When I first moved to Aotearoa New Zealand, my very first photography assignment was on tūrangawaewae, a Māori concept meaning “a place to stand,” or “a sense of belonging.” It’s the idea that everyone has a foundation — this can be a place, a community, or even a purpose, that grounds them and gives them strength. It was a beautiful word, but it also felt like a heavy one, especially for someone who had just arrived and wasn’t sure where “belonging” even began. I remember sitting in that class on my first day of school, still trying to find my way around the building, and suddenly being asked to explore where I truly belong.

At that point, I had just moved from Mozambique, the third country my family had lived in, to Palmerston North, New Zealand, the fourth country I would now call home. The word tūrangawaewae felt distant, almost foreign. The language, the concept, and everything in between were new to me. I had never paused long enough to think about belonging. Moving so often meant my life was always about adapting, I was constantly learning new accents, new languages, new ways of fitting in, and about new people. I was always “the new kid,” and while that came with its challenges, it also pushed me to be curious, flexible, and observant.

But continuous movement does something to you. You learn to blend in quickly, sometimes at the cost of losing sight of who you are. Adaptability becomes a second skin. You learn to read rooms, match energies, and find your footing in unfamiliar spaces.

For a long time, I referred to Pakistan as home, having been born there and obviously holding that passport. But I soon realised my home was never a specific place on the map. It wasn’t a house or a city, instead it was moments and core memories: my mum’s cooking, the sound of familiar music, my family’s laughter, and the comfort of people who understood my mix of languages mid-sentence without flinching, sometimes even the awkward swap of my “vs” and “ws” when I was flustered. Home became less about geography and more about people and feelings. Still, belonging sometimes felt just out of reach, something that came more easily to those who had only ever known one place. I fell in love with each city more than the last, making it hard to keep up with my sense of belonging.

That photography assignment on tūrangawaewae forced me to slow down. It made me think not about where I was, but what I stood for. I realised that belonging isn’t something anyone can hand to you, it’s something you shape for yourself. It doesn’t have to be one single thing. It can be a patchwork of cultures, memories, and moments (and that’s exactly what I photographed).

Growing up across continents gave me pieces of different worlds. I carried bits of home in every country I lived in: the hospitality of Pakistan, the kindness of Uganda, the warmth of Mozambique, and the inclusivity of New Zealand. But I never had the full picture of any one culture. I often felt too foreign for here and too different for there, constantly hovering between worlds.

Being a third-culture youth taught me that my story didn’t have to fit into neat boxes. The very thing that once made me feel different slowly became my strength. I could understand people from many backgrounds, connect across divides, and bring empathy into every space I entered. Living between cultures gave me the ability to see the world through many lenses at once.

Even with that realisation, it wasn’t always easy. There were times I felt like I had to tone down parts of myself to be understood — I was too “cultural” in one room and too “westernised” in another. If you’ve ever felt caught between cultures, unsure of where you belong, I’ve learned something important: your roots can grow and change with you, and your tūrangawaewae doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s, as long as it feels like yours.

Over time, all that moving helped me understand myself more deeply. I realised I felt most at home in multicultural spaces, around young people and wahine (women) navigating identity, change, and belonging in their own ways. Wanting to stay connected to my roots while honouring who I was becoming led me to get involved and I did that through school committees, volunteering, community spaces, and work. That involvement eventually turned into intention and purpose. I began to see that creating spaces of belonging for others was also how I strengthened my own. This understanding led me to help build and contribute to spaces like the Palmerston North Multicultural Youth Council, the Manawatū Multicultural Council, and Te Tira Ahu Pae.

Helping others find their place in a community showed me that belonging isn’t just personal, it’s communal. You can build it for others, and in doing so, you build it for yourself too. Seeing young people light up when they found connection or representation reminded me how powerful it is to be part of something bigger than yourself.

Now, when I think of tūrangawaewae, I no longer see it as a single spot on the map. It moves with me. It lives in the spaces I help create, the people I connect with, and the values I hold close.

When it came time to complete that photography assignment, I realised my tūrangawaewae wasn’t something I could photograph as a place. Instead, I captured what I carried with me. My final project became a blend of my worlds, it showed traces of my culture woven into a Western setting, familiar textures and symbols placed where they didn’t traditionally belong. It was my way of saying that even when you are far from what once felt like your only home, your roots don’t disappear. Every place I’ve lived and every community I’ve been part of has shaped me.

I’ve included my photography panels below and would love to know what tūrangawaewae looks like for you.

Imposter syndrome is a term I have heard being used constantly in spaces with youth, young professionals and new leaders. Last week I was having a conversation with my brother as he was writing his scholarship applications for university. Everything I suggested he apply for, he’d respond with “I won’t get it, I’m not smart enough”. I never saw that side of him, and I have always thought of him as someone who’s so well rounded — he’s a great sportsman, tends to get good grades, volunteers, and more. So him underestimating his own potential was a very low blow, but I guess not completely shocking as we all, at some point, doubt ourselves. He, like most young people, had succumbed to the pressures of it all and is starting to doubt himself. He’s a victim of imposter syndrome.

So what exactly is imposter syndrome, and why is it so common amongst the youth?

Imposter Syndrome is a term that resonates with many leaders, especially younger ones and those who are stepping into new roles. At its core, it is the feeling of self-doubt and inadequacy despite clear evidence of success or ability. It makes you feel like you don’t deserve the success coming your way and that your achievements were just flukes and out of pity or luck. Maybe it’s most common in our younger generation as they are finding their footing and discovering their identity, building careers, and navigating pressure from academics, peers, and social media. Youth is often seen as a time to live without worries, yet growing expectations and pressures can quietly take away that freedom. Today’s youth are constantly exposed to unrealistic portrayals of success on social media, making it easy to slip into harmful comparisons. This endless measuring-up fuels self-doubt and sets unattainable expectations that only deepen the cycle of imposter syndrome.

The rise in imposter syndrome can be traced to a mix of personal and societal pressures. The 4 Ps of imposter syndrome (perfectionism, procrastination, paralysis, and performance) create unhealthy cycles of stress and self-doubt. It is also fuelled by a fixed mindset, lack of representation, low self-esteem, fear of failure, and a pessimistic outlook on life and opportunities. Social media only magnifies these struggles by highlighting people’s success without showing the struggles behind them. Having said that, it was not the biggest surprise when I found out that around 70% of people will experience imposter syndrome at some stage in their lives, with students and early-career professionals/leaders among the most affected.

Lets navigate imposter syndrome effectively and break down the 4 P’s. They capture the different ways self-doubt shows up, and by naming and detecting them, we can start breaking free from their grip.

• Perfectionism — Many young professionals feel they must do everything flawlessly, as if anything less than “perfect” exposes incompetence. This constant pressure often leads to burnout, harsh self-criticism, and an unwillingness to take risks. Focus on progress over perfection
• Procrastination — Often fuelled by perfectionism, procrastination emerges when fear of failure or “being found out” makes us delay action. Waiting for the “perfect” time or outcome only stalls progress. Break tasks into smaller steps, set accountability deadlines
• Paralysis — Overthinking every option until you’re frozen. Fear of judgment or making mistakes can prevent forward movement and stall opportunities. Trust your preparation. Growth comes from action, not stagnation.
• Performance — working harder and longer to “prove” worth. While this might look like success from the outside, it often comes at the cost of mental health and balance. Redefine what success looks like. Have balance and boundaries. Recognise your value without overextending yourself.

Easier said than done, right? Let’s break these down even further for more clarity.

My suggestions as a starter would be:

• Focus on progress over perfection — This can be done by recognising your own achievements, and take credit where necessary. Set small realistic goals , and be consistent with your achievements.
• Break tasks into smaller steps, set accountability deadlines —Use your calendar, tick off your to-do lists, and track your progress. I have grown up with my dad always saying “Things that get measured, get done.”, put that saying into use!
• Trust your preparation — Growth comes from action, not stagnation — Focus on what you can control. If you’re improving even a bit everyday, you’re doing better than most people. Consistency is key here. If you catch yourself spiralling into overthinking, set a timer and commit to acting within it. Momentum builds clarity.
• Redefine what success looks like. Have balance and boundaries. Recognise your value without overextending yourself — Create boundaries that protect your energy. It doesn’t always have to mean doing more. Sometimes success is balance, rest, and saying no.

Beyond these strategies, cultivating a growth mindset is key. Challenge yourself, embrace constructive feedback, and accept temporary setbacks as part of learning. Safe spaces, mentoring, and community also matter. Many people around you may have had similar experiences and can offer support. Above all, acknowledge your achievements, recognise your capabilities, and practice compassion toward yourself. That resilience will carry you forward.

These tips are just a starting point, to work on yourself. The second you begin putting conscious effort into yourself, you’ll start to see that the opportunities coming your way aren’t accidents, they’re not just being handed to you. They are the result of your own effort and growth. At the end of the day, imposter syndrome is less about the world telling you “you can’t” or “you don’t belong” and more about your inner voice trying to hold you back. Once you learn to quiet that voice and replace it with self-belief, you realise that you do deserve your seat at the table, and the environment you are in. All the best with your journey!