The country of longing

Noor M
Noor M
Aug 9, 2017 · 1 min read

It’s a funny thing, being the child to immigrant parents. Despite gaining citizenship, they still long for their home country, for their family and the environment in which they grow up in.

For their children, it’s a different matter.

Where do we belong — here or there? Well, if it’s ‘here’, then physically, of course I don’t belong. I have to get back to my own country. I have to make sure I’m back before it’s dark. I have to feel unsafe in my own skin every time I walk the streets. And yet, I grew up here.

On the flip side, there’s the ‘there’. Physically of course, I belong. Perhaps my exterior demeanour poses a few things which seem a little out of place, such as my fairer skin, or my £20 watch which suddenly looks designer. But there are smaller things, less obvious, hidden under the surface which slowly pushes me to the fringes. The subtle language jokes, the customs and manners, the constant need to please everyone.

As Suketu Mehta explained exquisitely:

“When you were there, you wanted to come here. Now that you’re here, you want to go back. I was an exile. I was an adulterous resident: when I am in one city, I am dreaming of the other. I am an exile; citizen of the country of longing.” — Maximum City: Bombay Lost and Found

Such is the plight of an immigrant.

Noor M

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Noor M

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