Rejection is an emotional wound inflicted when we feel we do not belong. On what parameters do we gauge our sense of belonging to anything? How do we define our identity and how does our identity define us? Inspired by Amin Maalouf’s writing on “In The Name of Identity”, I would like to share some words that crossed my mind.
I rejected my homeland for insecurities, forgetting that amidst the insecurities it gave me birth securely.
I rejected my land for poverty, forgetting amidst the poverty it gave me bread and kept my stomach full.
I rejected my home for lack of opportunities, forgetting that it gave me a career, a recognition which became my pride.
I rejected my country for money, forgetting that it gave me enough to survive and to spend happily.
My Paki who bore my tantrums of staying up late and craving for food at unusual times, by providing me with the best finger licking foods past midnight.
Who gave peace by surrounding me with mountains and landscapes, and showed me diversity with varying cultures in each of the provinces.
Who taught love by bringing me up in big families, and instilled generosity by sharing basic necessities.
Here I am in an alien land where I strive to be what I am not,
where I try to mould my identity by twisting and rolling my tongue to form accurate accent,
wearing half dresses to look similar to my hosts, eating foods similar to my identity-blended with flavors.
Despite being a permanent resident, I fear of BEING rejected.