book is sort of a letter from a son to a mother—who is a

Vietnamese immigrant in America—but she is not able to read English; thus,

she cannot read what he has written.

My mother rarely reads what I write, but she does try very hard. I remember

when I first wrote for my university newspaper, and I was so excited to show

her, but as I glanced at her, I could see that it was hard for her to read some of

the words.

I want to write something for her in the future—but writing something that

will never reach her entirely upsets me a little. I want to express my love

through writing—but for me to do that, I need to express it in a language she

understands first.

(Instagram & Substack: @hodansultan)