A Tale of Personal Identity

She thought back to the little 11 year old who wouldn’t have recognised the 21 year old she was to become. This woman was too – too Pakistani. She brought so much culture with her, yet at the same time retaining traces of the “Western” environment that was part of her formative years. Perhaps that is a given, because no one ever remains the same. But the difference was startling. She seemed more at ease with her appearance and her words. She didn’t feel the need to blend with the crowd. She wasn’t rebelling against the language, smell, or music of her motherland. The only part of her past she was holding on to was the English language. But that didn’t replace the depth of emotion she could convey with the tongue her mother first spoke to her in. And what was that? A nose piercing? She had even started looking the part. She seemed to exude a sense of self assurance. As though she wasn’t juggling two identities at once; rather she had created a new one with the two interwoven and held in place together with her newfound understanding of religion. Or so it seemed, because was that a scarf on her head?

// I wrote an article that carries the tale of a diaspora kid. It’s my personal narrative on identity. You can read it here. I’d love to know your thoughts.

Love and light,
– N

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4 thoughts on “A Tale of Personal Identity

  1. I loved this, Naureen! Both this and your Tempest article. We touched in this briefly, but I have a similar longing and affinity for a land that I have never lived and yet still call my motherland. English is my preferred language of communicating and I no longer feel I need to justify it. I like the idea you presented – that accepting this melding of our different identities helps us more accepting of other differences as well! You’ve given me a lot to ponder over for the rest of the data as usual 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. When was the last time you visited Hyderabad? I think you must go soon and see what effect it has on you 😀 I am positively dying to visit the motherland the first chance I get. But please dont eat the street food or drink the water there! You’re so kind, baaji 🙂 I’m glad it resonated with you x

      Liked by 1 person

      1. It’s been 11 years! Haha, oh I know. I learned first hand. Yet, I’ll probably forget the next time. I’m sure some family member will try to ease my fears by telling me to say Bismillah and everything will be okay. Of course, that’s all I’ll need to appease my worries – BECAUSE STREET FOOD! Haha!

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