Self Identity

Who Am I I was born in India. My father was oceans away, missing the chance to hold his only child. Two grandmothers, nani and dadi, wrapped me in love so pure I thought it would last forever. Even now, though they are gone, their memory is stitched into me. From them I learned that love can shape who you are. And then I moved. Jersey City. Pizza on corners. The skyline of New York across the water. Friends who felt permanent. A house that felt like home. Then one day, it was gone. That was when I learned home is fragile, and resilience is the only way to carry it forward. And then I moved. Back to India. Festivals. Cousins. The warmth of family everywhere. And yet— I didn’t belong. I stood out like a sore thumb. That was when I learned that you can be surrounded by love and still feel like an outsider. That planted empathy in me. And then I moved. Chicago. Blizzards that swallowed the city whole. Snowflakes sharp as glass, streets silent, children gone inside. I was placed in ESL, as if the language I knew best didn’t belong to me. That was when I learned what it feels like to be invisible. Resilience meant refusing to disappear. And then I moved. Texas. Wide skies, but prejudice just as wide. On the Fourth of July, I was denied chocolate because of the color of my skin. I could have chosen anger. I could have carried hate. Instead, I chose kindness. That was when empathy became my strength. And then I moved. Edison. Finally, roots. Friends who lasted. Dreams of permanence. I thought: maybe here, I can stay. But life still pulled me away. Back to India. Back again. Even so, Edison gave me a glimpse of what stability could feel like. And then the world moved without me. Covid. The world froze. But grief moved freely. First nani. Then dadi. The women who first held me cremated in the homeland. I couldn’t say goodbye. Their absence hollowed me out, but it also filled me with urgency: to live fully, because nothing lasts forever. And then I moved forward. Now Rutgers. A dorm. A desk. A bed that doesn’t move beneath me. For the first time, I feel grounded. Home is not a place anymore. Home is me. So who am I? I am a traveler, shaped by every place I’ve lived. I am resilient, because every uprooting taught me to rise again. I am empathetic, because every cruelty taught me the power of kindness. I am curious, because every city left me with questions no book could answer. I am loving, because even in loss, the love of my grandmothers lives on in me. I am not made of one home. I am made of all of them. Not defined by one country. But by every journey. This is who I am.