At age 20, I was finally going to visit the subcontinent of my ethnic origin. As the plane inched closer to Karachi's airport, I predicted the plane would backtrack, escape its intended route, and never land on Pakistani soil.
To my disbelief, the plane landed. The universe no longer denied a visit of mine to the motherland.
I had always wanted to go to Pakistan. It was the country where my father grew up. It was the country where both sets of my grandparents migrated to after a painful separation--the Partition of India and the creation of the Pakistani state.
During my visit, I discovered Pakistan's beauty, enjoyed its hospitality, and unearthed its complexity. In Karachi, Lahore, and Murree, I witnessed much about Pakistani daily life. Pakistan is insane and magical all at the same time. Ultimately, I found that Pakistan is a difficult place to fall in love with.
In Pakistan, there is no shortage of pollution, poverty, chaos, and danger. Instead, there are shortages of water and electricity. Up to two times a day, the electricity goes out for an hour at a time. Pakistan's water resources, mainly the Indus River, are not enough to sustain Pakistan's population of over 191.71 million. In making matters worse, most of the water in Pakistan is not safe for consumption.
Pakistan's driving scene provides a metaphor for the country's chaos. Driving through Pakistan's streets require skill and agility. Rickshaws, buses, cars, and motorcycles weave through traffic. On busy streets, donkeys haul loads while racing automobiles. Entire families board single motorcycles: a wife clings to her husband, a child sits in her lap, one behind her, and one in front of his father gripping handle bars. Automobiles constantly avoid near accidents. At one point, I witnessed two motorcyclists almost collide. After the incident, one motorcyclist, nearly hit, began to chuckle.
Pakistan is full of moments like these. Life is a fragile piece in time. Much of the Pakistani population is immune to this fact. Politically, Pakistan is rigid. Socially, it is unjust. In Pakistan, poverty is among the most horrific. Risks of terrorism and crime have become all too common.
In many ways, all of these elements have come to define Pakistan. But something very special lies at Pakistan's core: its beauty in nature, its simplicity in living, and its hospitality in its people.
All of these elements and my own family history within Pakistan affected me emotionally, at my own core. Pakistan whips you, tosses you whichever way, and strikes the heart.
For me, Pakistan was an adventure of all sorts. I sought my own family history there. As a seeker of the earth's most beautiful spots, I was not disappointed by Pakistan. From a journalistic standpoint, Pakistan offered much material and substance.
I began my exploration in Karachi, the mega-city where my grandfathers first arrived in 1947. They brought close to nothing with them, just their immense hope and their anxious dreams. My father grew up in this same city.
It was in Karachi where I was first met with Pakistan's limitless hospitality. A simple shukria or thank you never seemed to be enough.
Later, I traveled north, arriving in Lahore, Pakistan. Here I encountered more hospitality and much culture and history. Mughal ruins, mosques, and minarets glorify the city.
My travelling through Pakistan continued as we passed through Pakistan's capital and into the forest-jungle hybrid called Murree. I had never seen anything more beautiful. Trees, ranging in height, adorned mountains' every curve. In the evening, the sun meshed with sky. Among the color green, pink and orange replaced blue, illuminating a backdrop for trees and hills.
Following these explorations, I wished Pakistan could be more easily shared with the world. Surely, there is much room for investment and tourism in Pakistan. Unfortunately, security issues have always been a pressing concern.
Pakistanis live this unfortunate reality and yet life is fulfilling, purposeful, and enjoyed by many.
Despite such serenity, a historical failure continues to plague Pakistan. Pakistan is lost. It has been. Pakistan's initial dream envisioned by Muhammad Ali Jinnah, the founder of Pakistan, never quite made it to Pakistan's borders. The famous poet and philosopher, Muhammad Iqbal, who lent Jinnah inspiration, promoted being the pilot of one's own destiny. External and internal factors, both unprecedented and unfortunate, distorted Pakistan's initial mission.
The Pakistan dream formed during a time of uncertainty. Specifically, Muslims feared what would happen to them in a Hindu-ruled India. At age 16, my grandfather recognized rising tensions and the beginnings of inequality. My grandfather has always told me that Pakistan was created for the purpose of human dignity not because Hindus and Muslims were incapable of living together.
For many individuals and myself, Pakistan is not merely a piece of land or a nation. Instead, Pakistan describes a force--an impulse that causes human beings to migrate to unfamiliar land with only hopes for a better future, even if that future seems distant and unyielding.
A similar force is what motivated my maternal grandfather to migrate once more, this time to the United States of America. Throughout my stay, I enjoyed my family's company always thinking I could have easily lived their same life. But I had a different fate.
My grandfather once recapped on his personal story at the time of the Partition: "when I arrived in Pakistan, I felt like my life finally began."
At age 20, I had finally made it to Pakistan--a force, a land, a lost dream. Pakistan both affected me and taught me. It answered my previous curiosities. It violently swayed my emotions. It gave me new perspectives and aspirations.
Now, as I reminisce about my visit, I feel like my life has just begun.