Before I begin, there are three disclaimers I want to share:
1. I am speaking on behalf of myself, and myself only. I do not claim to speak on behalf of all Muslim women, all Pakistani women, all hijabis, or all ANYTHING. In my post below, I will discuss hijab and how it relates to other individuals, but again, I am speaking from my perspective only.
2. My views have stayed the same for years now, but people either don't know what my views or are do not care what my views are. Either way, I will reiterate them for anyone who isn't aware:
"A lot of girls are forced to wear the hijab by either their family members, the law, or the culture they live in. This. Is. Wrong. When will we as human beings allow women to make choices for themselves, especially in how they dress? Whether they want to wear a pant suit to work instead of a pencil skirt, a hijab instead of done up locks, a burkini instead of a bikini, or a bikini instead of a burkini, I really do not believe that it is anyone's decision but the woman's herself!... Let's just let everyone chose, and I mean really chose, what they want to wear instead of forcing anything upon them, whether that be nakedness or being covered up." Oh, and FYI, "nakedness" was not a derogatory statement, nor was "being covered up". Okay? Okay.
3. I will be talking about sexual abuse and harassment. So, if you would rather avoid reading about that, please do not read further.
Now... Where to begin? I guess we can start at the actual beginning, my year 1 and my year 2 reflections. If you would like to read them, which I recommend that you do before reading this particular post, click here, and then click here.
It's been five years since I started wearing the hijab. Well, technically, it's been over five years. I first wore my hijab, as an official hijabi, on 6/16/2015, and today is 9/13/2020. I promised myself that, regardless of if I continued wearing my hijab or removed it, that I would reflect on this journey periodically. When June, 2020 came along, I remembered that it's been five years. I thought about writing something, but I didn't know what to write, because nothing has really changed at all since year 1 and year 2. So, I didn't write anything, and continued with my life as usual (well, as usual as it can be with a pandemic!). But, over this past weekend, a few things have happened and a few conversations have been held that, well, really bugged me. And it's inspired me to explore that more here, on my diary, on my blog, where I can say whatever I want to say and no one can say otherwise because, hey, this is my safe space, and I don't owe anything to anyone.
I don't owe anything to anyone. I struggle with that statement, a lot, and in many different ways. My body is mine, and mine only. That is something else I struggle with. I have to remind myself of these two things quite often, and I have no doubt that this because I am a survivor. Yup, me too. Now, you might be wondering what that has to do with my hijab story, and well, the truth is, it has everything to do with it, and everything to do with why I am writing this post right now.
My passport country is Pakistan (lol, I rewrote that sentence approximately seven times. "I am from Pakistan." *erase* "I was born in Saudi Arabia and have lived all over the world, but I am a Pakistani." *erase* "I'm a TCK, but I am from Pakistan, even though I've technically never really lived there." *erase*... TCK problems, am I right?). And, recently, there have been quite a few protests happening in Pakistan. Some of these protests are quite ridiculous while others are, heartbreakingly, very justified and needed.
I try to avoid sharing anything on my Instagram stories that may be seen as "political", because I know there are too many injustices happening daily, all over the world, and if I share one, but I don't share the other, I feel like I am sending the wrong message. That said, because I know people love twisting other people's words, I support as many causes as I can in other ways that do not need to be broadcasted on social media. (In simple words: I support everyone's right to liberty, justice, and peace. I actively fight for those things in other ways than posting on my social media). Because I am a survivor, however, and Pakistan is my passport country, it's hard for me to not show my support for the protesters fighting the patriarchy and fighting to end rape culture. So, this weekend, I shared a few posts on my story in support of the protests. And lo and behold, someone DM'ed me, kindly letting me know they think I'm hypocritical for wearing a hijab (which is, obviously, always a symbol of oppression - that's sarcasm if any of you weren't able to pick it up) and standing against rape culture. More exactly, this person said: "How can you cover your hair and then say rape is bad? You are reiterating that a woman deserves to be raped unless she is covered up."
I just stared at my screen for the past five minutes because I don't even know where to begin...
Some people who were raised with religion, and faced trauma either because of it or regardless of it, run away from it the first second they get, others sprint towards it, and others just kind of go with the flow. I would say I've always been in the third category.
I faced direct sexual abuse as a child, and I also faced more indirect sexual harassment. For the purpose of this post, I'm going to focus on the latter. And I'm going to start at the very beginning.
I was born in and spent the first 11 years of my life in Saudi Arabia. I lived with my family in a gated, very Westernized community, where we did not have to follow the rules and regulations of Saudi Arabia. Women were allowed to wear whatever they wanted, allowed to drive, and so forth. But as soon as we left those gates that separated our community with the real Saudi Arabia, everything was different. My mom and I had to cover our bodies in black robes (abayas) and our hair in scarves. This was both in respect to the culture of the country we were in, but also because, well, legally we had to. Saudi Arabia has modernized a little bit since then (women do not have to wear abayas anymore, and women can also drive). Girls in Saudi Arabia typically start wearing an abaya around the time they hit puberty (or start looking "womanly", whatever that means). Since I reached puberty relatively young, I think I started wearing an abaya when I was maybe 8 or 9, and then started wearing a scarf with my abaya when I was maybe 13. The reason I'm giving all this backstory is because most of the sexual harassment I faced in my whole life was in Saudi Arabia, in my childhood, and while I was wearing either just an abaya or an abaya and hijab.
So let's break that down further. I'll tell you one story that I can't seem to forget, no matter how hard I try. My parents and I often used to go to a Pakistani grocery store in Khobar (a city 2 hours away from home, with basically only desert separating the two places). I clearly remember that once when we visited, and I was maybe 10 or 11 years old (and had previously been molested, on multiple occasions, by two different individuals), a grown man who worked there kept following me around. I think I was browsing one an isle with my parents, and they must have walked away but I stayed. Once I noticed this grown man staring at me, I tried to find them. And he followed me everywhere I went. He even winked at me. I almost started crying, thinking he too would molest me (and, honestly, if I didn't find my parents in time, he probably would have). I ran, and he walked fast behind me so as to not cause suspicion. After a few minutes that felt like years, I found my parents and stayed close to them. This grown man pretended like he was fixing one of the shelves, or doing something productive with his life, and then when my parents weren't looking, he came up behind me and rubbed his genitals on my backside as he passed me. Okay, after writing that out, lol, maybe he did molest me, but I never thought of this that way because in the other instances, the individuals directly touched my private parts whereas this man rubbed himself on like... my back lol. Just to clarify, I was definitely wearing an abaya, and I don't know, I think I had a scarf around my neck or maybe over my hair. That clearly did not stop him.
That never stopped any of them. Since then, my friends and I all faced a lot of sexual harassment whenever we went out into "real" Saudi Arabia, such as to the malls, even though we were covered in our abayas and hijabs. These boys and men could not care less if we were covered or uncovered. It didn't matter. They raped us with their eyes regardless. And no, I'm not being insensitive to rape victims by saying "they raped us with their eyes", because that's exactly how my friends and I described it when we were CHILDREN. We would say those boys and men are "eye raping us", as in, staring at us and at our covered private parts so intensely that it feels like they are raping us. The same used to happen to me in Pakistan, too, when I would go out wearing salwar kameez (modest traditional Pakistani clothes). Please do not blame my parents, by the way. I do not blame them. They did not know. I never told them. They couldn't help me, because they never knew what I was going through.
I don't feel like it is necessary to give any more examples, but I hope you can see that covering my body and/or hair did not prevent me from being treated like a sexual object... I never believed in that narrative, because of my own experiences. Being covered did not help me or prevent me from facing the abuse and harassment that I faced in my life, particularly in my childhood. So I would never, ever, spew that narrative on anyone else.
Since people like to assume things, instead of asking for other people's views directly, I will state something else now: I believe, have always believed, and will always continue to believe, that no one has the right to do anything to anyone without their consent, regardless of what they are or are not wearing. What I mean by that is, I don't care if someone is butt-naked or in a burkha, NOTHING gives anyone the right to do anything to them without their consent. And, it is NEVER the victim's fault. NEVER. Okay? Okay.
So, now, what does any of this have to do with my five year hijab reflection? Everything. I've realized that people will always think what they want to think about me. Even when I write pieces as vulnerable as this and broadcast them online for the world to see, the majority of people who know me will never read this, and also will never ask me for my views. They will assume what they want to, stick to that narrative, and then probably apply that narrative to other hijabis too. I am not oppressed. I do not believe a woman (or anyone) should face sexual violence if they are not covered up. No one forced me to wear a hijab. No one will harm me if I take it off someday. And, I do not believe that a piece of clothing prevents sexual violence. So stop assuming things about me, okay? Okay.
Now let's talk about each of those statements, one by one.
I am not oppressed. I am really not. And I feel ridiculous writing this, haha. It's like having to say, "I do not have blue eyes," and people are staring at me and telling me that yes, I do have blue eyes or something. It feels crazy. MANY women are forced to wear hijab. Do I support that? No. I never supported that, and never will. Hijab should ALWAYS be a woman's choice. And to clarify - when I wore it in Saudi Arabia, I wrote it because I legally had to and also wanted to respect the culture of the country I lived in. I did not wear it because I identified as a "hijabi". And, just to clarify, because again, I feel like people are looking for ways to twist my words in to whatever they want to believe - I DO NOT SUPPORT GOVERNMENTS TELLING WOMEN HOW TO DRESS. That goes to Iran, Saudi Arabia, etc. but also also to countries like France, where hijabs and niqaabs and god knows what else are banned; everyone should be allowed to wear whatever they want or do not want to wear, okay? Okay. So, what I'm trying to say is that, YES - there are many individuals who are forced to wear a hijab, and that is not okay! That said, I am not one of those individuals - I am wearing this out of my own desire to, not because anyone forced me to or pressured me to. So no, I, Ayesha S., am not oppressed.
I do not believe a woman (or anyone) should face sexual violence if they are not covered up. I will repeat myself - I don't care if someone is standing in front of you butt naked or in a burkha, neither choice of dressing gives someone the right to molest, rape, harass, or anything. Period.
No one forced me to wear hijab. I often see people trolling this statement on YouTube and Instagram comments. The trolls say things like, "you're brainwashed,", "try taking it off then and see what happens to you,", your religion is forcing you," etc. Listen, I am a Muslim, and my religion does advise women to guard their modesty. I'm not going to deny that. But my religion also advises men to guard theirs as well. My religion also tells both sexes to lower their eyes. My religion also tells everyone not to rape, molest, and harass people. I think I am going to stop talking about religion now because, to be totally honest with everyone, religion is probably the smallest and last reason I continue wearing my hijab today. That's right. I have so many other reasons that I continue to be a hijabi that are bigger than my religion, and that is because I believe hijab is a woman's choice. Like, I understand how ironic this statement is because hijab is a symbol of religion, but it is so insignificant of a reason for me (ME!!!!!!!!! I'm talking about ME! Not every single Muslim or hijabi out there) to continue wearing it, that if I decide to take it off some day, I will not hesitate because of religious reasons. In my interpretation, hijab is a woman's choice, and Islam teaches modesty to both sexes. Anyways, no, I am not brainwashed by my family or my faith.
No one will harm me if I choose to take it off some day. My family will not murder me, or ostracize me, or anything, really. Again, there are many women who are forced into wearing hijab, and forced into keeping it on. There are many women who would face intense criticism and even death threats for taking it off. And then, there are many women who would genuinely be murdered (or "honor killed" for removing it). Just look at Dina Tokio. I encourage all Muslims to watch that video and reflect on every word she reads out loud. Muslims are some of the most hypocritical people out there...* (I'll continue this rant after I finish writing everything else I wanted to say). But guys, like I said on my first disclaimer, I am talking about me, myself, and I. And nothing will happen to me if I take off my hijab. I am not being forced into wearing it by my family, my government, or anyone else. I KNOW this is not the narrative of so many other women and girls in the world - guys. But that is my truth. I am very privileged and lucky to be able to decide for myself how I want to dress.
I do not believe that a piece of clothing prevents sexual violence. It certainly did not stop it for me, and for millions or billions of other girls and women out there. Repeat after me: sexual violence is never the victim's fault. Never. No matter what.
Okay, now just really quick - back to the point I made about Dina Tokio... If you read my first year reflection, you will read me talking about how Dina was an inspiration or role model to me. And she was. She continues to be. She really helped me in so many ways when it comes to my hijab journey, and I know that is the same for so many other hijabis too. For those of you who don't know who she is - Dina Tokio is a YouTuber who started her channel as a hijabi, and kind of started the modest fashion movement. She made many women feel like they could wear hijab or modest clothing and still feel / look beautiful. She inspired many women to wear hijab. And then, one day, she took it off. That caused a lot of controversy in the Muslim community. Please watch the video I hyperlinked above. It is filled with hate comments and death threats by fellow "Muslims" who are shaming her for taking off the hijab. This is what I mean when I say that Muslims are so hypocritical. This is what I fight against every single day. This is (one of the reasons) why I continue wearing my hijab - NOT BECAUSE I am afraid I will receive similar threats, but rather, because I want to fight that narrative that women start wearing the hijab because they are forced to, and then do not remove it because they will face threats or be murdered. I've been staring at my computer, writing this, for over two hours now. I don't know if I'm making sense anymore but I hope I am. What I'm trying to say is that, I am trying to fight everyone, Muslims and non-Muslims, who feel like it is their right to tell anyone what to wear (or what not to wear). And that is one of the reasons I continue wearing my hijab. Because it is my choice, and I want to, and I will not take it off because someone thinks I am oppressed. And I am writing this because no one will talk to me like they talked to Dina if I take it off. And Dina took it off, and kept it off, regardless of what those people said to her. She was not scared into keeping it on, or putting it back on. She did what was right for her. And that's exactly what I will continue doing too. I will continue doing what is right for me. And what's right for me, today, on 9/13/2020, is to continue wearing my hijab and fighting for my right to do so. And fighting for the right of every single girl or woman who wants to take it off, too.
Okay, this is a lot. This was emotionally draining to write, and not how I expected to spend my Sunday afternoon. I think I need to stop now and walk away from this. There will always be more to say. There will always be more to fight for. There will always be more for me to defend. And no matter how much I explain myself, my choices, and my decisions, there will always be someone who thinks they know better than me, about me. There will always be someone who thinks I am brainwashed, or forced into this, or oppressed, or in support of women being forced to keep their hijab on. How can I summarize everything I've said in one sentence? Let me try.
A person should have the choice to wear what they want to wear, or do not want to wear, and no one (not their family, their government, their spouse, their workplace, or anyone else) should be able to tell that person otherwise; I do not support anyone being forced into wearing clothing they do not want to wear, or taking off clothing they do want to wear.
That is my belief. And that is why I continue wearing my hijab, loudly and proudly. Because it is my choice, my right, and because I want to.
I've learned a lot about society, and myself, in these past five years of wearing hijab. Being a hijabi has not limited me in any way. It has not prevented me from doing anything I want to do. It has not stopped me from living my life. I have learned how to be more confident than I ever was before I started wearing hijab. I have found a stronger voice, too - one that allows me to scream when I need to scream, and one that lets me fight for what I know is right. Five years have passed since I put my hijab on for the first time, as an official hijabi. I cannot wait to see what the next five years of my life hold.
I've recently had a lot of time on my hands to do, well, nothing. Summer break and 2020's pandemic has made that my reality. And doing nothing has lead me to have a lot of realizations. One of those realizations is a deeper understanding of my own fascination and adoration of the day and night sky.
When you move continent to continent and/or country to country, A LOT of things change. Sometimes you move from one culture to a completely different one, or from a country that speaks one language to another country that speaks an entirely different one. You go from seeing the same faces and hearing the same voices, to not knowing anyone and not anyone knowing you. There are so many changes.
One of the single constants, regardless of where you move to or from, is the sky. It is always the same, even when everything else is so different.
Some of my earliest memories are of my family and I taking these two hour road trips between home (Udhailiyah) and the closest major city (Khobar) in Saudi Arabia. There was basically nothing in between except desert. The sky was typically clear with few clouds on our way there. We would typically start our return journey after dark, and I would see the most spectacular array of stars shining for me on the way back. Oh, and the moon seemed like it was always following us too, haha. It always brought me so much comfort. I never felt scared even though besides the moon and stars, and a couple of random cars here and there, it was pitch black on those deserted desert highways. It was the most comforting feeling. I felt like they were watching over me.
Fast forward to my first major move (i.e. cross continents), which was from Saudi Arabia to England. I really didn't expect the culture shock that was about to hit me like a boulder. I was 11, and very naive. Everything felt different. I felt so out of place. No one knew me and I didn't know anybody. I felt so alone... But what really surprised and comforted me was the sky. I have a clear memory of feeling very out of place in England, and feeling very comforted at the thought that the sky is exactly the same as the sky in Saudi Arabia. I mean, it's not like I thought the sky would be purple with green clouds or the moon would be florescent pink, haha, but that was one of the things that stayed constant. And that brought me so much comfort. I felt like even though no one there knew me, and I constantly had to redefine myself and prove myself to all these strangers, the moon knew me and the stars did too. They watched me grow up, after all.
Since then, I moved many more times. From England to Italy, Italy back to Saudi Arabia, Saudi Arabia to Jordan, Jordan back to England, England to the U.S., and then four cities (so far) in the U.S. Everything changed with every move. When I was younger, I moved with my parents and brother. As I got older, I moved by myself. And every move was lonelier than the last. The sky was really the single, only constant.
Fast forward to present day. The last few days of summer break in 2020's Covid-19 pandemic. I've felt extremely lonely this past summer. That's honestly not anything new for me - I always feel lonely because I am typically always alone. The difference is that, before, I always had the option to travel and see my family. Now, I really don't. Not with this pandemic. So I've been stuck, quarantining alone. And yet again, the one constant has been the beautiful sky which has brought me so much comfort day and night after day and night.
There are few things in life that bring me as much joy and comfort as the night sky does with her moon and her stars. And now, I think I know why.
If you want to read more about my fascination of the sky, the moon, the stars, space, astronomy as a whole, see below. And, lastly, thank you for taking the time to read this post. It means the world to me.
"Ayesha, it's 11:11! Make a wish!" That's basically what I told myself almost every single day of this summer. Since I was a little girl, every time I noticed it was 11:11, I'd make a wish. Me catching an 11:11 was almost as rare as me seeing a shooting star (oh, I make wishes on those too), so my wishes usually were for more immediate things. "I wish to pass this spelling test," "I wish that Amma let's me go to the lock in on Wednesday night," "I wish ____ text's me today," "I wish...."
This summer, somehow, I caught so many 11:11s. I didn't actually notice until I started running out of things to wish for, and so started wishing for the same things over and over again. So, this was also the most stressful summer of my life. And I know I've been saying that almost every summer since I turned 20, but I don't know... I think this one takes the cake.
There were so many things running around in my mind and causing me stress. Some things were from my past, some from my present, and some from my future. I just wrote a huge post about everything that caused me anxiety this past summer, but decided to delete all of it. It doesn't matter. What does matter, though, are those 11:11s. Even though I had more stress and anxiety this summer than anytime before in my life (thank you all of my previous life's traumas for turning me into this mess), I kept making those wishes.
You see, a lot happened this summer. I moved. I finished school (completely! I've been in school nonstop since kindergarten, and now I have three degrees behind my back. I'm done!). I got a job that starts, well, tomorrow. I applied for my work authorization and freaked out that it wouldn't come in time. I worried about something else, that I want to keep personal. A lot happened. It was quite an eventful summer. And every time I hit those 11:11s, I wished for whatever was the closest thing causing me stress. For example, I wished I'd get a job. Then I wished I'd survive my last month of graduate school. Then I wished I'd get an apartment I like. Then I wished my move would go smoothly. Throughout all those wishes, I also wished that my OPT would process in time.
I realized I was living in survival mode. And quite honestly, I've been living in survival mode for years now. It's not something new to me. I feel like I've spent more of my life living in survival mode than not. Every time I think things are settling down, something else happens. There's something new to worry about. And it's never just little things, like, oh I hope I pass that exam. It's always big things. And it's made me extremely strong, but also made me realize my soul has become very tense, and always ready for the worst. This summer of 11:11s made me face this, and now I'm slowly trying to breathe in and breathe out, and let my soul relax. I'm trying to convince myself that I don't need to be in survival mode anymore, and that it's all going to be okay. Because, well, it is.
Everything worked out. I was so worried about moving, especially without being allowed to drive. But hey, I moved, and I love where I'm living now. I was so worried about my OPT not being approved in time, but it was! It was approved right on time, actually. I was so worried about so many things, but they all worked out. I MADE IT. I'm okay. I'm fine. I feel like I'm trying to convince myself, haha. It's something I'm still working on :).
What I'm trying to get to is that all my 11:11 wishes from this past summer came true. Well, the "immediate" ones - I'm still waiting to see about the future ones! Maybe that's because I wished for things that were probably going to come true anyways (a self-fulfilling prophecy), but even though that's the logical answer, I don't think that's the right one.
This summer, filled with 11:11s, taught me to have a little more faith in God, the universe, and destiny, and in the plan He has for my life. I am 25 years old now, and I think this age is a real turning point for me. I think I am finally going to allow myself to come out of survival mode, and instead of fighting against the universe, allow the universe to take me on the journey it has planned for me. I mean, I'm going on that journey whether I like it or not, so I might as well enjoy the ride, right? That's what I mean. It is all going to be okay. It is.
Thank you, summer of 2019 and all of your 11:11s, for making me make it through the last mile of this marathon and helping me realize I was in survival mode, and that it's okay to let go of that. I promise, Universe, I will have more faith in you. Today marks the end of this era, and tomorrow marks the beginning of a new one.
Here I come, new life. I'm ready for you.
In a parallel universe, I never moved. I was never born outside of my passport country. I was born in Islamabad, Pakistan, where my family is from, and I lived there my entire life. The following post is written under this perspective.
In a parallel universe, my mother-tongue is Urdu. I read, write, and speak it Fluently. I speak it better than any other language. Even some of my blog posts are written in Urdu.
In a parallel universe, I cook chapli kebabs, lamb biryanni, murghi ka salaan, keema, fish tikka, and bunhawa ghosht on the regular, instead of being Chipotle's numer one fan.
In a parallel universe, I fell in love with a Pakistani boy (because we all know that, even in a parallel universe, I would never settle for an arranged marriage). My parents approve, and, at 25, I'm already engaged and planning my wedding.
In a parallel universe, I'm feeling sad, because I know soon I will be moving away from my parents and the house I grew up in to live somewhere "foreign" - my fiance's parent's home.
In a parallel universe, I drive like a lunatic and honk my horn every minute, creating a beautiful song with it, because that's the norm in Pakistan.
In a parallel universe, the friends I grew up with, went to school with, went to college with, went to graduate school with, etc. all live in the same city as me, and I complain about them being a 30-minute drive away because that seems too far.
In a parallel universe, my mother never knows what sadness feels like, because her children never leave her side.
In a parallel universe, my father dreams of the "American Dream", and wishes he somehow could have sent his children to the U.S. for their studies, not realizing how wonderful of a life we have all lived in Pakistan.
In a parallel universe, the most scandalous thing I've ever done is went on a date with a boy to a local fancy, foreign restaurant.
In a parallel universe, I have two or three kittens as pets, and maybe even a parrot.
In a parallel universe, I fantasize about living abroad for a year.
In a parallel universe, I spend hours before my cousins' shaadis practicing dances for their mendhi, because I live just a few minutes away from them.
In a parallel universe, I think salwar kameez is way comfier than jeans and a t-shirt.
In a parallel universe, I never miss my brothers or my parents, because we live together, or at least nearby to each other.
In a parallel universe, my best friend is, at most, in another city, not in another continent.
In a parallel universe (in Pakistan), my hair is usually down, not up in a tight bun and hidden away under a scarf, because I don't have to prove to anyone what a "normal Muslim" is like. They already know, because they are all (or most of them) normal Muslims.
In a parallel universe, I dream of living alone somewhere abroad, in my own little one-bedroom apartment with a gorgeous balcony, driving a cute Honda Civic, and having all the freedom in the universe, instead of being stuck at my parents' house.
In a parallel universe, when someone asks me where I'm from, I don't have to think about it or give them a rehearsed paragraph response. I just simply say, "Islamabad".
In a parallel universe, I procrastinated doing my "work" work by writing on my blog about how, in a parallel universe, I was born abroad, lived in ten cities, five countries, and three continents by the time I was 25, and lived the life of a TCK.
So here’s something I don’t talk about often enough: why I so desperately want to move back to my passport country, Pakistan, and why I can’t.
The world has many misconceptions about Pakistan. Many, many, many. Almost every time I get into an Uber, and they ask me where I’m from, I tell them, “I’m from Pakistan”. If I’m feeling chatty, I add, “…but I grew up all over the world”. Either way, they tend to focus on the “I’m from Pakistan” part of things. They ask me, “That part of the world is really dangerous right?”, or “Women don’t really have rights there right?”, or “What is it like living there?” with expectations that I’ll say horrible, horrendous unlivable, hence why I’m here.
But that’s not the case. At least, not for me…. Just like *every single country on the face on planet Earth*, Pakistan has it’s upsides and its downsides, and more often than not, if you are wealthy / come from a wealthy background or privileged background, then it’s not so bad. Actually, it’s often not bad at all. I’m going to focus on my perspective and lifestyle, and not put words into the mouths’ of people’s lives that I have not lived.
So…. I really want to move back to Pakistan. Islamabad, in particular. I’m not sure if I’d want to move to any other part of Pakistan, actually, simply because I don’t know anyone, and all of my family that I’m close with in Pakistan live in Islamabad. To this date, I’ve never REALLY lived in Pakistan.
From my birth, until I was about 18 years old, my family and I would go to Pakistan once a year. Typically, it was over the summer holidays. From birth until I was around eleven or twelve years old, we went consistently, every single summer, for about two months. I used to LOVE it as a child, and then, if I’m being honest, I severely disliked it as a preteen and as a young teenager.
I loved it as a child because going back meant being spoiled with all the attention in the world from my aunts and uncles. Usually, they bought me so many gifts. It also meant that everyday was an adventure. Some days, we would visit our relatives. Other days, we would go shopping. Other days, we would spend all day and night at Nani’s (grandmother’s) house. Other times, I would be the umpire while my brothers played cricket in our garden. Often, at least two or three of my aunts and uncles would visit Nani’s house the same time we were there, and it was like a little party. I had so many cousins to play with, and the biggest, most beautiful garden to play in. The world was at my feet.
When I got a little older, I started hearing (and believing) that Pakistan was dangerous and unsafe. I also became really, really close with my friends, and knew how painful goodbyes were and could be. I wanted to spend my summer holidays in Udhailiyah, Saudi Arabia, with my friends, instead of with my cousins or family members. I wanted to stay home in Udhailiyah, where we had air conditioning and a nice car, instead of going to Islamabad, where my father drove a car that required the windows to be manually pushed up and pulled down, where the internet was slower than a turtle running a race, and where the electricity died multiple hours per day, every day (#loadshedding), forcing me to need two or three showers daily to not feel sticky, sweaty, smelly, and gross. I focused on the negatives, instead of on the positives (of which there were many). I don’t blame myself for feeling as I felt. I knew my time with my friends was limited. Our 9th grade graduation was just around the corner – life would never be the same after that. I felt like I already missed so much time with them, having spent 6th and 7th grade “abroad” (“abroad” because I was born “abroad”, and living in England and Italy was equally as abroad as living in Saudi Arabia, but Udhailiyah was, and is still, home). I just wanted to be with my friends.
I also just want to say that Islamabad (well, all of Pakistan, but I’m focusing on Islamabad) has developed so much, and so quickly, over the years. For example, let’s see… I remember when the first McDonald’s opened up in Islamabad. Karachi already had one, but Islamabad didn’t. Not that McDonald’s symbolizes modernity, but that was definitely when my views of Islamabad began to change and I started to see a lot of growth. Now, Islamabad feels a lot like Bahrain or Amman, Jordan. A mini Dubai, if you will. It has huge shopping malls with foreign stores, restaurants, cafes, cinemas, etc. There are huge cars on the roads, women drive (well, they used to when I was a kid too), people look as glamorous and classy as supermodels. There are even nightclubs, haha.
Now, as an adult, I so want to go back home. Ever since college, I dreamed of living back in Islamabad for a year. Just a year. I could study there, or work there… I could live at home, or even live at my Nani’s house, and drive my own little car. I could hang out with my cousins, who I craved (and still crave) a deeper connection with. I could have friends from home and not feel like a complete foreigner whenever I go back. I could eat amazing food on the daily. I could have someone help me with my daily chores (having a nokrani / maid makes life SO MUCH EASIER). I could officially, FINALLY say that I have lived in Pakistan.
I feel like I’m missing out. Everyone knows about the American Dream, right? Moving to the U.S. to escape poverty or whatever, looking for a better life here? I feel like I’d have a better life there… Sure, I might still be a foreigner with my thick American accent, not top-notch Urdu skills, different sense of style, but I’d be home, with people like me. I wouldn’t get weird stares from people when I forget my ID and walk around the schools with my hijab on. I wouldn’t be sarcastically asked, “you’re not going to blow up the school are you?”, lol (true stuff). I would fit in, even if I stood out a little, I would still fit in. They’d welcome me back home, with open arms. I’d be home. I’d finally feel like I belong.
Also, maybe I’m a glory hunter, but I feel like I’m missing out on such a big turning point in Pakistan’s history. Pakistan is a baby county. We just got our independence from the British, and India, in 1947. That was less than 100 years ago. That said, we are growing, developing, and modernizing at an exponential rate. Some people think we are still living in the stone age, and often times, the people who say that are from privileged backgrounds and not from countries who were conquered and corrupted by foreign empires. I want to be a part of this. I want to watch my country grow, instead of coming back home once every few years to find out it’s a foot taller, and studying astrophysics haha.
Now, in terms of why my dreams of moving back have not yet and may never become a reality:
If you scroll back, you’ll see that I mentioned my close extended family lives in Islamabad. My actual family lives in the West. My parents currently live in the UK, one of my brothers lives in Ireland, and then my other two brothers live in the U.S. One of those brothers is married, just got his U.S. citizenship, also just had a son, and plans on living here for the rest of his life. The U.S. is home to him, afterall. The brother in Ireland is currently engaged and hoping to be married in the near future. He hopes to gain Irish citizenship and spend the rest of his life there, with his soon-to-be wife. My other brother has no official ties to the U.S., but will have difficulty translating his medical degree abroad. And lastly, my parents… They only have Pakistani citizenship, and while my mother has always dreamed of moving back home to Pakistan (in fact, she never thought that she would leave…) my father has always dreamed of living the “American Dream”, and becoming one with the West. If it was up to him, he would never move back.
So here I am. I personally have no ties with the U.S., apart from that I’ve lived here for the past 6 years. Please don't misunderstand: I have nothing against the U.S., it's a beautiful country, and it is an honor and privileged to live/study here. I am certain, though, that if my brothers were not all in the U.S. when I was graduating from high school, I would have continued my education in the U.K. Now, that’s still not Pakistan, but it’s physically closer to it than the U.S. is. And even if, somehow, I ended up in the U.S., I would have left after college, and continued my graduate education somewhere else, simply because I love to travel and explore new cultures. But because my family was mostly in the U.S., and I have continuous pressure from all of them except the Ireland brother and my mother to stay here, it’s really hard for me to leave.
Apart from these struggles, as much as I would love to go to Pakistan and stay there, it is highly unrealistic for me unless my parents (or future husband) live there. My aunts would take me under their wing in under a second, but my dad would never allow it to happen. He whole-heartedly believes Pakistan is not safe for someone like me, who has an open mind, a big mouth, who fights for her rights and for social justice, and has little-to-no understanding of what living in poverty truly is like. While I disagree with him, I have to honor his wishes. I also heavily rely on him to take care of me. Lastly, there’s the whole struggle of having trouble coming back into the U.S. once you leave it. If I was an American (or British, or EU) citizen, then I wouldn’t have nearly the same issues with moving back home to Pakistan, and then coming back to where ever a year later.
So folks, there you have it. I’m just a girl who wants to go back home and experience what life at home could be like for me. But again, here I am, a girl (or woman, rather), who probably will never have the chance to move back. I can visit, but I can't live there, unless something in my life significantly changes. I haven’t been back home in almost two years now. I’ve missed my cousins’ weddings. I’ve missed my baby cousins growing up. I’ve missed my country modernizing. I’ve missed being a part of something bigger than me. And how I miss it, every day. How I miss that beautiful, clear night sky from the terrace. How I miss everything. Mera dil yaad karta hai, har din, aur har waqt.
I think there's a lot of confusion about what's going on in my life at the moment, so I thought I'd share some life updates here, on my blog. I'm not really one to post big status updates on Facebook, and I try to keep my Instagram pretty light, but I have no shame writing an essay about myself on my blog haha.
I graduated from Dickinson College with Bachelor's Degree in psychology, and left my undergrad years behind approximately 3 years ago, with plans to go to graduate school at Temple University in Philadelphia. The program I chose was the School Psychology Master's + Educational Specialist Degrees program. I followed through on my plans, and started my 3-year journey at Temple University in the fall of 2016. I began (and am still) studying to be a School Psychologist.
I'll do a little play-by-play analysis of my first two years in graduate school, but let's talk about my third / current year first, and then back track afterwards.
Currently, I am doing a full-time, paid internship at the Delaware County Intermediate Unit, with four other interns (all of us are from Temple / from the same cohort!). My current official title is Ayesha S., M.Ed, School Psychology Intern. I'm in my last year (last semester, I suppose) of graduate school. I'm not taking any classes, I'm "just" interning. That might sound weird to people who aren't too familiar with how school psychology works, but trust me, this is extremely normal. Almost all NASP (National Association of School Psychologists) approved graduate programs require a full-time, 1,200 hour internship in the student's third year of study. While in my internship, I've been essentially working as a full-time school psychologist. I've been completing psychoeducational evaluations, behavioral and academic interventions, doing counseling lessons, teaching a social-emotional curriculum, etc. I also took my PRAXIS licensing exam earlier in my internship and passed on my first try! So anyways, here I am. An intern with a Master's degree, about to finish grad school, and so close to my Educational Specialist Degree (Ed.S. Degree).
Okay, let's back track a little now. Let's talk about my first year first. My first year at graduate school was... interesting! It felt a lot like college "part two". Some of the classes I was taking (which were required by my program) were very basic, intro classes, such as this personality and psychotherapy class that I took. Others were almost completely new to me, like this introduction to cognitive assessments class that I took. Some classes were really easy, and others (intro to cognitive assessment, and advanced cognitive assessment) were a bit more challenging. Alongside the classes, I also was doing a "practicum". I went to a 3rd grade classroom at a local Philadelphia public school, once a week, and helped out however I could. Honestly, I felt a little like a teacher's aid, but it was really fun and also really helpful! It was fun because sometimes I feel like I'm still a 3rd grader in my heart, so whenever the little kiddos made, for example, a fart joke, I couldn't help but laugh too (so inappropriate, I know). The kids always made me laugh. It was really helpful because I have never studied at a public (or private, for that matter) school in the U.S. before. I spent my elementary school years in Saudi Arabia, my middle school years in England, Italy, and Saudi Arabia, and my high school years in Saudi Arabia, Jordan, and England. And while a school is a school, no matter where in the world you are, I realized there was a lot for me to learn from observing and helping out in a regular-education, public school classroom in the U.S. For example, there are so many laws regarding education that I had no idea about. I had no idea what an IEP or 504 plan was. I had a lot to learn! Apart from being a "teacher's aid" (practicum student!), I was also required to do some school-psychology related things, like practice doing the B.O.S.S. observation, as well as a behavioral intervention. Overall, I had a really positive experience. Apart from practicum and classes, I also did something called "Dino School". Now, this was a lot of fun! Basically, our cohort was broken up into groups of three-four. All the groups went to a first grade classroom to teach social-emotional skills, on a weekly basis. We achieved this by using puppets, positive reinforcement, and prizes. The kiddos seemed to love it, and I did too!
Also, on a side note, moving to Philadelphia was a bit scary, but exciting at the same time. It was my first time living alone in a big city. My brother, Adnan, used to joke and call me the "Sheep in the Big City" (a reference to a TV show we used to watch as kids). After just a few days in Philadelphia, though, I fell in love. I realized that the city wasn't all that scary, but it was certainly really exciting. I really made the most of living in the city during my two years in Philadelphia.
My second year was much, much more intensive than my first year. This is mostly true because of a "class" (honestly, it felt like a full-time job) called Clinic. Essentially, all second years were enrolled in a class called Clinic, and we ran Temple's Psychoeducational Clinic. Over the year, we had four clients / four cases, and completed their full psychoeducational assessments and reports. Our reports typically ranged from 30-60 pages, each. 30 sounds really short. I would say, on average, my reports were close to 50 pages, if not longer. I believe my shortest was 37. The full evaluation consisted of the following: 1. parent interview / developmental history interview 2. record review 3. observations (at least two, on two separate occasions and settings) 4. cognitive assessments (at least one full battery, supplemented with another, and in compliance with CHC theory) 4. academic assessment 6. social, emotional and behavioral assessments 5. diagnostics 6. summary 7. recommendations. I'm trying to remember if I'm forgetting something haha, but I don't know. It doesn't sound like a lot, but the full evaluations took approximately 8-10 weeks to complete, start to finish, if I'm remembering correctly. They were, to this date, the most intense and comprehensive reports I have ever written. Those reports were much more comprehensive than the reports I have written so far in my internship. I don't mean this in a bad way, it's just that in clinic, we tested for everything, whereas in my internship (and normal school-psychology life in general), we test for what makes sense. I'm grateful for my extremely intense clinic experience, because I learned so much from it.
It was very, very emotionally hard for me (and my peers) though. This is mostly true because of our clinic supervisor, who was famous for her criticism in CAPS LOCK, BOLDED, RED FONT, ITALICS, ETC. FOR MAKING A SINGLE, TINY, SMALL, MISTAKE. I dreaded Sundays and Mondays because I knew I would be receiving my edited reports back from her soon. She had a really bad memory, as well. She often told us to do a certain thing, and then in our next edit she would ask us in CAPS LOCK, BOLDED, RED, ITALIC FONT WHY WE DID THIS, making us feel so stupid. The only way I can really describe it is to say I felt like I am in army boot camp, and my supervisor was a hard-ass general I had to suck up to. It was really, really hard. I felt really incompetent, often. I remember asking my two friends, Rizwan and Shin, who were in Ph.D. programs how on earth they possibly do it. They reminded me that I am capable, that I do deserve to be here, and that this too shall pass. And guess what? It did. It passed. I passed. And now, as someone who isn't in that situation anymore and able to look back with a clear head, I know that it was an unhealthy supervisor-supervisee relationship. She was insane. But hey, I learned so much from her, and I remember her telling me how proud she was of how far I had come when it was all over. Hearing that from her made me feel like everything was worth it. Now, I know if I could have survived and passed that, I can do anything else that is yet to come.
Apart from clinic, I was also taking other classes, and also a practicum student again. This year's practicum was much more intensive than my first year's. I was shadowing a school psychologist, instead of working as a teacher's aid (which I really enjoyed!), and doing full, psychoeducational evaluations, as well as counseling, FBA's, interventions, and so forth. I was doing a lot! I'm really grateful to have had my 2nd year practicum experience to balance out my clinic experience, because sometimes I think that if I didn't, I may have dropped out. Clinic was brutal, because our supervisor was insane! (Oh, by the way, she stopped being a supervisor after our cohort... I don't know if she was asked to leave, was fired, or just simply retired, but she's no longer supervising). If you're interested in reading more about my second year and how difficult it was, check out this post (click here). But anyways, I survived my second year!
While in my second year, I also had my identity stolen by my roommate, India Rottenburg, (change the "O" to an "I" and you'll have her real name. I'm not making this situation up, though I wish I was). That wasn't fun. On a more positive note, though, even though I was dealing with personal problems (having my identity stolen by my roommate), getting gas lighted by my clinic supervisor, staying on top of all my classes and practicum, I also was applying for internships. Oh, I also got my Master's degree around this time - while all my roommate and clinic drama was happening. And I killing it all. I killed my interviews and got accepted to two internship sites, I passed all my classes (including clinic), I wrote amazing evaluation reports that I'm so proud of, and... I survived! Second year was the hardest year for me in terms of graduate school, but it passed, and I see that light at the end of the tunnel.
In May of 2018, when I was finishing up with my second year, I moved to Media, Pennsylvania. I moved here because my internship is in this area. I got my own apartment (no more roommates stealing my identity!). I got a car (my first car, ever!). In the fall, I started internship, and I've been killing that too. I'm not one to humble brag, but I feel like I owe it to myself to do exactly that. I look back at my life, and see how far I've come. I've faced many challenges across the years, and I feel like I'm finally standing on my own two feet. It's a really good feeling, being so close to the end of this era.
So here we are. February 22, 2019. SO. CLOSE. to graduating. So close to finishing grad school. So close to having my Educational Specialist degree. Finally feeling like a real adult, standing on my own two feet. Driving myself around in my little Honda Civic, living in a beautiful, little one-bedroom apartment with a balcony I've fallen in love with. Getting ready to apply for real jobs for the first time in my life. I've come a long way since undergrad, since my first year in grad school, and even since my second year in grad school. I'm really proud of myself and my accomplishments, and excited to go start a new era in my life: Adulthood. REAL adulthood. No more being a student. This still makes me laugh, because I'm not entirely sure if I'll ever truly be an adult, hahahaha. But yeah! That's my life update.
In summary, I'm in my last year of graduate school. I'm doing a full-time, paid internship. I have my Bachelor and Masters degrees under my belt, and am so close to having my Educational Specialist degree too. I currently have a 3.83 GPA. I live alone, in my own apartment, and have a car. I'm going to start applying for jobs soon. Life is good, and I am so proud of my journey. :)
I hope this cleared up any misconceptions and helped answer any "I wonder what Ayesha is up to" questions! As always, feel free to call me, text me, DM me, hit me up on Facebook, or contact me using the "contact me" form. I love you all <3.
I have a question for my fellow TCKs. Is it just me, or does the idea of settling down both scare you and also fill you with so much peace? Does it make your legs shake, your mind slippery-slope, and your skin crawl? But does it also, at the same time, make you feel like you are inhaling the coolest, chilliest, most refreshing breath of air, while making your heart beat slower, and sigh with relief? Because that's exactly how I feel.
The thought of settling down and living in one place forever scares me, but at the same time, brings me SO much peace. I want a home. I want a garden. I want so many pets. I want to be able to have and do normal things, like... unpack all my suitcases, permanently.
I haven't lived in the same dorm/house/apartment/whatever for longer than 1 year since before 2009. I've moved every single year for the past 10 years. When I was younger, that was fun, exciting, and often relieving (because I hated almost every dorm I lived in and couldn't wait to move!). But the older I get, the more I crave normalcy.
But, the more I crave normalcy, the more it scares me. I'm not normal. I think I'm scared of becoming normal. Of becoming a local. Of losing my desire or ability to travel and experience the world in a way you can only by moving constantly. I've always promised myself that, if I can afford to, I will travel internationally (meaning outside of whatever country I'm residing in at the time), and I really hope to bring my future children with me. That thought brings me relief. But there are so many questions I have for future me in terms of settling down.
Where? What country? What city? Is it close to family and/or friends, or out in the middle of no where? Do I like it there? Do I have to learn another language? Will I ever truly feel like I belong and am accepted there?
I guess only time will tell. For now, I'll continue my life as it is. I'll continue being a nomad, until one day, I can be a nomad no more.
There are so many little things about being a TCK that are never discussed, because they're always overshadowed by the wonders of our lifestyle, or the depression that comes with it.
I just want to take a minute to talk about those things, so that people who are not TCK's or unfamiliar with our lifestyles can have a better understanding of some of the things we go through.
1. We don't have stable health care.
What I mean by this is that, because we're constantly moving from country to country, place to place, it's extremely difficult to continue seeing the same physicians (doctors, dentists, psychologists, etc.). Every time we move, we have to reestablish ourselves as patients in the new country we're in. Also, each country has it's own laws and regulations regarding insurance and health care. It can be difficult, even if a TCK or TCA isn't chronically ill. While we can, and do, take our medical files with us every time we move, it's really hard to keep up. Unless you have a serious or chronological illness, many doctors do not have the time, patience, or will to review your entire file. They also don't have that rapport already established with you. And, they have no idea if you are a reliable reporter or not. One example from my own personal life is that in high school (in England), I suddenly had a high fever, accompanied by a stinging feeling on my face and hundreds of little whiteheads across my chin, upperlip, and cheek. Although I suffered from acne in my teenage years, whatever was happening to my face was not normal, and with the accompanied fever, I was convinced they were related and something was wrong. My parents, who have obviously seen me grow up and know what is normal and what's not normal for me and my body, saw that this was an abnormal reaction and maybe some kind of rash, and took me to the local NHS doctors. The doctor saw me for approximately 2-minutes, and completely dismissed me. She said I have acne, and whatever rash was on my face was a result of that acne. When I told her how suddenly this rash formed, and how I have an accompanying fever, she literally laughed at me, and again repeated "you have acne, that's all." I left the hospital feeling so embarrassed, ashamed, hopeless, and upset. I knew my regular doctor from back home would have known whatever I was going through was not normal and not due to my hormonal acne, and would have helped me. Instead, I got ridiculed and laughed at. My mother, who for years has been complaining about various aches and pains, is never, ever taken seriously by any doctors either, because they have no rapport with her, no history with her, and do not understand that she is a reliable reporter. It's the most frustrating situation and one of the biggest downsides to being a TCK. I am a healthy individual and do not need to go to the doctor's office regularly, but in the past ten years, any time I did go to the doctor / hospital, it was always with someone new and often in a different country, because of my lifestyle.
2. We don't have a hair dresser.
Same as above. When you move around so much, you can't really establish those connections. You have to keep finding new hairdressers, and hope that they won't butcher your hair.
3. We (as kids) or our kids will probably fall behind our/their classmates in certain subjects.
When you move around so much, it means you have to keep changing schools. Changing schools means changing curriculums. Changing curriculums means learning different things, at different paces than your peers. For example, in my own personal life, I never took a geography course, because when my classmates in Udhailiyah were taking it, I was living in England. And my classmates in England wouldn't be taking it until the following year. The following year, I was in Italy, and my classmates had already completed that course. SO, I never took a geography course in my life. I also fell really behind in math, because I kept re-learning things I had already learned in previous schools, and then when I moved back to Udhailiyah, I was significantly behind my peers.
4. People don't understand if we're a tourist, immigrant, or what.
This is ESPECIALLY true if you are a person of color. If you are white (and I don't mean this in a bad way - it just is what it is), people often will assume you're a tourist. Or, they'll think you're one of them. They won't confuse you as a refugee or immigrant. Also, white tourists are generally much more accepted than tourists of color. Same with immigrants. Same with refugees. Same with everything. It's all part of white privilege (and again, I don't mean it in a bad way - it just is what it is). My parents were living in Italy during the "Refugee Crisis", and I got so, so, so, many dirty looks when I visited them. I wanted to use a permanent marker and write on my forehead "I'M JUST VISITING MY PARENTS, WHO ARE TEMPORARILY LIVING HERE, PLEASE CHILL. WE'LL BE OUT OF YOUR COUNTRY SOON ENOUGH!" Would I receive those dirty looks if I was white? No. No one would be able to tell if I was a tourist, immigrant, refugee, migrant, etc., unless I opened my mouth and spoke (my horrible American accent would be a dead give away! - but even then, they'd assume I was a tourist, and not think twice about it). Sigh.
5. There's no going back to a "normal life". We will always be different.
I don't really know how to explain this one. It's like trying to explain what the color red looks like to someone who is color blind. Traveling really opens up your eyes. Moving across the world to various countries, living within them, and making parts of their culture your own, does the same to a significantly larger extent. You can't ever go back to being "normal"; you'll always be different, and this is a good thing. I wish more than anything, that everyone who could afford to would travel. You don't have to go far; you don't even have to leave your own country (but please do, if you can). Travel, meet other people, see other cultures, and learn that there are a million ways of doing things, not just your way.
6. We can't really have pets, because we can't travel all around the world with animals.
No explanation needed. I mean, you could have pets, but it's stressful for animals to go through big moves especially across countries or continents, frequently. Personally, I have apple snails, but dream of having a kitten one day.
7. We can't own a lot of things, like a car or a house. We're always renting.
It doesn't make sense to buy a car or a house when you're only living in that country for a few months or year! TCKs (or, actually, TCAs) typically rent. Many TCAs have houses, cars, etc. in their passport country (home country) but rent when they're abroad.
8. We have to find different products everywhere we go, because every country has its own products.
Don't get too attached to the local treats at the grocery store, because you will likely have a lot of difficulty finding them in other countries!
9. The majority of our relationships are (or will become) long-distance.
That's simply what happens when you allow your soul to connect with another, knowing you're going to be moving soon.
10. Our lives are both a blessing and a curse.
Because of all the things I noted above, and for many more reasons, being a TCK can be a bit of a curse. Personally, for me, the good outweighs the bad and I am proud of my TCK lifestyle, but hope to settle down one day. I am unsure if I would like to put my future kids through this. Rather, I would encourage traveling over moving, so that they may learn about cultures outside their own, see the world's beauty, hear songs in foreign tongues, but still have a place to come home to, a bed to sleep in, and a singular place to call home.
Hi! It's me, Ayesha from the future. I am currently 25-years-old, and you are currently 11-years-old and about to go on your first major move. Notice that I said first. That's right, this isn't the only big move you'll be making. You might be like, "Duh... I'm going to boarding school in a few years!", but still, you'll be moving a lot more than you are thinking right now. And that's okay. Don't worry. I'm here to guide you through it. Not that you need me. You were always so strong, even on your own.
Want to know what life is like as 25-year-old you? Here's a little snippet (I won't give you any major spoilers like about crushes or boys! :P You'll have to grow up and experience those for yourself). I'm living in the U.S. right now. In Pennsylvania. It's a state near New York and Washington D.C. I went to boarding school somewhere unexpected, and it was a magical experience. Then I went to college. Then, I went to graduate school (I got my Master's degree!). Now, I am in my final year of school, and will be graduating with an Educational Specialist degree in school psychology. You're going to be a psychologist, Ayesha! Who'd have thought? Apart from that, you're also about to become an aunt for the first time. A phuppo. You have three aquatic apple snails as pets (no kitty yet, sorry!). You live in a beautiful apartment with a gorgeous balcony. You drive a white Honda Civic. You're doing a full-time internship (and getting paid for it!). You're going to be looking for real jobs soon. And best of all, you're a mermaid (yes, you read that right!)
Life is good, Ayesha.
Now, it's your turn. Remind me of what's going on in your life right now. You're in 5th grade with Mr. Olson. He's so fun, isn't he? You sit next to Ru. You made butter in class (and it was delicious). Your friends are so excited about you moving to England. Your best friends, Salindi and Mehza, are so sad. You're not entirely sure how you feel. Is that correct? You live in house number 2336, by the park we used to play at every. single. day., no matter how hot and bright that blazing sun was (girl, you and I both know we rocked that tan. Oh, by the way, that tan is permanent!). You talk to Manu on the daily. You've recently become more close with Aparna, because of Manu (lolzzz). Hmm.. What else? You're the vice president of STUCO (oh, yeah, you don't know what that means yet. It means student council). Go you! You're so young, Ayesha, and your life is just beginning.
There's so much that happens between then and now. So much, Ayesha. More than you could ever dream. Sometimes, take a step back and ask myself, "Would little five-year-old Ayesha be proud of who I am now? How about 10 year old Ayesha? 13? 15?" and, to be completely honest, the answer changes sometimes. I have a few regrets, and I know you're all about that "No Ragrets" (I typed that wrong on purpose, it's a joke in the future) life. But overall, I'm proud to say that I think you'd be very happy with the woman I've become. I think you'd probably think I was pretty chubby, though - which, to be completely fair, I am! - and that's something that I'm trying to work on, hahaha.
Getting back on track: this next year is going to be hard for you, Ayesha. Really hard. Really, really, really hard. You survive it, though (clearly - hiiii). I remember how much you loved to watch Charmed (25-year-old you still loves Charmed just as much, if not more, than you do!). Remember how the sisters talk about how changing the past can change the future, and so they don't give too much information away whenever they go into the past? Same here. I won't give you too much information, because without the struggles you are about to face, I won't be me. I know that doesn't sound very fair at all, and I wish it was different. I wish you never had to face any of those struggles. I wish I, 25-year-old you, could face them instead. But remember what I said earlier about how strong you are? I mean it, Ayesha. You are the strongest person I know. You're going to be homesick a lot, Ayesha. You're going to miss your friends. You're going to hate the smell of horses, even though you love horses so much right now. You're going to listen to this song called "Bad Day" every single day. You're going to want to run away. You're going to wish you could be someone else, have a completely different life, and be a completely different person, while not really knowing that you are in the process of becoming, in fact, a completely different person. You won't really know how much you've changed until you go back to Udhailiyah, and your friends (who, in the future, are more like family to you) tell you that. But it's okay. Change isn't always bad. Change is good, sometimes, too. And hey, while this year is going to be really hard, guess what? Next year is going to be one of the best of your life! I won't give you any spoilers, but just trust me on this one. And guess what? The year after is even better, and the year after that even better...
The thing about change is that it's not easy. It's not easy to let go of your routine, or what's familiar, or who you count on. It's not easy to reinvent the wheel, which is basically what you're going to have to do. It's even more difficult when you're doing this seemingly completely on your own. It feels like sandpaper. It feels like friction (do you know what that is, yet?). The weird thing about it though is that there is no "pause" or "rewind" button. You just keep going forward, and you can't stop it. And sooner rather than later, you've changed too. You're no longer that rough sandpaper, but rather something new, something soft, something smooth. Polished. The rough friction of change often times betters you, even if it's not an easy process to go through.
I know how much you love quotes, so here's one for you: "The best is yet to come." And maybe, just maybe, that one is for me right now too. Don't forget who you are. Don't forget that I'm here for you. Don't forget how strong you are (which, honestly, you don't really know yet). Don't forget where you come from (Udhailiyah). But also, don't be afraid. Don't be shy. Don't be nervous. Be like the ocean, and just go with the flow. I promise you everything will be okay, and before you know it, you'll be me. <3
With all of my love,
I left parts of my heart in England.
Some with my old friends and our secret memories.
Some with the sidewalks I walked on daily.
Some with the swans owned by the Queen.
Some with the British accents that made my heart swoon.
Some with the afternoon cups of tea.
Some with the little FIAT 500's, Mini Coopers, and Beatles.
Some with the charming landscapes.
Some with old lovers.
Some with my current love.
And some with past me.
Yesterday, January 2nd, 2019, I flew back to the U.S. from London Heathrow, terminal three. This was the same terminal I used to fly from when I lived alone at boarding school in Jordan (#King'sAcademy), and my parents were living in Reading, England. It felt surreal. I could see 15-16 year old me walking around nervously, wearing a brave face, not letting the world see how scared I really was. I was a little baby, flying across the world to a foreign country where I lived and studied all on my own. Sometimes, I look back at those moments and wonder how I survived. Yesterday, though, was different. I could see 15-16 year old me. And it surprised me how little had changed. There I was, again, leaving my parents to go to a foreign country where I live and study all on my own, but it was the U.S. this time and not Jordan. It was grad school this time and not boarding school. It was 10 years of prior experience of living alone - not my first rodeo. And yet, I was still as scared and sad as ever, putting on a brave face so no one could see my weakness.
The first time I moved to England, I absolutely, positively hated it. I had so many expectations. My friends back in Udhailiyah (AKA "The Middle of Nowhere, Saudi Arabia") had pumped me up so much.They had told me I would have the best time, and how jealous they were of me. They would have given anything to be in my shoes. But no one told me how Virginia Waters would smell like horse poop on the daily, how I would have so much trouble understanding what people were saying because of their thick accents, how I would feel so alone and secluded, even though the U.K. is so diverse, or how much I would miss my first two homes (Islamabad, Pakistan and Udhailiyah, Saudi Arabia). I was miserable. I hated England and couldn't wait to leave. When we moved to Milan, I dreaded it so much, expecting to have the same experience. I just wanted to go home to Udhailiyah. But Milan was different. People welcomed me with arms wide open. I didn't have nearly as much trouble transitioning.
When I was 16, my dad told me his project in Reading would be lasting a year or two longer, and asked me if I wanted to move back to the UK and go to boarding school there instead. 16-year-old-me was foolish and "in love" with a English boy who had broken my heart (but I was not ready to let go, hence, "foolish"), so after much debate - even though my heart knew I was set on going - I moved back to the U.K. To be fair, he wasn't the only reason I wanted to move back to the U.K. My parents were there, after all, as were two of my best friends (Zain and Mu'min). But if I'm honest with me and honest with you, he was a huge, major reason for me to move back there. I had finally began to feel comfortable in Jordan. I had an amazing group of friends. Sometimes, I wonder, if it wasn't for that boy, would I really have moved back? Either way, when I moved back for whatever reasons, I fell deeply in love with the place.
The accents were no longer foreign to me. I adopted the mannerisms and slang. I understood that when people said, "You alright?" they meant, "How are you?" and not is there something wrong with you, which is why I'm asking if you're alright, which is what I had believed before. I didn't mind that things were small, there was no central heating or A.C., and that it rained so much. I no longer lived in a village that smelled like horse poop, but rather on my school's campus with all of my friends. I guess the best way to describe how I felt was that I found England to be quirky, and as a quirky teenager myself, I quickly learned to call it "Home". Soon, I felt like I belonged. Even though I had an American accent, even though everyone could tell I wasn't really from the UK, it easily became my home. I fell in love with it as quickly, easily, and foolishly as I had for that English boy who broke my heart.
My deep love for England was foolish because from day one, until now, I knew that the U.K. was not my permanent, forever home. I am a Pakistani citizen; I am not legally allowed to live or work in the U.K. I can always apply for a visa and go visit, but I can't stay... At least, not now, and not in the near future. Who knows what will happen 20 years from now? Maybe I'll find a job there and immigrate, and eventually get citizenship. Or maybe I will never visit again (I doubt that, though).
Even though I knew it was foolish to fall in love with the place, I did. Again, and again, and again, I did. Every time I visited, I fell in love with it all over again. And I know nothing with certainly except that goodbyes never get easier, no matter how many times you say them. I also feel like I grew up in England. I went through some of life's major milestones in England, such as falling in love and having my heart broken. I found myself in England. I became "me" in England. When I moved to the U.S. for college from England, everyone called me the "British" girl (even though I still had an American accent!), which made it feel even more like home. The fact that I spent 2011-2012 living with my best friend, and my parents just a short train ride away, surely added to why England felt like home.
I honestly don't know where I am going with this piece. Perhaps it's best if I just stop writing now. I am looking at my computer, smiling. It was really hard for me to leave yesterday, because every part of my heart, body, mind and soul wanted to stay (and for the right reasons this time!). But I am a believer in the saying, "It's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all". So, cheers, England, for stealing my heart and for all the memories I have left to make in you. See you again soon, "home" <3.
What it is really like to live in Philadelphia.
A few years ago, I began a series called WIIRL (What Is It Really Like) where I wrote about what it was really like to live in ______. I wrote about all the places I lived up to that point. Between then and now, I moved to the heart of Philadelphia for two years. I now live in the suburbs of Philadelphia, and think that the article title WIIRL: Small Town Pennsylvania describes my experiences here pretty accurately, but Philadelphia was a whole different story that I will discuss below.
Philadelphia is *so diverse*. There are so many different neighborhoods; some neighborhoods are mostly white, some mostly black, some mostly Asian, etc., but when you are in a central location such as center city, you can see a mix of everyone. You will have no issues finding a specific type of cuisine (Such as Greek, Pakistani, or Ethiopian even!), finding a sense of community, or finding other people like you. It is also very religiously-diverse. I have found that most of Pennsylvania (or most of the U.S. in general) is either Christian or non-spiritual, but Philadelphia is very religiously-diverse. I remember when I first moved there, I met so many African American (ie. Black Americans, not immigrants but those whose families have lived here for generations) who were Muslim. It was very eye opening to me, to be honest. Another example is that I have seen more black hijabis than any other race of hijabis in Philadelphia.
2. Old and new
Philadelphia is one of the oldest cities in the U.S., fact. There is a part of Philadelphia called "Old City" where, when you walk through it, everything looks and feels old (because it is!). They have historical sites there, such as Betsy Ross' house. When you walk down the streets of Old City, you feel like you are in some kind of strange time-loop or portal. The rest of downtown Philadelphia is very modern, and growing rapidly.
3. Rich and poor
There is a huge discrepancy between the rich and poor in Philadelphia. There are extremely poor neighborhoods, as well as extremely rich ones. This may be the case in basically any city, but it is extremely evident in Philadelphia, and the discrepancy grows more every day. The poor neighborhoods are being bought-out and new developments are being made there, making Philadelphia much more modernized but kicking out the locals who cannot afford to live there anymore.
4. City vs Country Life
Philadelphia feels like a whole other world compared to the other, more "country-ish" parts of Pennsylvania (ie. most of Pennsylvania). I currently live in the suburbs of Philadelphia. People here are *so* different. For one, people are so much nicer here than in Philadelphia! An old lady asked my brother and I if we needed a ride when we were walking around, for example... and she was serious! People are also so much more... ignorant, and conservative. They aren't used to diversity like the city-folk are, so they don't always understand issues that don't have anything to do with them. People in Philadelphia seem to be so much more open minded, aware, and liberal (all good things), though also less friendly haha.
Often, the poor neighborhoods are labeled as dangerous, but I personally did not feel like I was in danger during my time in Philadelphia at all (except for when my room mate, India Rottenburg (sorry, the Philadelphia city police were useless and didn't help me, and I don't want to be sued for "slander" even though it's a fact, so I can't write her real last name but you can probably guess it) stole my identity. And that was in my university's graduate school housing, in China town, super close to center city, and not in a "poor" neighborhood. While crime rates may be more prevalent in poorer neighborhoods, I personally didn't feel like I was in danger at all, anytime. There is a huge drug-culture, and tons of drug related crimes including murder, but I personally would say that Philadelphia is just as dangerous as any city, and you have to be active / smart to keep yourself safe, just like you would in any city!
Overall, Philadelphia was one of my favorite places to live. It was my first time living all alone in a big, bad city. Before I moved there, my brother Adnan used to joke that I was going to be a "sheep in the big city". It was an adventure. I loved it. I'm glad to be out now, though, and in the suburbs instead where it is much more quiet, green, and safe (ie. if I had a room mate and she stole my identity here in Media, the police would actually do their job and help me, unlike in Philadelphia. Amazing! -_-) I love Philadelphia. There is ALWAYS so much to do. I think I could spend a life time there and not be bored, but my heart and spirit are too adventurous to stay in one place to long. I won't be writing a WIIRL about Media, Pennsylvania because I wrote one on "Small-Town Pennsylvania" which encompasses my experiences here pretty well too. Until next time, adios folks!
So here's something that's not talked about enough: TCK's and education.
I genuinely believe that being a TCK is one of my life's biggest blessings (though sometimes I can see it as a curse, such as when I lose touch with friends due to the constant distance) and I think that any child who has lived a similar life is so lucky. Through our TCK lifestyle, we gain a unique and wonderful understanding of the world, one that I feel you can't really get otherwise. You understand other cultures in ways that you can only if you experienced them for yourself. That said, sometimes certain things, such as TCK education (ie. the education of a TCK) can be negatively affected by this otherwise extraordinary lifestyle.
This post is directed to parents, teachers, educators, school psychologists, school counselors, and to students themselves, in order for everyone to gain a better understanding of what being a student and a TCK is like (and what some of the struggles are!).
1. I am a TCK and a school psychologist in training, so I would say I am pretty well equipped to write about this.
2. This post is and will always be a work in progress: I will continue to add things to it as they come to me, particularly in the recommendations section, so that it may serve as a recourse.
TCKs (third culture kids - kids who grow up outside their parents' culture and move around a lot, usually from country to country) can face difficulties with school. There are so many factors that come into play when it comes to this. One rather obvious one is curriculum changes.
When a student moves from one school to another, it is likely that he or she will either be ahead or behind in certain areas, depending on the curriculum that was used at the individual schools. Over the next few months, he/she may need to play a catch-up game or need some extra help in order to be at the level of his/her peers. This is totally normal and expected; most teachers and school personnel such as psychologists or counselors understand this. This becomes a more significant issue when the child is a TCK and the curriculum changes aren't just between cities within one country, but rather changes between multiple countries.
An example is if a child went to an international school for 1st to 3rd grade, where he learned "World History" (or maybe European history, or Middle Eastern History, etc. depending on where he/she lived), and then moved to the U.S., then it's very likely this TCK will not have the same amount of knowledge on American history as his or her peers. This does not mean that the child is intellectually lacking, but rather simply that the child learned something different and may not be as familiar with certain topics his peers know well.
Another "problem" or concern with TCK's and their education is that, sometimes, when a student moves around often, he/she might not learn something at all, due to these curriculum changes. I can use myself as an example of this. I moved to the UK from Saudi Arabia in 6th grade, and then to Milan in 7th grade, and then back to Saudi Arabia in 8th grade. Between those two years of me being "abroad", my "local" classmates in Saudi Arabia took a geography class. My classmates in the UK were not going to be taking a geography class until the 7th grade, and my classmates in Italy already took their geography class in 6th grade. So, by the time I returned to Saudi Arabia in 8th grade, all my peers had a really good understanding of world geography, and (even though I physically moved around the world, haha) I was severely lacking in that subject!
Alsooooo, when you move, you have to completely redefine yourself. Personally, this often came as a relief to me, because I got to completely start over. But I remember so clearly the first time I moved (to England from Saudi Arabia) I had the HARDEST time with this, because I didn't know how to prove to my teachers or peers who I am. They saw my quiet, shy nature as being rude or inattentive, when really I was just struggling to fit in. In my old school, I was known as the good kid. The kid who never got into trouble, who was quiet, polite, and worked hard. The teachers knew my family well, as all three of my brothers had studied at this school as well. When I moved to England, no one knew me, and for some reason they thought I was some bad, rebellious kid. I have so many examples of this, but here's one: one day, maybe a month or two into the school year, we had a substitute teacher in our ELA class. There was a girl named Alisha in my class, and because everyone always pronounced my name incorrectly (my name is eye-sha, and most people pronounce it ay-E-sha, which sounds a lot like Alisha!), which is how the trouble began. She read out either my or her name, and both of us raised our hands. When she saw us both raising our hands, instead of assuming maybe one of us heard wrong, or that we both had similar names, she just yelled at us. She thought we were trying to prank her. My classmates all looked at me like I was a freaking devil. I tried to explain but the sub told me to shut up, which made it even worse. I almost burst into tears. I was not used to this at all; in my old school, everyone knew me and knew I wouldn't ever prank a teacher (lolol)! Sixth grade was the worst year of my life, but it taught me that I need to go the extra mile in the beginning of the school year to show my teachers and classmates who I am, before they can brand me as who they think I am. So, what I am trying to say here is that when a student moves to a new school, he/she has to completely redefine themselves and "prove" who they are. They can't rely on the past or their past behavior to dictate who they are. They can't rely on their friends, their teachers, etc. because no one here knows them. It's up to them to show the world what kind of kid they are, and to try twice as hard to prove who they really are, before anyone can brand them, for them.
Education or schooling (or being a student, I suppose) isn't just about what you learn, what curriculum you follow, what your grades are like... A child's social-life (or development of social skills) can be negatively affected by this lifestyle. What I mean by this is, children often make friends and learn social skills at school, through interactions they have with their peers, or at recess, or through projects they work on, etc. When a student moves to a different school, he/she has to rebuild these connections and reform relationships with his peers. Sometimes, it is easy to make new friends and to adjust. Other times, it is extremely difficult to be the new kid and not know anyone.
Currently, I can't think of anything else I would like to add above, but if something else comes to me later on in my life, I will be sure to write about it on this post. I just want everyone to know that being a TCK is already hard enough, and having shitty experience at school can make it even worse. So, please, everyone go out of your way to be kind and helpful to each other, in all walks of life (and especially to new kids at your schools!). Before I end this, I want to give some recommendations to students who are TCKs, to parents of TCK students, and to school-based professionals.
Recommendations for TCK students:
Recommendations for parents of TCK students:
Recommendations for school-based personnel (teachers, counselors, psychologists, principles, etc.):
To finish off, I just want to remind all parents to be advocates for their children, all school-personnel to be advocates for their students, and all students to be advocates for themselves (as difficult as that may be at times). <3
Dear me / Dear you,
I just turned in my last final (take-home) exam of my graduate school career. I am officially finished with my second year in graduate school. I moved into my first *real* apartment about a month ago, and everything is going so great! I live in a lovely area, in my own apartment, I'm almost done with school, I'm done with clinic (those of us who survived it know how brutal it was). In about two week's time, I'll be on my way.
First stop: Dublin. Just a layover.
Next stop: London / Reading, England. Oh my how my heart has missed you. There is so much irony in the fact that I hated England so much the first time I moved there, in 2005, and how years later when I moved back again in 2010, it became one of my favourite places on earth. To this day, it still feels like home.... Maybe it's because my parents are there, and my heart is where they are. I have lived in the U.S. for 6.5 years now, and I can't think of it as home, because my parents are there, not here. And by there, I mean anywhere in the world but here. I'm excited to go back. I am trying not to have too many expectations, but so many memories lay there. I genuinely believe that I "blossomed" from being a childish teenager into an adult during my time there. Ah.
Next stop: Who knows. Maybe Saudi. Maybe Pakistan. Hopefully both.
When I come back in August, my life will be so different. I'll have somewhere to come back to; somewhere that's mine. Somewhere that I can make feel like home. I'll get a car (my first car, ever!), start my full-time, paid internship, start working as a school psychology intern, and when I'm done with that, I'm done. Khalas. Capisce. I'm officially done with school. I will (fingers crossed; In Shaa Allah) no longer be a student, but rather a full time, nationally certified school psychologist. That sounds REALLY weird to say, haha, because all I've ever known since I was five years old is how to be a student. I've been in school non-stop (no gap years!) and all of a sudden, I'll be done. But let's not jump the gun. I have a year left to go. A very important, defining year. I feel like this year (fall 2018-summer 2019) will be a very defining time in my life, just as senior year of high school back in 2012, back in England, was. I'm slowly but surely transitioning into adulthood, whether I like it or not.
I've been neglecting my blog severely. I am quite embarrassed, honestly, because everytime I came here to post anything in the last few months (heh, probably 2 years if I'm honest), it was something negative. It was me ranting. I don't want to be negative anymore. I want to turn this blog back into what I started it off to be, and I plan on working on that this summer.
I have a little something planned that I will be spending the summer working on. Other than that, I hope I can come back and update my blog with a reflection on what it's like to be back in England after many years, and other TCK-related things.
Until then, sayonara folks.
Disclaimer/March 17, 2018 Update: I wrote this post one night when I was feeling exceptionally frustrated and feeling down. This isn't how I feel on a daily basis - I'm fine :)! Everything is fine! Yes, grad school is hard, but I know I'm not in this journey alone, and there is a light at the end of the tunnel. A very rewarding light. Please keep all of this in mind when you read the post below.
May 13, 2018 update: Finished the semester. Got a 4.0 for the semester, my Master's degree, and I currently have a 3.7 overall GPA!!! :) All those tears and hard moments that I wrote about down below were worth it! So happy to move on, though... Educational Specialist Degree, here I come!
"In three words, I can sum up everything I have learned about life: it goes on." - Robert Frost. I remember the first time I read this quote; I was about 10 years old and reading the yearbook. It was picked by a senior at Udhailiyah School as their yearbook quote. It felt so insignificant. I felt like this is the last mark you will leave here; this is what you will be remembered by. The statement in this quotation is so obvious... Like, duh? Life goes on. Time goes on. Thank you captain obvious? I didn't really understand it until I got older, though; until I experienced losses and heartbreaks and goodbyes and life moving on, whether I was ready for it to or not. Now, there isn't a quote in the word that I can agree with more. Robert Frost, you're absolutely right. Life goes on.
Grad school has been so hard for me. How do you cope when you're giving your 100%, and still doing things wrong, feeling incapable, and being constantly criticized? I came in knowing that I know nothing about the field I was studying, but knowing that I wanted to learn and I was willing to put in the effort to do so. I feel like I have given this my all and yet I still seem to get things wrong.
Sometimes, I feel like I am being unfairly criticized and unfairly judged by two certain individuals in power positions. And it's genuinely making me depressed. I haven't brushed my hair in a few days. I've been wearing leggings and a sweatshirt because I haven't had the chance to do my laundry. I've been skipping meals on a regular basis. I'm not in a good place. I feel like this is normalized, because everyone around me is in a similar situation - we're all skipping meals sometimes, we're all not dressing our best, we're all sleeping at strange times, we're all doing at least one thing or another that is considered to be unhealthy. But we justify it - it's grad school... We're students... We're supposed to be this way.
But are we really?
I remember during my senior year of undergrad, I organized a "What Matters Most" dinner in which I, as a student leader at our school's center for service, spirituality and social justice, invite a Professor to have an intimate dinner with a group of about 10-15 students and talk to us about what matters most. During this dinner, this Professor talked about his struggles with depression, particularly during graduate school. I remember thinking how brave he was for being so painfully raw, real, and honest with us. He told us that grad school was the hardest, and most mentally unhealthy time of his life, but at the same time, he survived and he made it out. He never said that he succeeded. While listening to him talk, I wondered if him succeeding (getting a Ph.D. and becoming an amazing professor) was just a side effect of him simply surviving. I was just starting my applications for grad school. I was just starting my own journey. I was young and naive (hell, I still am) and thought hey, I'm going to be a student, so it's okay for me to not know everything. It's okay for me to not be perfect. It's okay for me to make mistakes (not intentionally, of course). But here I am, being threatened on a weekly basis that if I continue making mistakes, I will have to take additional classes. It's like I'm not a student; I'm a robot who is expected to know everything. It's unfair for me to blame anyone but myself; the mistakes are my own. But I guess what I'm trying to get at is that I wish I had taken my old Professor's words to heart about his journey, and better prepared myself for the anguish I would be going through.
So, here I am. I spent the last hour crying. It's become a weekly thing at this point. I see the light at the end of the tunnel (internship - then, graduation). I see the finish line, and I'm sprinting towards it while tripping over my own self again and again and again. I kind of feel like just stopping, laying down on the grass, not running anymore, and just watching everyone else run past me to and through the finish line, but I also just want to get there. I just want to run so fast, so that I can finally move past this part of my life. I am absolutely beyond excited for the 3rd year of my program - a full time internship, a completely different experience. I have been accepted into a wonderful site, too. I just need to get myself back up off the floor and finish this last sprint.
When my Professor was telling us about his experiences and difficulties in grad school, he did mention the one thing that kept him sane: his family. His colleagues. People who loved him, supported him, believed in him, understood him, and helped him get through the most difficult part of his life. I think tonight has been the most difficult night of my graduate school career, not because anything significantly different has happened, but just because of the constant criticism... This past Sunday, I worked from 9:00 am to 8:30 pm (with only one break for food) on a single thing, only to have it returned with comments that make me feel incompetent. If it is a one time thing, sure, it's fine, but it's like every single week, I go through the same thing. And I know everyone else in my cohort does too, but I don't know. What do you do when you feel like you're being unfairly judged or criticized, especially when you are trying your best and literally giving it your all? Feeling more down than I ever have before in my life, I wrote a little post on my cohort's Facebook page, and everyone made an effort to respond, to make me feel better. That is what keeps me going. That. Knowing that I am not in this alone, first of all, and also knowing that there are other people who are in the same boat as me (so, they get it) who still believe in me. Just the simple gesture of all of them sending a little gif to make me smile, or some of them texting me to make sure I'm okay (even though that I know they're all going through the same thing I am!!) just really motivates me to keep going, to not give up, and to not be too difficult on myself.
I'm ready for life to go on, but I am forever grateful for the angels I have met along the way who have helped me in ways they may not know or understand. I genuinely, sincerely don't believe I could have survived grad school without the wonderful cohort I get to share this experience with, or without the support of some of my loved ones who believe in me way more than I believe in myself.
To all of you who have gone out of your way to smile at me, to send me positivity, to believe in me and so forth... Thank you. You don't know how much it has meant to me.
I have fantasies of going to the top of the tallest building I can find, and falling down from it; never stopping falling. Just falling falling falling falling. It's peaceful there, because I am alone, and no one can hurt me.
#MeToo when I was a child.
#MeToo when I was a preteen.
#MeToo when I was a teen.
#MeToo in my adulthood.
#MeToo when I was a child, wearing bootleg jeans and a tee-shirt that had camels walking across a sunset.
#MeToo when I was a child, wearing pajamas.
#MeToo when I was a teenager, wearing dress pants and a dress shirt.
#MeToo when I was a child, when I was a teenager, and as an adult wearing an abaya and hijab (all multiple times, all in Saudi Arabia).
#MeToo when I wore salwar kameez with and without a duputta.
#MeToo when I wore a "short" skirt or dress.
#MeToo, still, when I wear my hijab (no matter where in the world I am).
Sexual violence can happen to anyone, anywhere, regardless of how young or old they are, and what they are or are not wearing. It's happened to me. In my childhood. In my preteen years. In my teen years. In my adulthood. When I wore a "short" dress; when I wear my hijab. Stop blaming the victims, and start blaming the societies and cultures that continue to allow monsters to do as they please without any fear of consequences or judgement of their actions. This is a global problem that we constantly fail to address.
March 17, 2018 Update: I've noticed that there are certain assholes who mock the Me Too movement and think that individuals (not just women - men can be the victims of sexual violence too!) exaggerate when they share their stories, or hashtag "Me Too". I can't speak on behalf of everyone, but I can speak on behalf of myself, and all that I want to and am willing to say to the general public about my experiences are written above. If you have the privilege of not understanding why "Me Too" is so significant, why people related to it/posted it, or why people believe that they were sexually assaulted or made uncomfortable through any unwanted sexualness (catcalling, for example), then I am truly envious of you. I wish I too didn't understand, because ignorance is bliss. But even if I didn't "understand" because I didn't live through it - I would still try to understand those individuals; I certainly would not be mocking this, or saying that people exaggerate about if they were victims (or survivors) of sexual misconduct. So, if you do happen to fall into this category of assholes who mock this, I urge you to educate yourself, be empathetic, listen, try to understand... Not everyone shares their stories; not everybody wears their scars on their face for the world to see - but that doesn't diminish what they went through. Peace.
Udhailiyah, Saudi Arabia.
As I write this, I am sitting on a sofa we've had for as long as I can remember. And, to me, that is a very, very significant thing. I am sitting in a living room that looks just like the one I would sit in when I was seven years old, plus or minus a few things. The television looks different. It's thin and wide, instead of narrow and fat. The backyard door is open. The house smells the same. I'm instantly thrown back to my childhood, and that is a dangerous feeling.
It's dangerous being thrown back into the "before". Before I moved multiple times, had hundreds of heart breaks because of it, loved and lost, saw the rawness, sadness, evil and pain of this world. It's dangerous because it is a fantasy; because back then, I lived in a fantasy. I just didn't know it.
Udhailiyah is the singular place I can truly call home with all of my heart and mean it, completely. But it's really much more complicated than that. To understand me, you must understand it.
Udhailiyah is a small... place. I rewrote this sentence 100 times, no joke. I don't even know what to call it, lol. A town? A compound? A camp? A community? A little utopia? Let's start again. It's just so damn complicated.
Udhailiyah is a company owned compound in the middle of the desert. Access to it is extremely limited, because of it's location (1. Saudi Arabia - it's very difficult to get into this country. 2. It's in the middle of the desert) and the fact that it is owned by a mega-rich oil company. The only people allowed to enter this "area" are individuals who work for said company, their dependents (spouse, children under 25) or individuals who have gone through a very long, tedious, expensive process of obtaining visitors access. Once the head individual who is allowing others (dependents) to be in the community retires, quits, is fired, or leaves the company for whatever reason, no one is allowed back into this "area". At all. Period.
It is one of four compounds, and the smallest, most secluded of all four. It is literally this tiny man-made oasis surrounded in all direction by desert for basically two hours.
It is not a public place. It is a very, very private place, and to enter it, you need to have permission or access. I'm not joking, guys. The whole area is fenced, and there are multiple security checkpoints and gates leading into the community, and without proper identification (such as an ID card showing you are a employee or dependent of an employee) you will absolutely be turned away. It's quite scary, too, given that there are military tanks guarding the security checkpoints....
To be raised in it, to learn to love it, to call it home even more-so than your own passport country, and then to learn you can never return is quite the heartbreaking experience. Anyways, that is where I'm from. And what I mean by that is, for the most part, that is where my personality, my language, my ideas, my heart has come from. It's home.
So, now that you have some kind of an understanding of what Udhailiyah is, let's move on to how it has played a role in my life.
I was born in another compound, called Dhahran (the main compound of the 4), and spent the first three years of my life in another, called Abqaiq. When we moved to Udhailiyah, I was just three years old, and my entire development came from family. There was little to no outside influence in who I was. For example, I spoke Urdu, for the most part, whereas now I speak English for the most part. My life was significantly changed by my experiences in Udhailiyah, in ways that I don't even know how to describe.
For example, my very first real friend was a Buddhist from Sri Lanka. I was about 4 years old. I saw her, noticed she was brown, and I was like oh... She must speak Urdu, and I clearly remember blabbing something in my language only to get a :l look back from her. She was 3, and must have thought I was crazy, hahahaha. But think about it. My very first friend was from another country and faith than my own. I don't know, the older I get, the more "rare" that sounds to me. After her, through school, I made friends from literally all around the world. Some from India, some from Pakistan, others from Sudan, Columbia, Thailand, the U.S., Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Palestine, everywhere. I had friends from all different types of faiths. I ate home cooked foods from all these different nationalities that I still crave everyday. I learned beautiful words and curse words in languages that I don't speak. I think, from everything Udhailiyah has given me, the thing I am most grateful for is the friendships and the understandings from those friendships that I gained.
Is it possible to lose something you never had? Because I was about to write that I also lost something: my sense of national identity, but honestly, that's something I never had. I was always a Pakistani - always - but I was also born in Saudi Arabia; by the time I moved to Udhailiyah, I had only visited Pakistan for a few months, and to be completely honest, I don't have a single memory of it (which makes sense; I was 3...). Most of my memories of Pakistan came after I moved to Udhailiyah. When we were in school, and people would ask us where we were from, I would always say Pakistan. I represented Pakistan at every cultural fair. I wore salwar kameez and traditional wear to almost every Eid party. We had a little Pakistani community within our diverse little population, but being a part of that is certainly very different than living in actual Pakistan. Just to clarify, I am not saying I am proud of my lack of Pakistani-ness, because I'm not. In fact, I often wish that I had a normal childhood, and a normal sense of identity. I often wish I grew up like my cousins - with a sense of family, home, cultural and national identity, in the same city their entire lives. It's just simply not the case for me. My life is different, and why can't that be explored or celebrated without it seeming like I am not proud of where I come from? Anyways, as I stated a bit earlier, I think before I moved to Udhailiyah, even though I was just a little babe, I had more of a Pakistani identity than after I moved to Udhailiyah. After moving there, I became a Udhailiyan first, a Pakistani second. To clarify, I knew where I was from, I made it clear to others I was from there, I was proud of it, but in my heart if you asked me at that time (and probably even now) where home was, the answer was simple: Udhailiyah.
The first major move in my life was from Udhailiyah to England. I had no idea what to expect. I knew London was supposed to be glamorous, and I remember the most popular girl in our class telling me to "shop until I drop", but other than that, I didn't know anything. I was certainly excited, though, but at the same time, I was very naive and sheltered (in some ways, but unfortunately not in others). Once I started school, I was miserable. Everyone was the same; I was so different. No one understood me. I stopped understanding myself. I didn't know how to explain where I was from, or who I was. It was like my entire identity was taken and I had to redefine myself for the world, while I was still trying to figure it out myself. I was just 11 years old, and probably the most homesick 11 year old in the entire universe. I couldn't wait to go home.
Two years later, we moved back to Udhailiyah. My heart exploded with excitement. I couldn't wait. I had, for the most part, managed to keep in touch over MSN with all of my friends and I couldn't wait to be back with them. As shocking as it was for me to move to England, moving back to Udhailiyah was equally so. People changed.... (obviously). There were different friend groups and cliques than when I was there before. Everyone was suddenly into doing "cool" things like dating, smoking, playing pool, and sneaking out in the middle of the night. I felt like everyone kind of grew up, and grew closer, without me. I didn't know where I fit into the equation anymore. Not at first, at least. The only way I can possibly explain this is imagine that you love to go swimming in the pool. One day, you climb to the highest diving board, and do a bellyflop on the surface of the water. It's still the same pool that you know and love; it's still the same water, same temperature, same everything, but at the same time it's completely different, and it's painful AF. There's just that awkward moment where you're like "Owe, owe, owe" before you sink back into the water and everything is normal again. That's basically what it felt like trying to reintegrate into Udhailiyah after being away two years. After a few months, I felt right at home, but I remember my first few days and weeks: I was so confused at how different everyone and everything was. The funny thing is, I probably didn't realize how different I was.
Throughout all of that adjustment trauma, some things stayed the same. We had the same dining table. We had the same couches. We had the same majlis or floor cushions. The house looked basically the same, even though it was a different house on the other side of the compound. I don't know who to thank for that, but dear God, I'm so grateful to this day for that. It was very hard to come back home only to realize it had changed so much; to see my actual "home" (house) look exactly the same definitely in some ways made the transition easier.
After I got over the adjustment problems, I had two of the very best years of my life. I absolutely LOVED 2007-2009. They shaped me into who I am today in many ways, and also in different ways than my early childhood years. I wouldn't be who I am without those two years, and the friendships from them.
I'm smiling now, because even after spending hours (weeks, honestly - I keep saving the draft and coming back to it) writing this, I know that it still doesn't do justice to Udhailiyah and how that little community in the middle of the Arabian Desert shaped me into who I am today. :) And maybe that's a beautiful thing; Udhailiyah is a mysterious little place. Maybe I should leave some mystery here too. The truth is, even I don't understand that mystery and I'm constantly realizing how Udhailiyah is made me who I am, and why I call it home.
Oh sandy roads, take me home, to the place I belong.... An ode to my home, to the beautiful little... place... called Udhailiyah. <3
Summer vacations: the best time of the year. Everyone is out enjoying the warm weather, there are celebrations all over the world, beaches get swamped, and Ayesha goes home.
Almost every single year of my 23 year-old-life, I've gone "Home: 1" for summer vacations to Islamabad, Pakistan. In my childhood, I would leave "Home: 2" (Udhailiyah, Saudi Arabia) and spend about two months there. As I've gotten older, it's become more like two weeks, and the departing point has been from various places across the globe. This summer has been no different: I was fortunate enough to return back to Pakistan, even for a short while, and see my beautiful country and my family members again.
There are two facts about my Home: 1 that make it particularly unique to me. Firstly, it is in my passport country, and while I have not officially "lived" there (I only count living in a place if I go there for a purpose, such as school, work, etc. and not for vacations or holidays, and for over 5 months at least), it is the only place in the entire world where I have a physical home and memories inside of it from my entire life.
Our house in Islamabad was built when I was around the age of five or six. I still remember my Dad asking me what colour I'd like my bedroom and bathroom to be painted. My answer? Pink, obviously. The pink toilet haunted me everyday of my (slightly) rebellious pre-teen years, when I swore to be a tomboy and loved every colour but pink. Now, as an adult, I love the overwhelming strawberry-milk colour everywhere! But it's quite strange to me that something from my childhood, from when I was just starting school, still affects me in some ways today.
I don't have a permanent address. I do not have markings on the walls of my singular home showing how tall I've become over the years. I don't get to sit on my singular bed in my singular bedroom and remember reading The Berenstain Bears when I was five, and then the Harry Potter series when I was twelve, and then textbooks on Psychology at 23.... That is, I don't have that anywhere except for in my home in Islamabad. But, the thing is, I don't live there. I never did. It is a "summer home", of sorts, but (unfortunately) has never been my real home because I have never "lived" there.
I didn't realize how much that physical home would mean to me, until I started to move around the world, and the concept of home became less of a word to me, and more of a grad school thesis paper lol. When I was growing up, and moving around constantly, it wasn't as if I knew what to expect. I didn't know that years later, I would miss those physical houses and apartments that at some point I called home. I didn't know that those places would be lost forever, never to be the same, and yet those memories made at those places would continue to haunt me forever, simply because the physical places remain untouchable. There's something almost seductive about not being able to have something; I am not able to return to those houses/apartments that I've lived in (and even if I were to, it is not like they would look the same as when we lived there). But yet, that is the exact opposite for my home in Islamabad. Every year, when I go back, it remains the exact same as the year before, with my pink bedroom and bathroom, My Little Pony curtains, stains from old memories, markings on the walls, notebooks filled with drawings and a child's handwriting, photos on the fridge, the same smell of "home" in the furniture, the same yearning to stay yet knowing soon I will leave again...
It is so significant to me, because it is the only place for me like that. Which, as I'm writing this, makes me realize that most people only have one place like that, because they have one home. But what makes it different for me is that I've had so many homes, but yet this is the only one that remains absolutely as is, and is ours. It is the only one I can return to.
It's strange, honestly. It's a weird feeling. It feels like you are watching a movie. You walk into your bedroom, and remember memories from every single year of your life. The good, the bad, and the ugly all there together, staring you in the face. It's almost as if you are looking at your own body, and seeing how it has grown or changed. You see where the scars remain (the memories that stick with you, like that summer when you stayed up all night, every night, MSNing that boy who would soon become a stranger to you, or that summer when your cousin lived with you and you would both stay up talking and laughing the night away, or those summers filled with having secret facetime sessions with the love of your life) and what caused them. It's such a unique feeling that is hard to put into words for me.
I have a secret place in my bedroom, where I hide things every single year. In it, I have plane-letters from my friends from the first time I moved in 2005, I have a leaf from maybe 2000 or 2001 when our house was finished being built, I have daily planners, I have love letters, I have photographs... I have bits of my entire life, shoved into a 3 foot by four foot space, telling the story of my life. Each year, I add to it.
I have memories from literally every room in the house, and often physical things to go with those memories. I can almost see myself walking those hallways, running up the stairs to the roof when it rains or running down to the cool basement when the electricity dies and we're all burning in the heat. I have a collection of some of my favourite books from my lifetime. I have VCR tapes, DVD's, and BlueRays. I have broken jewellery. I have old clothes. I have so many memories there...
When I say that it is strange, or feels weird, I don't mean it in a negative way. It feels strange because it is so foreign to me to have such feelings or experiences, as it is the only home that is so. When I walk those halls, I feel nostalgia, serenity, peace, happiness, pride, and so much more. I see my entire life and feel proud of where I am now. I whisper to younger Ayesha, telling her that everything will be okay, just in case in some parallel world, both of us are there together and she needs to hear that. I wonder if older/future Ayesha does the same for 23 year old Ayesha. And then I think I'm crazy, but so is my life, and I love it :).
Being a TCK is certainly not easy, but having somewhere I can always go to and completely be at home makes it so much easier. I am so grateful for that.
Two years ago, on this date, I officially became a hijabi.
It's really weird for me, honestly, to realize that it's been two years. As cliché as this sounds, it feels like it's been a lot longer. There have been so many changes in my life since I began to wear it (getting my bachelors degree, starting graduate school, moving to a new city, and so forth) that it feels like maybe five years have gone by, not just two. The first year went by so fast, and this second went by so slow.
I remember sitting on my parent's couch in Milan one-year-ago-today, and writing my hijab story and initial one year reflection (<- click on those words if you want to read it!). Everything I've written there still stands true to me, particularly the reflection piece, and I actually feel relieved re-reading it. Sometimes, I need to remind myself of those 10 points, as to not be too harsh on myself, to remember that I'm not alone, and to remind myself why I wear my hijab.
The first year had it's own sets of challenges, such as "coming out" as a hijabi, getting used to wearing it, not feeling like myself in it, and so forth. This second year has had a whole different set of challenges, mainly feeling that I'm not good or pure enough to wear it, and sometimes thinking of taking it off.
The first point on my first year reflection was about hijabis not being perfect, and that's okay. That was something I believed in always. Unlike basically everyone else, I never held hijabis to any higher standards than non-hijabis, but unfortunately in the Muslim community, it's the opposite. Hijabis are supposed to be the epitome of modest perfection, and therefore even the slightest sin is viewed much more harshly as compared with a non-hijabi doing the same action. The only comparison I can think of is how a Christian community may view a nun (except for the fact that many Muslims believe hijab is mandatory for believing women, and being a nun is seen as something exceptional or extra - not an everyday act). An example of this judgey-criticism is seeing a group of Muslim people smoking hookah/shisha. Imagine a Muslim boy, a Muslim girl (non-hijabi) and another Muslim girl (hijabi) all smoking hookah together. I can almost guarantee that no one would bat an eye at the Muslim boy, some would at the Muslim girl, and everyone would at the hijabi Muslim girl. "How shameful! She should just take off her hijab if she wants to smoke and be with boys. Her skirt is too tight. Her wrist is showing. She probably threads her eyebrows too. What a slut." :) These are some comments I'd imagine would proceed. And, for the record, I'm not just pulling this out of my butt! I've seen and heard this exact situation numerous times... Whether it be a hijabi smoking hookah, a hijabi hanging out with a boy, a hijabi wearing high heels, a hijabi wearing makeup, a hijabi getting her eyebrows done, or a hijabi doing basically ANYTHING, she's always judged for it.
This was initially the main reason I didn't feel ready to become a hijabi. I wasn't perfect (nor am I today!). While, like I said, I didn't hold hijabis up to a higher standard, I knew the world would to me, and I simply didn't feel ready. I wear makeup, I thread my eyebrows, I love wearing heels, I wear tons of colors and not just black, etc. Reflecting on my second year, I think this has been the biggest struggle for me... Constantly feeling judged, being held on a pedestal, not feeling good enough, and feeling weak from constantly fighting back.
I don't recall any negative comments said to me or directed towards me, but I've read/heard probably at least a thousand within this past year directed at the general hijabi community. For example, I watch a lot of hijabi-YouTubers, and in almost every single video, if I scroll down to the comments, there is at least one person saying "take off your hijab if you want to ______". How cruel and wrong has our Muslim community become, to make girls who wear the hijab feel inadequate, and make girls who want to wear the hijab feel fear of not being good enough? This is a huge problem that no one likes to address! Instead of tearing down hijabis left and right, criticising every move, and making others not want to wear it because they don't want to be so heavily judged, shouldn't we be doing the opposite (making them feel beautiful, welcomed, encouraging them)?! Radical idea, right?
Honestly, that has been the biggest struggle for me in my 2nd year of wearing hijab. I don't recall anyone saying anything directly to me, about not being pure enough or good enough, but I swear... I see it everyday, everywhere, both on social media and in real life. It's easy for me to feel like a target of that abuse too, when the comments made are generalized and attacking an entire group of people. For example, if someone says "hijabis shouldn't wear nailpolish, and if they want to, they should just take their hijab off," maybe it won't really effect me the first time, but after hearing/reading it like 100 times, it really makes me second guess myself and my actions.
Some of you reading this might be thinking that that those changes don't seem that difficult (just don't wear makeup, nailpolish or perfume, don't get your eyebrows done, don't hang out with boys, don't smoke (I don't, btw!), don't talk unless you're spoken to, don't laugh really loud in public, and just wear a black burkha with a nikab, gloves and socks so not a single body part shows!) but I really, sincerely don't believe in that. I believe in moderation. I believe that everyone is on their own journey, and that we should do what is best and most comfortable for ourselves. I believe that there is no compulsion in our faith. Have I ever worn a burkha and a nikab? Yup, I have! When I was in Saudi Arabia and it was the normal thing to do! If I wore one here in the U.S. (not that I want to, and I'm not at all shaming anyone who does), it would draw much more attention to me - and the point of hijab is to take that attention away. I just want to be *me* and do what's comfortable for *me* without thinking anyone, particularly men or random women who don't even wear a hijab are judging me for it.
The second most difficult aspect of being a hijabi, this year, was occasionally wanting to take it off, and it was mostly for superficial reasons such as not feeling as beautiful with it on as without it. In August, I started graduate school, and met so many great people from in my cohort. I don't know about everyone else, but I always have this need to "impress" when I meet new people. I want to look my absolute best, for example, and... if I'm completely honest with myself and everyone else, I feel most beautiful without my hijab on. I mean, I'm pretty sure that's normal, and that's part of being hijabi (hiding part of your beauty, being modest). Anyone would feel most beautiful showing off their hair, so my feelings aren't that crazy, but it's been a struggle for me! So many times I've just wanted to whip it off and show off my hair to my mostly-girl cohort, haha. I don't know, I just want(ed) to feel pretty. I feel pretty embarrassed writing this, because I understand how superficial it sounds, but I really try to be honest with myself in my posts. I will say that those feelings were mostly in the first half of this year, and the second half has been much easier.
I also want to clarify and say that I do feel pretty wearing my hijab! It's like a crown; I feel like a princess. I just feel more pretty without it on, when I'm staring at myself in my bedroom mirror with a cute dress and heels on that no one will see me in (at least, not without a full sleeve shirt under, leggings, and a hijab!). And the more I reflect on this point, the more I realize that I'm being too harsh on myself - it's normal to feel that way, hijabi or not. There were certainly days when I'd wake up (pre-hijabi) and not feel pretty, just as there are as a hijabi, and and just as there are with every single girl on the planet! As much as I hate to write this, I know that it's (unfortunately) normal to (occasionally) not feel beautiful and to want to change things about ourselves.
I guess I'm going on a tangent now, so let's redirect this to something else: Some of my favourite memories this past year were of when I wouldn't feel beautiful, and therefore would want to take my hijab off, and then something would happen that would remind me of some of the reasons I chose to wear it in the first place. A stranger on the street would say Assalamu Alaikum (may peace be upon you) to me, recognizing me as a Muslim because of my hijab, or someone would tell me that my scarf looks beautiful, or ask me questions about Islam, or go out of their way to show respect to me (like other Muslim men lowering their gaze when I walk by - it really makes you feel so respected). This second "struggle" of wanting to take off the hijab because I don't feel as beautiful with it on as I do with it off has been pretty silly, which I'm happy to say! The struggle could have been way, way worse, as it is with many other women who wear it and face losing their jobs, face violence, and face other horrible things, but for me... it's this... and I have to say, I'm smiling writing this and realizing that, because I'm grateful at how superficial my 2nd biggest struggle of being hijabi is. I hope that makes sense? What I'm trying to say is that this year for me as a hijabi hasn't been nearly as difficult for me as it is for other hijabi women, and I'm so grateful for that.
Lastly, my third biggest "struggle" has been finding a middle-ground for myself. Finding what is comfortable for me and doing that. As I've stated before, there have been so many times that I've wanted to take off my hijab (like, never seriously otherwise I would have, but more just superficially like wanting to feel more beautiful, or wanting to feel the wind blow through my hair again). Sometimes, I've taken off my hijab to let myself "breathe" or to give myself a taste of that, so then I can stop craving it on a regular basis. So scandalous, I know! But I swear, it's really not that scandalous. I've only done so in places where I know that no one knows me (so I won't face any horrible backlash or questions), and on just a few, random occasions such as going grocery shopping with my brother or checking his mailbox in Hershey and while at the beach, where I wore a burkini without the headpiece, or a t-shirt and shorts with leggings without a scarf. On a random note, this only ever happens with my family - and that just goes to show that NO ONE forced me into wearing a hijab (or is forcing me to continue wearing it). It has always been my decision. Anyways, to some people reading this, they may think that what I'm saying about occasionally taking my hijab off (it's only happened like 4 or 5 times...) is equal to walking around outside completely naked (hijabis are on a ridiculous pedestal, remember?) but I don't know; to me, it's about being happy and finding a comfortable middle ground for myself. I'm not perfect, nor do I ever pretend to me, but I am a human being, and honest with myself.
My second year of wearing the hijab hasn't been difficult, at all, really. In fact, it's been really great! I'm grateful for that and can't wait to see how this next year plays out.
I asked people to send in any questions they had for me about being a hijabi, wearing the hijab, etc. Below are the responses to those questions, and to some questions I just made up! Enjoy! :)
Two years have gone so fast, and yet so slow. I'm so happy, so grateful, and honestly so proud of myself as well. I can't wait to look back again, one year from today, and see if anything has changed at all. To everyone who has encouraged, supported, and help me get this far: thank you <3. From the bottom of my heart, thank you <3.
Listen to this song while you read my post below, which is filled with 50 random facts about me.
I'm currently sitting in the graduate school lounge, surrounded by my classmates who are disucsssing a presentation we will all be doing later today. But I can't focus on anything except the fact that a certain president of a certain country decided to use a huge bomb on another certain country.
I try to keep my personal Facebook page free from politics. I don't share *anything* "political" because I feel that if I share one thing and not the other, then I am doing an injustice. I also feel that individuals who don't comprehend that I am JUST ME and not a representation of everything I am (brown, Desi, a TCK, a woman, a Muslim, whatever) may use me as a prop for their self-fulfilling prophecy of me sharing certain things and not others (I am not BBC.com guys, go read the news if you want it!), so I completely avoid it.
Even though it significantly affects me, and my day to day life.
I also try to shy away from it here, on my blog. I wrote two different articles and now have deleted them. So here I am, in hopes that this one post will give you a comprehensive view of my (not every Muslim's, not every Desi person's, etc., just mine) views towards war, violence, bombings, and all things evil.
I think my reasoning for the title when I made this blog back in 2014 is much different than my reasoning behind keeping the title as is now.
Let's start off by explaining what exactly Desi is. Desi is a term used by individuals from India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh to describe themselves/their cultures; it is a term particularly used by those abroad from these regions. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the history of South Asia, these three countries used to be one, united country prior to 1947. Needless to say, the three countries share a lot in common. Foods, languages, culture, dress, religions, and so forth. There are *a lot* of differences as well, between the three countries (in all honesty, individual regions or cities within the countries are so different from each other as well!) but we share this common identity of being Desi.
I think in 2014, when I started my blog, I decided to use the term Desi for a couple of reasons. One being Pakistani is too long and not as catchy! Another being that while most people are unfamiliar with Pakistan, they're very familiar with India... And our countries are similar enough (particularly Pakistan and North India) that we may as well become one again. So, writing Pakistan would be too alien for a stranger who came across my blog. I couldn't write Indian, because even though all my ancestory is from India, I hold no physical connection to that country (such as citizenship, a passport, etc. I've even yet to visit). Another reason is that I felt that Pakistani TCK was too specific, and Desi was a better term for me to be able to reach more people, of similar backgrounds in terms of passport country's culture and being a TCK in general. Why not just TCK, though? Because I felt that by only writing TCK, I was portraying being ashamed of my background, which, if I'm honest, during my childhood, I often was. I don't think I can count how many times I wished I was white, and in particular, a white American. *Note: I couldn't be more proud of my ancestry, culture, and where I'm from now!*
Now, after years of reflecting on my newfound identity of being a TCK (who knew there was a term for people like me?! And so many others like me?! I sure didn't!), I'm realizing that Desi is a vital part of my identity. I would go as far as to argue that half of my identity is being Desi, and the other half is being a TCK. My view of the world has been framed from both these identities; I would be a completely different person if one or both of these identities were taken away from my past. I see the world through those two lenses. Equally importantly, the world views me from one of those... Being Desi. No one can look at me and guess, "Oh, she's totally a TCK!" but it's easy to guess "Oh, she's brown -> probably from India, Pakistan or Bangladesh!" (though I've been confused multiple times for being Chinese, Korean, or Japanese. Umm... What? :P) and fortunately, and unfortunately, that's how people perceive me. The racism that has been thrown at me, because of my dark skin, dark hair, prominent features symbolizing me as a DESI would have never happened if I were of a difference race, and same with some of the beautiful memories I have gained because I look like I'm Desi.
I feel that to the world, even if they don't know the term for people "like me", I'm Desi, but to myself, I am Desi and so much more. I'm a Desi TCK. They go hand in hand for me. I'm not one without the other. I could as easily say I am a TCK that is Desi, instead of a Desi TCK, focusing on the TCK aspect of my identity, but honestly guys... What flows better? :P
I just wish the world as a whole understood what either of those terms (Desi or TCK) meant, and it was used in our common vocabulary, because there is no easier way for me to explain who I am than saying I am a Desi TCK. To make my life more simple, I normally just say I am a Pakistani who has moved around a lot, but then I leave out the entire part of my family's ancestory of being Indian. I have yet to find a way to explain to someone in one sentence who I am than by saying I am a Desi TCK. In any other way that I have introduced myself, ever, I have felt that I am lying to my own self about who I really am, or even belittling it. I just wish others understood these terms.
Both halves of my identity are equally important to me. Yes, I am a TCK, but all my views and my entire life is framed around the fact that I am Desi. On the other hand, Yes, I am a Pakistani (or Desi), but all my views and my entire life is framed around the fact that I am also a TCK. They go hand in hand; I can't be one without being the other. It feels great to finally understand that about myself.
I can't understand those who can look up at the stars and feel nothing.