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There are questions lurking around, asking for dues, to make amends. There are answers hidden beneath the coffin of despair, apologizing but I still don’t know where should I start. From the love, I was deprived of or from the hatred reserved for me in advance. Pouring out my complaints, my despairs, my longings, my love for the country that never loved me back.
It would be sheer ungratefulness if I say I’m not safe or happy here. It would be the sheer injustice to those who died fighting for their identities if I say I’m safe here. Space, the emptiness between these two narratives is where I live. Utter emptiness. Vacuum. That chokes my breath. Sometimes.
I was born in the small town with rustic nostalgia all around. With each passing day, like a bud grows on unexpected places, love for this country was engraved upon this stubborn heart. With each passing day the urge to be loved in return intensified. But have you ever seen the sunsets of my country? How terribly beautiful they are! My story is the bit of that sunset. That legit goes unnoticed. Even with all those hues and colors on the sky beautifying its nameless cities.
Living in a country with laws against you and your community is not easy. With every devoted sun that rises defying the darkness, I vow to remain loyal to my country despite all odds. With every night that hides the flaws, I fervently pray for my country despite its inhumane treatment of my community. In the photographs I capture, in the ode I write, on the roads I travel, at the mountains I visit, in the streets I walk, in my longings, despair, despondency, in my sighs cries and unshed tears, there’s a question my heart keeps on asking.
Will, my country ever able to own me? With every bullet that kills my people. With every fire that fuels the hatred. With every accusation of being treacherous. Every time my country throws me out when I need it the most, a part of me dies sinking deep in the bottomless pit of utter despondency where I long for the answer “Will my country ever going to stop treating me and my community as illegitimates? Am I ever going to witness the day my country instead of disowning me embrace me for who I am?”
Despite all broken pieces, despite all wreckages, this tender heart still beats for Pakistan. My Motherland. But I am tired now. I am not strong enough to further carry the load of one-sided love. I am not strong enough to bury my people every now and then. I am not strong enough to keep on watching the silent screams of the bereaved families. I am tired of reminding myself that I have not paid my debt yet. The country needs me. My prayers and here I am with every fall I stand for my country. Because loving it was never been an option. It was an obligation.
To hope. To love. To Prosperity.
An Ahmadi.
