Somewhere between Pakistan and America, you’ll find my discomfit heart

A short note spurred by some mixed emotions over the 70th year of my country's independence and the tumult in Charlottesville this past weekend, as well as the rather political music of The Cranberries. I've often struggled with my not-quite diasporic identity and have written about it ad nauseum in the past 7 years of … Continue reading Somewhere between Pakistan and America, you’ll find my discomfit heart

bee-stung tongue

But sometimes your tongue is so laden with all the ways you can phrase a sentence that you end up swollen and heavy-jowled, and all that comes from your lips are disjointed words interjected with hesitation and insecurity. You sit down, red, and pretend you aren't being stared at by people who're wondering what the hell you're doing there; you pretend you aren't pretending those people are staring at you because it's much easier to displace the responsibility of criticism than admit you hate some aspect of your identity.