This was a return. A return to the motherland. A return to my roots. A return to self-discovery. A return. Eik wapsi. 

A year later and I was back on the soil that completed my other self. A land where I found myself. A place that connected me to my history. I returned to Pakistan, my other home. 

My experience was very different than last time. I was more familiar. I was more aware. I had a better understanding of my surroundings. I recognize the streets, the people, the customs. This time around, I wanted to learn more about my family. To hear stories about my parents from my elders that never made it across the ocean. 

The most memorable time was at nano’s (maternal grandmother). In the early afternoon, I would walk up the stairs to the roof area where I would find nano laying on her charpai (traditional bed. She would be soaking in the warmth of the sun during those breezy winter days. The moment she saw me, nano embraced me and said “my child is here” as she kissed my cheeks. It was as though she felt Ama’s presence when I was around her. 

My favourite place at nano’s was the swing on the roof (the swing has a lot of memory from my previous trips to Pakistan when I was younger). The cool wind lightly brushed my face as I swung forward, trying to reach the clear blue skies, high above my head. Some days I found myself alone on the roof sitting on the swing. I listened to the laughter of school children in the galians (streets) below alongside the sound of several motorcycles riding on bumpy roads as I watched falcons circle in the sky in search of food. 

Language. Zuban. A way of expressing feelings, stories and thoughts with words. It can also be a barrier when two languages don’t understand each other. But love breaks this barrier. 

Nano spoke melodic Punjabi to me and I replied back with the sweetness of Urdu. Yet, at times, my limited vocabulary and my broken Punjabi made it challenging to communicate. Beyond language, being in her presence made these moments much more memorable.

Nano is the strongest and most direct tie to my mother in Pakistan. A piece of Ama is back home. Nano is the root that I seek. She is the memory of the past. A window into my mother’s youth. A witness to all the changes that occurred in her surroundings. Nano is a reminder to me, a reminder that a part of me also belongs in her house. A reminder that I belong to this land and this land belongs in me. 

I found comfort in her home. I was home. I spent more time with her this time around. I spoke to her. I helped her. I listened to her. Her presence was everything. She was enough for me. But this return came to an end. This wapsi was ending when I hugged nano tightly and she said “my child is leaving”. I broke down in tears. She kissed and hugged me. And then I left. I left with the same worry I had last year. Fear of not knowing when I will see her again. Fear of returning to an empty home. 

Nano is my wapsi. Nano embodies the return I long for. 

…

For children of immigrants I ask,

We always long for a return, but to where? Our souls seek to be united with a soil that our bodies don’t recognize. A return to where we truly belong? But where do we truly belong? Here or there? Do we belong in a land where we feel most secure and familiar? Or do we belong to a land where we become wanderers with foreign accents? Do we belong to a colonized land? Or do we belong to a land where we can trace our bloodlines? 

What is return, I ask. I say return is freedom. Freedom to build homes where complex identities are embraced, revived and accepted. 

Eik wapsi. A return.