struggles of the eldest daughter of an uzbek immigrant

answering the dreaded "where are you from?" question

what is identity? is it the place you were born? is it your ethnicity (despite having almost no memory of your mother land)? is it the sort of passport you carry? i’m not even breaching heavy subjects like gender, sexuality and religion right now. my question is deceptively simple: where are you from? what are you?

which box should i put myself into? most days, it depends on the person i am talking to. if i speak to an uzbek, then that is who i am. if i happen upon someone british, then i am that too. and the funny part is that i am not enough for both of them. too asian and too muslim to pass as a brit. my accent too broken and my mannerisms too awkward to be passably uzbek.

“To be an immigrant, good or bad, is about straddling two homes, whilst knowing you don't really belong to either.” ― Nikesh Shukla, The Good Immigrant

not to mention, i have not lived in the uk or uzbekistan for ages now. i’ve studied, worked, gotten married and had children in the uae. which has only pushed me further away from my peers because i must live in the lap of luxury as a british expat in dubai, right? (wrong. very, very, wrong. so wrong, in fact, that i do not know where to even begin with disassembling that assumption)

forgive me for overthinking about myself too much on my own substack. ever since i started viewing it as a personal journal, i have not been able to stop myself from writing. i do not know whether that is a blessing or a curse )) i read an article today on here that said all emotions take a very long time to process and oftentimes, we tend to revisit our thoughts and feelings continuously until our subconscious is satisfied. because, let’s be real, i don’t think we ever really “get over” anything we experience, negative or not. we might not be able to consciously remember, but everything we experience leaves it’s everlasting mark.

why am i bringing this up? because i do not know what it feels like to belong and it might possibly be the one thing i have always ached for. and it shows. in every single interaction i have, ever connection i make with another human being. this knee-jerk reaction to prove that i fit in is annoying and i resent myself for it a little more every time i catch myself in the act. i am a prideful creature and i hate to be seen lacking or trying or failing (or seen at all, sometimes).

i envy my cousins, sometimes. they were born in one place, grew up there, have the passport and can fluently speak the language. there are no cracks in their facade, their sense of identity seems smooth and shiny.

now here is the part where i realise i am spinning around in negative circles and stop myself. the upper portion of this post was written very late last night. since then, i have gone on a walk, had a nice long chat with someone dear to me and at least 10+ hours of sleep (very patchy and often disturbed because i have two kids, but sleep nonetheless) and I feel much better. more human, less swamp monster.

what are the good sides of being the way that i am? well, firstly, it is a resoundingly huge privilege. being a british citizen has opened a lot of doors for me, whether i want to admit it or not. living in the emirates for over a decade has been a wonderful experience for me as muslim woman. and my uzbek heritage has allowed me a unique world view that i would otherwise have been blind to (like most asian cultures, uzbekistani people place a special emphasis on community, hospitality and selflessness).

two facts that are simultaneously true are: 1) there is a lot to be grateful for and 2) my gratitude does not invalidate the pain of the immigrant experience. i read Babel a few months ago and i felt like R.F. Kwang put into words the feelings that constantly plagued me. i feel guilty because i am having a complicated time with my identity in a place of privilege (living abroad and in slightly better conditions than my relatives) and i am not able to speak to anyone about it without looking like i am taking my blessings for granted.

if you, too, are from an immigrant family then please share your thoughts. i would love to know what you think and how you feel about your own identity. where do you live? which part of yourself do you identify with? and, most importantly, where are you from?

until next time,

khadija xo