By Meher Ahmad

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I love pork. All forms of it. I love ham; I love pepperoni; I love salami; I love bologna; I love bacon. 

My love affair with the other white meat is a forbidden one, though. Coming from a Muslim background, albeit relatively liberal Muslim background, pork or any pig product is considered filth. 

The religious explanation for this is something I don’t feel comfortable elaborating on because I am far from a practicing Muslim. It is the same reason Jews who keep kosher don’t eat pork; I am sure. 

The first time I ate pork was in first grade. My elementary school offered two choices in that awful, rectangular-shaped pizza: cheese or pepperoni. The pepperoni appeared more appetizing than the cheese. That was my logic for eating that forbidden meat. It was the start to my slippery slope of pork-flavored sin. 

I kept my ham eating habits as secretive as a heroin addict. I made sure no one from the Muslim community knew of my inclinations. During the peak of my pork consumption, I was living in Hong Kong. At the time, I would go so far as to buy fresh salami and eat it on the subway home, then continue to mask the scent of that ungodly meat with perfume and breath mints.

My parents remained ignorant of my habit until earlier this month. I ordered wonton soup at my favorite Chinese restaurant, the Taiwan Tea House. The waitress informed me the dumplings were pork, and in front of my parents, I told her that it was all right. 

I don’t know what prompted me to suddenly expose my pork habit, but I didn’t expect the reaction I received. 

My parents were furious. A dramatic scene in the restaurant booth ensued, followed by an hour-long argument and a stark realization. 

I had always assumed my parents to be much more lax when it comes to Muslim standards. They openly drink alcohol and allow for me to wear relatively more revealing clothes than typical conservative parents. 

Most importantly, I had thought of my parents as two very logical people. I don’t claim myself to be Muslim and no one in my immediate family is a practicing Muslim. In my mind, alcohol and pork are equally taboo. Since my parents openly consumed the former, I assumed I could do the same for the latter. 

My parents told me otherwise. I was frustrated, and still am, because culture often times defies logic. Logically, pig meat is no longer as dirty as it was in biblical times. In no way am I disproving reasons for other practicing Muslims to refrain from eating pork, but I personally cannot find a legitimate reason for myself to do the same. 

For my parents, especially my dad, consuming pork is more than the simple act of eating meat. It represents going back on his culture, his country, his identity. Eating pork is more shameful than consuming alcohol or drugs because it is, in his mind, the filthiest substance on the earth. 

None of this is logical. Pork products obviously aren’t dirty in any way. But his argument isn’t based around logic. Culture defies logic, many times, and cultural preferences have developed over time to be solidified into a group of people. The fact that my father, an intelligent and educated man, considers pork to be dirty is evidence enough.

I still eat pork pretty regularly. I do it not as a statement or in defiance of my religion, my culture or my family. I eat it because I love pork. In my parent’s eyes, I am defying my family and culture. But for myself, I am simply eating food that I find delicious. I know this issue can’t be resolved with my family. It is difficult to accept that my parents will never be able to view the subject the way I do.