Identity

The best part of living vicariously through someone is forgetting your own troubles. Like every ephemeral dream, it will always come to an end. At least the journey is beautiful. That ought to count toward something, right? 

I read page to page of The New Yorker today, something I seldom do. There is never anything that grips me, save a smattering of articles over the years. There are two that jump out to me this time around, namely a memoir styled short story.  It is a comparison between a native Pakistan man who lost his values in the new environment, and an American Pakistan girl who despite living in the states since she was young, only strengthened in her beliefs. 

United States is a nation built by immigrants, yet ruled by something else entirely. Being an citizen means to change your name, shed your identity, and sometimes, renounce your nationality. Thousands of us go through the ceremony every day, and naively believe that “with this 8x11 stock paper, we are one of them now.” For those of us who are less fortunate, and have a question mark next to our status, we live under the loom of deportation. 

The husband came to the states on an H-1B, and when it wasn't renewed at his job in New York, he grabbed frantically to a lower paying job at a different state, and convinced himself it was for the best. He and his wife soon moved to Stamford, Connecticut, a city that seemed desolate compared to their old lives. They were invited to a wealthy Pakistan family, and wanting so hard to impress, they toyed with deceit and lies. It was a holiday, and the host asked the husband if he could take up grilling. Men in America are proud of their barbecues, and would often showcase with every opportunity. In Pakistan, grilling meat is something an educated man would never partake. He hadn’t done anything more than an boiled egg in the kitchen, and left the chores to his wife instead. Reluctantly, he took up the grill challenge, and had charred exterior, pink meat to show for. The wife, not wanting to lose to his husband, told the hostess that they were looking to buy a house with four bedrooms, something that was well beyond the husband’s humble pay grade. We all lie; it’s almost impossible not to do so. How many times have we lied just to save ourselves, and how many times have we lied to save others? 

The grass was greener on the other side, and the husband stared at his coworker, the Pakistan girl, with bitterness. Here was someone who had all the advantages in the world; no wonder she was moving up the staircase, while he was still shuffling in the cubicle. She didn't have to worry about citizenship, or a family; she was young, and nothing could stop her. That was, until the husband heard her recount. She was an American who still held firmly to her beliefs. She used a prayer mat every day at work, and practiced abstinence from alcohol and non halal meat. She was not married, but had brothers and sisters to take care of. She valued actions over pompous words, and her success was reflected in her diligent work. She was also an active member in the community, and took up canvassing to raise the importance of voting. She was walking through a predominately white neighborhood with other Pakistan women, when she was harassed by rowdy street kids. One of them leered and grabbed onto her hand while others sped. She fell on the ground with a broken limb. She was not seriously injured, but trembled all the same. Sometimes, it was the words that broke us, not the sticks and stones. 

We might hold the same passport, we might even dress the same; but we cannot change the color of our skin. We cannot change our past.

But we can change the future.