on the perpetual sense of not belonging

dear helga,

i'm sorry that you're struggling with the concept of belonging. in a society based on a racial binary, it seems that you are too 'black' for white people and too 'white' for black people. it is difficult to feel that you are suspended between different worlds, never completely belonging to any of them. 

although my personal experiences are different, it is also sometimes difficult for me to feel that i belong. my grandparents immigrated to the united states from sudan in 1975. i was born in davis, california, but at nine years old, i was uprooted when my family moved to riyadh, saudi arabia. in riyadh, the concept of home and belonging became elusive to me. i attended four different schools and lived in six different houses in the span of six years. i never stayed in a school or a neighborhood long enough for me to consider it as a real home. as a result, i couldn't help but feel a perpetual sense of unsettlement. my family spent school breaks in either sudan or california. in sudan, my sisters and i were called “the americans,” despite speaking arabic in a flawless sudanese accent. in my country of birth, the united states, i felt like a tourist, flying into the country every year in mid-june, suitcases in hand, and leaving at the end of august. 

i wasn't black enough, sudanese enough, american enough, and certainly not saudi enough.

but i've learned that i get to define what each of those identities mean to me. i listen to sudanese music while i exercise in my dorm room in stern hall located on the east side of campus (because i hate the gym), i keep lotion in my backpack because my hands get ashy especially after i wash them, i have a saudi red and white ghotra hung up on my wall, and i've even admittedly sung the national anthem a few times before. 

home to me is the books that i have read. it is my doc marten boots. it is setting the table and knowing which utensils each member of my family uses. home is when my roommate and i set off countless alarms in the morning, praying that we'll wake up at seven-thirty am to get some work done (but also knowing well that we won't leave our beds before nine am — on a good day).

you belong to you and your home is where your body, mind, and soul are and it is a sacred place.

love, 

faatimah