Nandana Mohandas

India

A beautiful picture that once was

The pin that anchored my Hijab shifted, as I fidgeted with the lanyard.

In a college that represented a privileged and dominating demographic, melanin was scarce. “Zahabiya” read my ID card. My skin stood in stark contrast to the bright, almost-sickening white of the card. Muscle memory led me down the familiar winding hallway as the thoughts of my family of 5 younger sisters back in Afghanistan flooded my mind. The whispers and stares snapped me back to reality.

I shared my dorm-room with Parvathya and Heejin.

Heejin was the liveliest, until last summer- her twin brother Haneoul, from what we’ve heard, was the helpless victim of a hate crime in the “Land of opportunity”. I always thought about the irony behind the name, but that awful Saturday morning last week, walking back into the dormitory, puffy-eyed and clutching a bracelet, my heart bled.

As I would learn in the hours to come, South Koreans had a beautiful tradition of turning ashes into colorful beads, Parvathy sprinkled Ganga Jal around the room. A belief that was deeply rooted in Hindu customs.

As a drop of it fell on the bracelet Haneoul brought back which I was holding on to, it glinted in the light of dusk.

An African-American Muslim clutching a bracelet with roots in South Korean culture, while an orthodox Indian girl sprinkled holy water. Could it get any better?

But that was last Saturday.

Today, my tears would not begin to suffice for my homeland, or was it not home anymore?