i come from green and white, man-made forests and snow-capped mountains. cedar and jasmine, okra sizzling in the hot midday humidity, the ever-present hum of the ceiling fan.
i come from marbles in dirt streets, children chasing fireflies. i come from pocket money and swarming bazaars i was always too afraid to navigate alone.
i come from heartache - the kind caused by fluency only in languages not my own. i come from words i still don't know how to pronounce, letters my tongue trips over.
i come from regret. i come from betel quid stains and politicians i can't get myself to support. i come from the 14th of august and flag garlands adorning every street corner.
i come from ghazals, not poetry. sitars, not guitars. i come from dupattas, chai, and mehndi. i come from eid mubarak and spices waltzing on my taste buds. i come from food i love, food my stomach cannot always handle.
i come from a crowd of rickshaws, air pollution hot and heavy, caked thick on my skin. i come from brown skin and big smiles. i come from iman, ittehad, nazm-o-zabt. faith, unity, discipline.
i come from a place i can't find my way around, a place where every street is a new one, red strings tethering my heart to a homeland miles away.
i come from a place i can't call home.
