Two in One

Location: St. Paul-Minnesota International Airport

Date: Sunday March 22, 2015

Time: 7:18PM

Emotional Status: All the emotions

One thing technical immigrants are really good at is fitting 365 days of love and togetherness in just a few short days. Days with family are extremely predictable. Day one: Meeting everyone, happiness all around, and lots of hugs. Day two: waking up in the excitement of being together, starting the day of events; then, the next couple days are the same- loud, chaotic, and a little overwhelming. The last day, the most dreaded day, is always full of sadness (at least for me, some people are probably super happy). I have a very tough time leaving my family, especially the older members. The older family members are some of the best people to be with. They teach the best life lessons, the best advice, and give the best hugs. It's hard to apart from all of this. Sitting in the airport, I'm reminded of the first time I went "home".

It had been around 10 years since my mother had been able to go home. She had been separated from her childhood, her home,and a large part of her family for a long time; but for me, it was something else. In elementary school, when asked where I'd love to visit, I never responded with "normal" places. My friends chose places like Italy, Hawaii, Paris, but for me, it was Pakistan. Pakistan was a great mystery to me. I knew what India was like from movie and dramas, but Pakistan was a whole other world for me. As a young child, and even today, the country holds a very special place in my heart. Pakistan is my roots; it is where my mother grew up, it is where my family is, it is where my story began. I never truly lived in Pakistan. I have visited but not lived. My version of Pakistan is a highly romanticized, beautiful version. Sure, I see the beggars on the streets. I am aware of the corruption. I know it's not safe, but when I first went, it was the perfect place. It was a long journey. I had not made that journey in 10 years, so everything was new and exciting. I remember landing in Karachi. the plane was simple. The TV screens streamed videos of your surroundings. I watched the city from up high, entranced by the beautiful lights and the light rays of the sun hitting the city. I looked over at my mother and saw a sort of excitement in her eyes. She was home. She was in the city where she had the greatest memories. The rest was a whirlwind of rushing and hurried steps to customs. The faster we clear customs, the faster we get our bags, and the faster we could go home. I walked out of the airport into the hot June sun, still wearing my brown sweater, and the sweat began to prickle down my back- yet I was unfazed. I was in Karachi. There was a crowd outside the airport. It was a sight: family members coming to receive loved ones who had been away, business men/women returning, many people with many stories. I was overwhelmed and taken aback. My friends who had all been to Pakistan before had warned me about all of this: the heat, the crowd, the smell. They said it was horrible, unbearable, but I loved it and still do today. There is a strange peace in all of those- a wave of indescribable calm. For the next two months, I would be in Karachi, exploring, learning, and meeting a wide variety of  family. This trip changed my world. It changed my outlook on life. This was the longest I had ever been with my cousin, and our relationship flourished. She went from being a cousin who I loved to a best friend, a sister, and so much more. All my trips to Karachi have taught me something, have opened my privileged and spoiled eyes to harsh realities of the world. Yet, through all the flaws in the city, I truly love Karachi. If not for the family it holds, but for the lessons it has taught me. Some of my Pakistani friends hate Pakistan. They recommend you don't go, but I disagree. There is a beauty in the city, a beauty you won't find somewhere else.

If home is where the heart is, then my home is Karachi. I have two homes, and that is what a technical immigrant is. Someone whose home is divided; the home of their family and the home of their childhood. Where they come from and where they are raised, split into two. Neither here nor there.

A few years ago, I read that immigrant children tend to be very confused because Americans say they are not American, and Pakistanis say they are not Pakistani (this is applicable to whatever two places you are split between; this is just my split). The question was very simple: where do we belong? Do we belong anywhere? The answer? It is that you belong in both places. You are lucky. You have two places to call your own, and you have two teams to root for. (If you so choose, if you want to choose one, then you can, I'm not stopping you.) I am both. I am a Pakistani-American, or an American-Pakistani. I represent two countries and two cultures.

Thank you all for your support these past few weeks. Your comments and support really give me confidence to keep on writing. Thank you so much! It means the world to me!

-Mahahahahahahaha