Sometimes when I am alone, wherever I am, my mind wanders to the other side of the earth and I think, “what are people doing there now?”
At least for one fleeting moment in
time, my question was answered.
In March of 2013, I was invited to
attend a wedding in Pakistan. I spent two
weeks in Karachi, Hyderabad, Lahore, and Islamabad.
During this time I inserted myself,
briefly, into a scene which was not my own. I entered into a world of images,
ideas, lives, and laughter that did not belong to me, that existed wholly and
completely without me, and would continue in the same manner, as if I had never
been there. I observed moments in peoples’ lives which were entirely different
from my own.
What made my experience in Pakistan
so unique, pure, and profound, was that it had not been affected by my American
presence. It was not a show designed to appeal to my American tastes, it was
not a tourist attraction designed to extract money. What I experienced were the
real, day-to-day lives of real people in this very real place. The experience
was uncomfortable and unforgettable, hot and happy, inconvenient and inspiring.
For the people around me, this
wedding was only one of hundreds they had attended in their lifetimes. For me,
every mundane sight and sound was a source of amusement, which in turn amused
those around me.
When I had conversations with
strangers, I made an effort to ask open-ended questions, not anticipating any
particular answer. I tried not to ask questions that revealed perspective or
judgment on my part. This challenged me to reevaluate the cultural norms around
which I had been raised. In Pakistan, it was obvious to me that the values of
my culture were not shared in their culture. Sometimes the people I spoke to
gave me an insight into their private lives. Often times they answered
questions that had never been asked of them, not because people were shy or
reticent, but because no one within their culture had every genuinely wondered
what I wondered.
Now a year has passed and I have
decided to publish my travel diary on this blog. At first, I thought I was only
writing for myself. I wanted a record of my time there, as I experienced it,
and I had no intention of sharing those private and revealing experiences with
the world.
Most of these words were written by hand in a notebook I carried with me around the country. Once, on a hot day in Hyderabad, a young girl approached me as I was writing, and asked if she could read my notebook.
Most of these words were written by hand in a notebook I carried with me around the country. Once, on a hot day in Hyderabad, a young girl approached me as I was writing, and asked if she could read my notebook.
I kindly told her no.
She asked why.
I told her I am writing something
that I don’t want people to read.
Then she asked a question I haven’t
been able to forget.
“Why would you write something that
you don’t want anyone to read?”
I still don’t have an answer to her
question. Had I forgotten that writing is a tool for communication?
To that girl in Pakistan, this is
for you.
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