I smell the musty scent of corrugated cardboard. I hear familiar screeches of packing
tape being unleashed. I witness the warm ritual of people flocking for their farewells.
I hear my mother’s triennial quote with a tint of melancholic attached to it, “Oh just
when we’re fully settled, it’s time to leave.
” Living in seven countries has profoundly
impacted my multifaceted identity. Although my relatives correctly assert that few are
gifted with this experience, it’s not a bed of roses.
Wherever we moved, it happened. Initially, I’d be overwhelmed by my heart’s
rampant pounding and wanted to dig a hole in the ground to hide in as I perceived a
wall between myself and the locals, with the bricks being made of discrepancies in
language, mentality, and customs. However, an opportunity would pop up to show
people that we’ve got more in common. For example, after a week of being met with
a cold shoulder in my new school in Azerbaijan, it was time for the new academic
year’s welcome dance. (Ironic as I never felt welcome there the whole week). I saw
my Azerbaijani acquaintances dancing the Lezginka
with intricate limb movements. I
thought, “That’s a lot like my own tribal,Northern Pakistani dance. I bet I can do that.
”
I instantly sprang up and rushed to the dance floor. With open mouths and
expanding pupils, they looked at me in shock as if I had discovered fire. The more I
rapidly shuffled my legs whilst opening my arms out vertically, the more their lips
lifted as their cheeks parted for an uncontrollable smile. I sensed that wall gradually
