It’s that time of year again. No, I’m not talking about prelims or when everyone at Cornell collectively gets sick and you can’t hear what your professor is saying in lecture over all the coughing. No dear friends, its Ramadan!!! I’ve already called/text messaged all my Muslim friends and wished them a happy holiday and am expecting to receive a few calls myself. It’s not because I’m Muslim, it’s just because I’m Arab.

It seems as if in our world, the words Arab and Muslim are commonly used as synonyms for each other — very few people realize that there is actually a difference. Growing up, I faced this dilemma constantly. Even though I attended the same school for 13 years, I found myself reminding people that, no, I did not celebrate Ramadan, and that, yes, I am Arab. (It was worst when the same person asked me on consecutive Ramadans — “Nope, sorry still Christian this year, check back next year though”). But some people just didn’t get it. No, I can’t tell you what the Qur’an says because I’ve never read it. No, I do not pray five times a day. Yes, I do know that this is a ham and cheese sandwich.

And for your exclusive enjoyment:

Girl, thinking she was being very smart: “So Nora, are you Shi’a or Sunni Muslim?”

GTSWBVS: “Oh, I’ve never heard of that kind of Muslim before.”

This mistake persisted so much that one year, as a joke, my friend Jenny bought me an obnoxiously large black cross with an illuminated golden Jesus to wear around school. Instead of having the intended effect however, people just asked me why I was wearing a cross — wasn’t I Arab? (If you knew what school I went to this would be even more embarrassing.)

I’m not normally the kind of person to talk about my religion — I feel very strongly that your faith is something very personal and should be kept to yourself, not really meant for your Facebook profile or as a topic of conversation: “Hi, I’m Nora and I’m Christian. What’s your name?” This is especially true because of my Lebanese background — the devastating Lebanese Civil War from 1975-1990 was based on deep divides between and amongst Lebanon’s Christians and Muslims. During the war, neighbors killed each other, forgetting that the word Allah, in Arabic, means God, not a Muslim or Christian or Jewish god, just God. Though the situation is significantly better in Lebanon today, tensions between the religions still exist and fear remains that a sectarian war may emerge.

But then it gets to a point when I really can’t take it anymore — of course there’s nothing wrong with being Muslim, but there is something wrong with thinking that every Arab is a Muslim and vice versa.

The problem further irritated me when I started taking Arabic classes at Cornell and soon discovered that our textbook was filled with stories dealing with Islamic history and cultural traditions that in no way reflected the diverse makeup of the Arab world. I read and read about the old Muslim Caliphs and their empires, but learned nothing about Christian history in the Middle East.

You may feel like I’m making a big deal out of nothing, and that overall the vast majority of Arabs are Muslims. You may even think, “So how many Christian Arabs are there exactly, like two?” Well, Egypt alone has around 12 million Christians (mainly Coptic Orthodox) and Lebanon has the highest percentage of Christians, where they make up somewhere from 35 to 40 percent of the total population. Jordan, Syria and Palestine also have high Christian populations. In fact, Dr. Hanan Ashrawi, the prominent Palestinian scholar, politician and activist who will be speaking at Bailey Hall at 4:30 p.m. this Thursday, is a Christian Arab. (So are Boutrous Boutrous Ghali, Khalil Gibran and Shakira to name a few.)

It’s not just Christian Arabs who often find themselves dealing with mistaken identity. (And since I’m on the topic, I’d just like to mention that Afghanis and Iranians aren’t Arabs. I swear I’m not lying.) It’s an issue of individual identity and not fitting into a lone checkbox on a college application. People are different and diverse — insert Cornell’s award-winning motto — and assuming things about people not only makes you look like an idiot, but may offend/irritate/annoy/frustrate them immensely; trust me, I’d know. So next time you make new friends, let them tell you who they are.

Oh, and for the record, I won’t be fasting today, but you can check back on Lent.

Nora Choueiri is a sophomore in the College of Arts and Sciences. She can be contacted at nchoueiri@cornellsun.com. A Helping of Hummus appears alternate Mondays.