Nowhere and Everywhere

If you asked me where I come from, I would tell you:

I come from a place where mangoes are not a myth,

Where people walk without shoes,

Even when the sun is the only thing in the sky,

Caressed by a continuous cerulean blanket,

And even when the invading clouds become angry.

 

I come from a place where tea is drunk in copious amounts,

Where children spread the wings they do not have,

Where fingers are stained with henna and stories and secrets,

Where curry is the national dish,

And believe me, when I say that curry burns through my veins,

But don’t worry- I don’t mean the type that causes heart disease.

 

I am the product of sugar and spice,

Of curry and samosas and rice,

Of colours and jewels that indicate infinity,

Of heavy accents and songs about silence.

Of being, but never quite belonging.

 

Look at me.

I am writing love letters to a country I have only visited twice.

A country that is oblivious to my existence,

A country I am infatuated with the idea of,

The idea of belonging somewhere in the correct way,

And having the right skin tone and features to show for it.

 

You see, I am the daughter of two worlds, and both are jungles.

One is replete with coconut trees and charming waterfalls,

Little secrets hidden behind rolling hills,

Uncorrupted by the filthy hands of man.

The other world is bustling and the economy is booming

And prosperity is a thing now.

Time flies and houses are tall,

And fishing isn’t the preferred pastime there: making money is.

 

If you asked me where I come from, I would tell you:

I come from somewhere that is imperfect,

Where some of the pieces are in the wrong places,

And some of them are nowhere to be seen.

But the grass is still green beneath our feet,

And love roams free, and I know that peace will reign triumphant.

I come from a place where there is beauty to be seen-

Beauty that succeeds in drowning out the bloodshed.

 

You see, if you asked me where I come from, I would tell you:

I am the daughter of kings and peasants,

Of prophets and criminals,

Of storytellers and poets.

My story is your story too.

We are relics of the past and promises of the future,

We are children of here and there,

and nowhere and

 

everywhere.


Sadia Ahmed, 2017

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