Growing up as the child of immigrants meant I lived in two realities. At home, I spoke my parents’ native language, followed traditions rooted in another continent, and shared meals filled with flavors that often made my school lunches the subject of curious glances. Outside, I slipped into my second identity—the one that knew how to pronounce things the “right” way, referenced pop culture effortlessly, and laughed at jokes I sometimes didn’t fully understand.

I was constantly translating—not just language, but meaning, behavior, and emotion. I learned early how to code-switch, to navigate between the values of my upbringing and the norms of the country I called home. I never felt fully like I belonged in either place, yet I could not separate myself from either.

The Pressure to Fit

There were days when I resented the duality. I wanted to blend in with the crowd, to not have to explain why I couldn't attend a dance because it fell on a religious holiday, or why my parents were stricter than others. I remember rehearsing conversations in my head to avoid questions that felt too personal, too complicated.

And yet, during family gatherings, surrounded by elders and childhood stories, I often felt guilt for drifting so far from my roots. My accent softened, my grasp of the language weakened, and I feared becoming a stranger to the people who shaped me. I felt suspended between two identities, each pulling at different parts of who I was.

Finding the Bridge

It took time to stop seeing this experience as a conflict and start recognizing it as a gift. In college, I began to explore both cultures more consciously. I joined clubs that celebrated diversity, attended open mic nights where others shared similar stories, and realized I wasn’t alone in feeling in-between.

I began to write poetry, essays, and journal entries, and through that expression, I found clarity. I wasn’t split in two. I was layered. Each culture had given me something vital. One taught me resilience, rootedness, and reverence for tradition. The other gave me confidence, freedom, and the courage to redefine myself.

Wholeness in the In-Between

Today, I no longer feel the need to choose one world over the other. I greet my parents in our mother tongue and my colleagues in English without feeling a shift in authenticity. I cook fusion dishes that mix flavors from both heritages. I listen to old folk songs while drafting modern digital content.

Living between two worlds taught me empathy. It made me adaptable. It gave me the ability to see things from multiple perspectives. It may not have always been easy, but it shaped a richer, more nuanced identity—one that I now embrace fully.

Because sometimes, it is not about choosing where you belong, but about learning to belong to yourself in all the places you come from.