You’ve been called so many things.
On some days, the world calls you unstable, flawed, broken. On others, you’re celebrated for your beauty, your cricket, your culture. But I know you as something far more complex, far more human than the headlines will ever capture.
You are the dusty streets of my childhood, where I played until my knees were scraped and my mother’s voice called me home. You are the scent of rain on warm earth, the chatter of neighbours as they exchange food across balconies, the rickshaw wala who smiles and says, “Agli dafa paisay de dena” when I forget my wallet. You are the sound of the azaan at sunset, echoing through every alley and settling gently into every heart.
You’ve been pushed down, mocked, and misunderstood. You’ve been judged by your scars more than your strengths. But what they don’t see is that you are unbreakable. You’ve raised people who rise each morning — no matter how hard yesterday was — and try again. People who work, dream, laugh, and love fiercely in your name.
And it’s not just those who still walk your soil. Your spirit travels in the suitcases of those who have left — students, workers, dreamers. They live in London, Sydney, Toronto, Dubai… yet they carry pieces of you in their kitchens, their music, their hearts. They defend you when others don’t understand. They tell stories of your mountains, your mangoes, your poetry, your warmth. They miss you in ways words can’t always hold.
Distance hasn’t dimmed their love — it has deepened it. They send money home to keep families afloat, to build schools, to start businesses. They return with skills, ideas, and hope, always believing you can be more than what you are today.
Loving you has never been about ignoring your flaws. It’s about caring so deeply that it hurts to see you struggle. It’s about wanting to fight for your better days, even when it’s easier to walk away. I’ve seen your faults, Pakistan, but I’ve also seen your beauty — and it’s a beauty that refuses to be silenced.
You are the snow on Hunza’s peaks and the chaos of Karachi’s streets. You are Sufi poetry sung under the stars, the sweetness of ripe chaunsa mangoes, the resilience in a mother’s eyes when she says, “Sab theek ho jayega.” You are imperfect, yes — but you are mine.
And so, no matter where life takes me — whether I watch the sun rise over Lahore or set across a foreign skyline — I will carry you with me. Not as a stamp in my passport, but as a rhythm in my heartbeat. I will speak of you with pride, defend you with love, and dream of the day the world will see you as I do — strong, beautiful, and full of promise.
Because even if my feet walk far from you, Pakistan… my soul will always find its way home.
Always yours,
A heart that will forever beat for you