We are blessed if we are living in a land where we are born, enjoy food which we used to eat in childhood, all those streets and places where we used to go and play and living among those whom love. In every corner, there is a memory, we don’t realize how much we are attached with all these things and people until we are far away from our motherland, in a strange country, far away from all our close relations and far away from all those beautiful memories.

All these true feelings are expressed in I miss my homeland by Zainab Khawaja.

I remember being dazed on the last Independence Day I spent there. Flags of all sizes reigned over the rooftops and vehicles. People of all ages wore green and white masks, wigs and jewellery. Fireworks blossomed in the air at exactly 12 o’ clock and even dogs barked jubilantly as if they understood that something momentous was happening. The painted faces, bike stunts and dancing had made me grin with delight. Recollecting my thoughts, I finally stepped into the house, a contradictory mix of sad and happy taking over me. Sad because I would be leaving my country soon and happy because of the countless memories I was taking with me.

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