Defining what “home” looks like— and more importantly where it is— means different things to different people, and the conversation over who gets to answer both of those questions can get messy fast. Often less about place and more about whose story gets heard (and whose gets questioned), the friction between locals and diaspora— whichever way you’d like to draw the line— is like a long-distance relationship: it’s full of love, miscommunication, and missed signals, with both sides convinced that they’re the victims of each other’s actions.
Most would agree that a diaspora Arab could best be described as one who’s both an insider and an outsider; who’s technically from here but who’s also spent significant time there– and therefore belongs in both, but is rarely made to feel fully comfortable in either. You can blame mass migration, collapsing economies, or post-independence states that simply couldn’t provide the future so many people dreamed of, but our region and its people have never stayed still. Always on the move, in search of what cannot be found in their places of birth, we’ve learned to carry “home” as something portable— a language, a memory, a recipe, a prayer— adapting it to new geographies while still tethered, sometimes painfully, to the old ones.
And as we navigate the politics of memory and belonging, you might find yourself wondering: am I a local, or part of the diaspora? Below, 10 telltale signs that you probably belong to the latter.
You don’t put your phone on airplane mode when talking about politics.
Or you’re just brave and reckless.
You’ve had three ventures called ‘habibi something’.
Because if you haven’t had at least one, you’re doing it wrong.
You don’t view cosmetic surgery as a rite of passage into adulthood.
Costs too much anyways x
You’re always thinking of your next holiday without being concerned about visas.
Oh to be you x
You had to “reclaim” your culture.
Because you were never allowed to simply live it.
You treat Fairuz, Um Kulthum and Abdel Halim like God’s only gifts to music.
It’s not a sin to listen to other people you know.
If you go as ‘Mo’ instead of ‘Mohammed’, ‘Aaron’ instead of ‘Haroon’, etc…
We don’t claim you.
You don’t know the words to your national anthem but know every word to that one Busta Rhymes remix.
No comment.
You curse in Arabic, pray in English
and cry in whatever language comes to you first.
You’ve explained “where you’re really from” more than your star sign.
And both still get misunderstood.
