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,