The Transcending Moment Between an Identity and an Identity Card
My friends always say we don't know where you are. I usually respond with “me too”
I have lived multiple lives. Let me paint a quick picture: I was born and raised in Yemen. And then due to the political unrest I decided to leave. I then spent my 20s as an immigrant in Germany, and in between as an expat working in multiple African countries.
That's not just the surface, that's rock bottom. I have always wanted to make sense of my life by actually writing it down. Currently I am unemployed. It's been 7 months. The rocket growth economy, the politics of decency dictating our day, the fair society surrounding me, and my very non-complex identity, all looking at me full of irony and mischievous laughter. When all these layers are deeply intertwined together and then receive this pressure from cosmic and living forces, they open up a portal. The portal runs deep and in time-lapse speed. This post reads in Real-time. So hear me out.
Something really big happened in my life recently and I don't know how to feel about it
It took exactly 7 minutes. A few signatures, a few stamps and a two liner oath to recite. I was then handed a certificate of naturalization. Feelings of excitement are shadowed with sudden emptiness. I have officially become German.
Something really big happened in my life recently and I feel indifferent about it
It took exactly 11 Years. It took my whole twenties. I see my country slip into the abyss. I see other immigrants like me sink into deeps. If earth does not swallow you, then life will. I have to run constantly. Sustained anxiety. Mounted stress. Headwinds. Constant running. Hot feet. Cold papers. It's like hiking or sailing for white people, except that it's something you do not sign up for, or enjoy, or even want to brag about. And it lingers. It becomes perpetual. Feelings of excitement are shadowed with indifference. I have officially become German.
The transcending moment between an identity card and an identity
immigration consumes you. The cycle either starts with your third world parents telling you at an early stage of life about the dream of going abroad in search of economic opportunity. Or it simply gets interrupted by a casual political unrest. It almost sounds like a self-fulfilling prophecy. An imminent bleak future. The quest to mindful soul search find new homes is a definite one — and boy it takes a toll.
The reality is that I did not want to leave. Many of my friends in the West think immigrants want to leave their country because life is better in the so-called developed Western world. I beg to differ, I actually love home. Food is great and people are nice. We leave because it's not safe at home, and not because somewhere else is better. I know this so well!
And even if you leave because you think life in the west is better, there is this transcendental moment in your time abroad where your preconceived conceptions of life abroad peaks and it all just falls apart. It's that feeling of belonging when you score a penalty, but a outcast once you miss. Something is terribly wrong. This is a moment of realizing that a civilization is not defined by renaissance art or good infrastructure. The years of integration to bridge identity with an identity card is subtracted by a missing value: true belonging.
Hopping on. Hoping for. Home is never gone.
To go from the one of the weakest passports in the world to one of the strongest is a complete mind-fuck thing. I think a lot about it. I think a lot about what I do with it now. I think I figured it out: Skip the long ass “All Passports” waiting line