Japakistani — this is the nickname my clever high school friends coined when referring to me, a half Japanese, half Pakistani scrawny, freckly girl born and raised in Karachi. Growing up in Pakistan and traveling to Japan in the summer, I was made aware of the fact that I wasn’t from a singular entity or country from a very young age. Often upon greeting people, I would go into a mentally taped and recorded message of “My father moved to Pakistan from Japan and that’s where my parents met…” Being introduced as the half Japanese girl in Pakistan, and as the half Pakistani girl in Japan — I often felt like more of a spectacle than a person.

When asked how it feels to be me, I usually don’t know how to respond. But I think I’m highly fortunate to be in this confusing position. The sounds of the shamisen and the sitar, the feel of silk kimonos and intricate saris, the smell of okonomiyaki and biryani wafting from the kitchen…these were the sensations of my childhood. These are the distinct memories that make me constantly nostalgic for all the places I have been lucky enough to call home.