“Why do we leave here if it’s home, Baba?” “It’s for the better, you will understand one day.” My family has been scattered around the world for as long as I can remember. At the age of two, my two eldest brothers immigrated to the United States to play tennis and get an education. When I was five, my older sister went back to Lebanon to pursue her college education. When I was eight, my mother, sister, and I traveled back to Lebanon to continue our education. My father and brother stayed in Riyadh - Saudi Arabia. So, it's safe to say that I was born to be an immigrant. Whenever I asked my parents why we lived outside of Lebanon, if we were Lebanese, they always said that I'd understand someday when I'm older. They tried to explain the benefits of seeking opportunities and growing elsewhere to have a better life, but I never quite grasped it. Fast forward twelve years, my six-year-old nephew- who lives with his mother in the home I grew up in- asks me why I am here in the States and not home. He asks me the same question I asked my father long ago and I cannot help but answer him the same way my father did.
For a Boomer or Generation X Arab, home is stability. They grew up in harsh conditions, and their goal was to never let themselves or their family go hungry. So, they started immigrating to America, Europe, West Africa, and the Gulf. The need to make something of themselves and for their kids outweighed the need to be close to loved ones. In return, this created a sense of confusion for Millennial and Generation Z Arabs. We, millennial and GenZ Arabs, were fortunate enough to be born into stability and comfort. Hence, we did not understand why we were apart from our families in the beginning. When we returned "home" and our cousins teased us for having different accents, we felt we did not belong there. By the time we got accustomed to the ways of our home countries, we returned to our "stable home," where we had to do it all over again.
It took me a while to understand where my home is. Though the most straightforward way would be to claim it as my home country, I concluded that home is so much more than that. It is not one place, and it does not necessarily include stability. It is quite everchanging, it grows as I grow, and relocates when I relocate. It is what I make it out to be. My home is where I want it to be, it is not one place. It is here in the United States, in Lebanon, in Saudi, in the hotel room at the Marriot Hotel in Paris during the summer. It is where my loved ones are, in my father's grey GMC where he sings Tom Jones' Delilah, in the kitchen where the aroma of my mother's cooking is mouthwateringly pungent, and currently, it is by my cat who sits by me as I write this.
I have come to terms with being an immigrant. It is both painful and beautiful, but I see myself as traveler and with that comes immense gratitude. Home for you might be different. Your idea of home might differ from your siblings'. Whatever the case, you choose where you belong. To end this, I want you to remember the first time you realized you did not belong where you are. Can you recall the time when you realized the idea of home to you came crumbling down? What feelings did that create? How did you continue to navigate through life after that? Where is your home currently? You decide where it is, just as you decide who you are, and what your identity represents. This brings us to the topic of our next blog, “How Do I Explain My Identity to People?” Be sure to share your thoughts with me as I’d love to learn of your experience and be sure to connect with me through the comment section, Instagram, and Twitter.
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