My mother is white, American, and my father is Pakistani. Where ever I go, and whomever I am with, I rarely find someone who is at home with *all* of me. I am American, undeniably so, but there are peices of me that are also uniquely Pakistani. Americans see or experience this as unusual, and interesting, but to me it just “is”. And it sets me apart. Pakistanis see the American in me as mutually exclusive to their culture, and that sets me apart from them as well. So, no matter where I go, a part of me has no voice. I am always missing some of me.