I Was Ashamed Of My Pakistani Passport…Until I Gave It Back
Getting my first passport was bittersweet. Sweet because I was traveling outside Pakistan for the first time in my life. Bitter because the passport represented everything I hated about myself and where I grew up.
I grew up with complicated feelings towards my motherland.
When I looked around, all I saw were problems.
There was the class system…
Low-income domestic workers were considered sub-human. Social striations meant that it was acceptable to shout orders at your maid. In my home, we had separate metal cutlery that was reserved for the maid. She couldn’t eat off the same glassware that the family used. She couldn’t even sit at our dinner table; she ate sitting cross-legged on the floor instead.
My mother had no malicious intent — in her world, this was normal. But it never sat well with me.
There was the fear of minorities…
With a 98% Muslim majority, Christians and Hindus were considered a museum piece — safe behind glass doors but fair game for us to comment upon. They were different. They had oddball customs and rituals that made no sense. They weren’t one of us.
