Fresh Fruit

Growing up, I have experienced a plethora of dinner experiences with my Iranian best friend, Ayla. I have eaten hundreds of dinners at her house. I remember the first dinner I had there. I was in third grade and our friendship was just starting to blossom. I sat down with her family and I was immediately drawn to the array of items. I remember being shocked by how many options and how much food there was. There were large bowls full of colorful vegetables, rice, chicken, and salad. At my family dinners, typically my food was not presented in large bowls but rather my mom organized and pre-made my plate. While conversing with her family, I immediately felt at home. The food was delicious and her family was warm and inviting. After finishing my first plate, I was pressed for seconds, thirds. By the end of the meal, I was so full but I was content. I remember just feeling like I fit right in. It was almost like I had known her family for years. The conversation continued after our food and we lingered for at least and hour, just talking. Once we got up from the table, I tried to clean up my dishes but her mother grabbed them out of my hands and insisted that she would do it. She was so hospitable and to this day, she still will not let me do any dishes. After the meal, Ayla and I went upstairs and within an hour, her mom brought up fresh, cut-up fruit, crisp apples and sweet oranges for dessert. To this day, my dinner experiences at her house are the same exact way: the delectable rice and vegetables and of course, the fresh fruit afterwards. Growing up with her family has made me absolutely adore Persian culture. I remember being young and almost wishing I was Persian because I admired their traditions and cuisine. If I have children when I grow up, I hope to replicate this warm and loving dinner experience in my household. 

My Name

Honestly, my name really isn't that special to me. I almost feel like it doesn't suit me and it was almost a compromise. To clarify, my name was chosen by a nurse. My parents had not chosen my name before my birth. They had easily decided on my twin sister's name, Nicole, because she was named after a deceased family member. When the time of our delivery came, my parents had not prepared a name. When I came out of my mother's womb, one of the nurses simply said, "Oh she looks like a Meghan!" My parents liked it and that was that. I just feel like my name has no special significance, it was just a simple recommendation made by a stranger. My middle name, Rose, does have some significance. It was my great-grandmother's name which I think is pretty cool. Back to my first name, it also bugs me the way people say my name. Most people mispronounce my name and say, "May-ghan" rather than "Meh-ghan." It doesn't really matter that much to me but the fact that even my own mother mispronounces my name irks me. Also, my name seems to always be misspelled as there are about ten different ways to spell my name. Reflecting on these name annoyances, I understand Gogol's frustrations regarding his name. It bugs him when people mispronounce it or ask questions and I understand why now. When people mispronounce his name, it's almost like they are disregarding the significance, even if it isn't purposeful. Unlike Gogol, my name does not make me feel insecure but sometimes I do wish that I could change it. For now, Meghan will just have to do. 

Heritage

To be honest, my heritage has not really affected my life that much but I will give you a little family history. On my dad's side, his great-grandfather lived in a poor village in Greece when he decided to leave and take a risk. He traveled to America in the early 1900s, in search for a better life. He ended up in Utah, where he bought his own land where he tended his sheep and eventually grew his property. A few years ago, I visited his land in Park City, Utah. I was shocked. I had pictured a small, farm property and I discovered roughly 7000 acres of land. This to me sums up the American dream. A poor, Greek man travels to America with nothing but the shirt on his back and he ends up growing his property. But this sums up about all I know of my family history! I know that my dad is Greek and Italian. My mom is some kind of European mutt, consisting of Swedish, German, French, Scottish...ect...I personally identify with my mother's heritage more than my father's. I feel that I look more Swedish than Italian (thanks to my pasty skin and blonde hair!) I wish that I could identify more with my heritage but I am very curious about my exact percentages of nationalities. I hope to use the 23 and me program which basically tells you exact percentages of which ethnicities you are! I hope to do this within the year because perhaps I will be able to truly identify and celebrate my heritage. 

The link for 23 and me! 
https://www.23andme.com/