For a while, I was searching. searching for familiarity. searching for belonging. But I was searching on foreign land I call home. A home that has no trace of my other self. My other reality. My ancestors.

But, I found what I was longing on a land known to me as home. Pakistan. I cannot put it into words how I felt especially when I first landed. The moment I stepped foot on my soil, I knew I was home. I could just feel it.

And now once again, being so far away, I am holding on to every memory and every little detail, because I don’t want to forget what I experienced and felt. I worry that if I forget, I will forget myself.

I felt like I belonged. I felt free. I felt safe. I felt comfortable.

I walked with pride in my shalwar kameez without any fear of stares. I wrapped my chaadar (shawl) around my shoulders as I walked down the crowded bazaars. Bazaars that were full of life with shop owners at every corner of the road selling badaams (almonds), fresh oranges and delicious pakoras. Punjabi flowed like honey all round me. I could taste its sweetness just like orange coloured jalebis. Rickshaws driving by, cars honking, women bargaining with sellers. The sound of it all still rings in my ears. Walking in galiyans (rural streets) and passing smiles to strangers as if we’ve known each other from a past life. Fields of sarsoon (mustard greens) spread across vast lands with its yellow flowers standing out like sun rays. The beauty of it all still comes to mind. Sunsets on rooftops, eating gol gappe’s in the car, gajras  (flower bracelet) dancing around my wrist. The smallest things brought the most happiness.

Today, I am holding so tightly to my roots because I fear of loosing its sight. I fear of forgetting my tongue, my mother tongue that taught me how to speak, how to love and how to live. My roots are me. I am not me without them. I am not me without its history. I am not me without its land.

These words can never be enough to describe my experience. It is extremely difficult to put my feelings into words, especially about my relationship with Pakistan. Only those who search for their roots will truly understand. The feeling of finding oneself on their soil, in their home.

Although, I found belonging, I found it in a special way. A belonging that is unique to me. I found a home away from home. I can never erase my foreignness when I step on my own soil. It is heartbreaking because I will always remain a foreigner in the eyes of others, but I am still grateful for this experience.

The loose thread was woven, it found a place in the cloth.