Harjas Singh

So back at the ceremony, as excited as I was about putting this turban on my head, I was also conflicted with all these memories of being treated like I was an outsider.

The entire family then started the ceremony.

We moved to the prayer room in our house where the Guru Granth Sahib sat atop a palki or a pedestal.

My father took his place behind the palki while we sat around on the floor as he read verses from the Anand Sahib, the prayer of happiness and bliss.

Then from a crumpled purple plastic bag, my grandfather took out this beautiful red and golden polka dotted turban.

It had been custom made for me, just like all the turbans had been made for my father and my grandfather before me.

My grandfather held one end of the turban, I held the other, and we rolled it from either side until it looked like a long pipe.

I knelt down in front of the Guru Granth Sahib, clutching one end of the turban in my mouth, and my grandfather put down layer after layer of this turban over my head.

And with each layer that he put down, the weight of the turban started to feel more real.

And I realized that it wasn't just the weight of the turban, it was the weight of history on my shoulders.

It was a weight of expectations that I wasn't sure if I was ready to carry just yet.

When the ceremony was over, I bent down to touch my grandparents and my parents' feet to seek their blessings.

I then went into my room, stood in front of the mirror, and looked at myself with this turban on my head and I thought, I look weird.

I now was looking at myself like those kids had looked at me at the bus stop, like I was Shrek.

And I realized, I'd started to question in that moment that there were other kids who I had grown up with, other sick kids, but instead of wearing turbans now, they would wear baseball caps.

Instead of keeping their hair and their buns, they would now shave their hair off, and I would wonder,

Is it worth continuing to fight for your right to just exist instead of just trying to blend in?

I realized after the ceremony that the turban had been given to me wasn't something I had accepted.

My grandfather had tied the turban on me, but it wasn't my turban.

It almost felt like an organ my body was rejecting, but I also wanted to be proud of my religion and my culture, just like my father and my grandfather were.