The identity crisis of a second-generation immigrant
Belonging. The human need and feeling of being accepted, valued and connected. It is something we all seek yet often struggle to find. The desire to feel at home. But where is home when you feel like a stranger everywhere?
Growing up as a second-generation Pakistani immigrant, I’ve often caught myself between two realities. Too Western for one, too foreign for the other. It’s an isolating conflict, feeling disconnected from a culture that is inherently yours, whilst simultaneously feeling like an outsider in the culture you grew up in.
Growing up in England, I always wondered about the life I might’ve had if my Maa hadn’t migrated from Pakistan. The delight of having my grandparents down the hall rather than across the world, the comfort of speaking my mother tongue instead of having to shamefully admit I can’t when someone asks, the family gatherings I could have attended rather than experiencing them through a screen. But then I remember it’s a dream hanging from the limbs of a “What if?”, and I am reminded that the life I imagine is the life my Maa left behind to give me the opportunities that I have today.
Maybe this is where the label of being “too western” begins. The word “whitewashed” is one I’ve often associated with this feeling, as though growing up differently somehow makes me less South Asian. There is an unspoken hierarchy within our communities, and ethnicity becomes something you must earn, instead of being an inherent birthright. The criteria for belonging becomes longer and longer, as though you’re constantly being evaluated on your “authenticity”. It’s often difficult to find a sense of community among people who share your background, when everybody’s trying to gatekeep cultural identity. Newsflash guys! Ethnicity isn’t niche! Eventually, you begin to internalise these labels, questioning parts of yourself that you never previously thought needed questioning. It’s almost ironic that the desire to belong can leave people even more disconnected than before. Rather than finding comfort within a shared identity, I’m left questioning whether I’m South Asian enough to belong.
However, when searching for belonging in the country where I was born and raised, I find myself facing a different kind of disconnect. I’ve always joked that I’m a white person magnet, considering most of my friends have always been white. (And mega shoutout to those divas!). But growing up alongside people who don’t necessarily share the same cultural background has made me realise just how different our experiences can be. Not that my friends have never attempted to understand, but some experiences can only truly be understood when you’ve lived them yourself. Whilst I don’t feel I need to change who I am around my friends, I sometimes feel like I’m translating parts of myself to make everyone understand.
But why have we created so many categories in the first place? Why does finding somewhere to belong mean searching through endless sections and subsections to determine where you fit? The problem isn’t belonging to two cultures, but the rigid expectations of what belonging to either should look like. There’s no place like home, but perhaps home isn’t a place to be found. Home can be created, a sanctuary to embrace every part of yourself without any justification.
One day I’ll be able to click my red heels three times, chant “There’s no place like home!” and know exactly where I’m headed.