Christmas, Ramadan and shame: How I hid my feelings about growing up between two cultures

Samera Kamaleddine grew up experiencing insults and awkwardness that she “shamefully” tried to ignore – until it became impossible.

Growing up between two worlds … Samera Kamaleddine. Credit: Nikki Malvar.

Her career began writing about boys, irritating parents and friendship dramas in teen magazines. Then SAMERA KAMALEDDINE realised a more confronting story, of growing up between Sydney’s Anglo and Lebanese cultures, needed to be told.

I thought I wanted to write something funny; that slapstick style of humour found in the likes of The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, My Life is a Toilet and Hating Alison Ashley (for all you ’90s kids out there). What I didn’t know was that there was another kind of story in me that had to be told – one I’d shamefully been pushing down to the deep, dark depths so that no one would ever (EVER) know of the mortifying feelings attached to it.

Not all doom and gloom … Samera Kamaleddine’s Half My Luck highlights the funny elements of growing up between two cultures. Credit: Nikki Malvar.

I sound dramatic. But that’s exactly the place you have to tap into when writing young adult fiction and why I chose the genre. It’s the time in your life – perhaps the only time in your life – when that intense search for self is accepted. When every morsel of a feeling is so incredibly heightened you feel like you could internally combust.

For teenage Samera, those crushing emotions were about race. I literally grew up in two cultural worlds in none other than the melting pot that is South West Sydney. My Lebanese Muslim father celebrated Ramadan. My Australian mother celebrated Christmas. I, of course, was obliged to celebrate both. But how on Earth does one explain that to the other (Anglo) kids at school who ever-so-comfortably drop the vulgar “W” word in front of you and ask why your mum is blonde when you clearly look, um, ethnic?

Finally finding a voice … Half My Luck by Samera Kamaleddine.

So, I just didn’t explain it. I avoided the conversation at all costs. I pretended I wasn’t who I was (which, for the record, I’m aware now was actually a beautiful mix). For an unacceptably long time, I allowed people to begin their sentences with “I’m not being racist, but…”. I thought that would help me fit in.

It makes me sad that I wasn’t braver. And that’s possibly why I created Layla Karimi, the half Lebanese, half Australian (what a coincidence!) protagonist of Half My Luck, who goes on a journey to reconcile with not only her own, but also her community’s perceptions of her “other” culture.

While creating her world, I lived vicariously through someone who is the vocal dynamo I wish I’d been. Despite the characters and storyline coming from my imagination, the words fell out of me in an avalanche of relief, acceptance and hope. An emotional release I wasn’t aware I needed. Have you ever re-read an old diary entry and cringed at the thoughts you divulged? That’s how I felt every day of the writing process.

I realise I’m making this appear all doom and gloom (that’s the teenager still in me). But I promise it isn’t. I managed to get some of that humour I wanted in there. Striking the right balance between the good, the bad and the funny was high on my list. After all, if an eccentric old woman dramatically informing her granddaughter that she’s been cursed by the evil eye isn’t an amusing way to start a book, I don’t know what is.

It took me 20 years to get comfortable enough to explore this story (the good, the bad and the funny). A lot of significant things happened in Australia and around the world in those decades – the stereotypes and fear of my dad’s heritage and religion only further perpetuated by events that don’t need to be named here. I just hope the next 20 years are different for kids like me who felt their cultural pride had to be stifled as a result of headlines.

More to a culture than fear and stereotypes … members of the Lebanese Muslim community at a festival in Lakemba, before Covid lockdowns.

I’m certainly not trying to make any headlines of my own. I’m just a girl who loves words – especially when their power is used for good – with a deeply personal story about family, place and identity that unexpectedly forced its way onto shelves.

I think the most important thing anyone can take away from it is that perspective is our best chance at survival – in any kind of battleground. It doesn’t matter what culture someone comes from. It doesn’t matter if they have less money, identify differently, whatever it is that paints them with a tainted brush … a little bit of empathy goes an extremely long away. Half your luck if you’ve already got that down pat.

The inaugural winner of the Matilda Prize, Samera Kamaleddine’s debut novel Half My Luck is out now, published by HarperCollins Australia.

Our Book of the Month is The Inheritance, by Gabriel Bergmoser. Get it for 30 per cent off the RRP of $29.99 at Booktopia by entering code INHERITANCE at checkout – then drop by the Sunday Book Club group on Facebook to tell us what you think.

Originally published as Christmas, Ramadan and shame: How I hid my feelings about growing up between two cultures