If someone were to ask me, “What’s your nationality?” I could answer with a single word—perhaps the name of a country written on my passport. But the truth is far deeper, richer, and more personal than that. Nationality isn’t just a label stamped on official documents. It’s a feeling, a history, a set of values, and an evolving journey of self-discovery. So, what’s my nationality? Let me tell you a story, and maybe by the end, you’ll understand why the answer is both simple and complex.
I was born in one country, raised in another, and grew up surrounded by a mix of languages, cuisines, music, and traditions. My family carries roots from different parts of the world, and our dinner table reflects that. One night it’s pasta and opera, the next it’s rice and Bollywood, and sometimes it’s burgers with a side of K-pop playlists. Every piece of my upbringing reflects a blend of worlds, woven together like a beautiful cultural tapestry.
Growing up, I often felt caught in between. I wasn’t “fully” this or “fully” that, at least not in the eyes of others. People would ask, “Where are you really from?” with a tone that implied my skin, my accent, or my clothes didn’t quite match their expectations. At first, those questions confused me. Why couldn’t I just say I was from here? Or there? Why did I have to choose? But as I matured, I began to realize that the world doesn’t always have space for blended identities. It likes clear boxes, clean lines, and quick answers. But my identity is anything but quick or clean. It’s layered, like a novel with many chapters.
Nationality, to me, is more than just geography. It’s the smell of spices wafting from my grandmother’s kitchen, the sound of lullabies sung in a language I barely speak, the pride of seeing a national flag wave during a celebration, and the sadness of hearing news from a homeland that feels both close and distant. It’s dancing to folk music I don’t fully understand but feel deeply. It’s the way I instinctively remove my shoes before entering a home, or how I greet elders with respect that feels second nature. It’s how I navigate two or more worlds daily, switching codes, accents, or expressions without even noticing.
There’s also pride in being a global soul. I have friends from every continent, and I’ve learned that belonging doesn’t always come from a shared flag, but from shared values—kindness, resilience, laughter, love. I can cheer for one team in the World Cup and cry for another. I can feel at home in a foreign café if the music hits right. And I can miss places I’ve never been to but somehow feel connected to through stories, photos, and family history.
So when someone asks, “What’s your nationality?” I smile. I know they’re looking for a word. Maybe “American” or “Filipino” or “Brazilian” or “Nigerian.” And yes, I can give them one. But deep down, I know my nationality isn’t just one word. It’s a heart that beats in many languages. It’s a passport filled with more than visas and stamps—it’s filled with memories, emotions, and dreams. I am a blend of my ancestors’ hopes, my parents’ sacrifices, and my own desire to belong and grow.
Sometimes, people assume that not fitting neatly into one nationality must be confusing or painful. But honestly? It’s beautiful. It’s like being able to stand at the crossroads of cultures and see the world through multiple lenses. I don’t have to choose one part of myself and abandon the rest. I can carry it all with me, proudly.
Of course, there are challenges. Paperwork doesn’t always understand identity. Immigration offices ask for documents, not feelings. Forms have checkboxes, not essays. But even within those rigid systems, I hold on to my truth. I am not defined by a barcode or a government record. I’m defined by my story.
Nationality, for me, is about belonging—to people, to traditions, to values. It’s about where I come from, but also where I’m going. It’s shaped by my past, but also by the future I’m creating. And perhaps most importantly, it’s about love. Love for family, love for culture, and love for the journey of figuring it all out.
So, what’s my nationality? 🥰
It’s the sound of laughter in multiple languages.
It’s the comfort of my mother’s cooking and the rhythm of my father’s favorite songs.
It’s the dance of cultures within me, always moving, always alive.
It’s the pride I feel for all the places that made me, and the gratitude I carry for every lesson they taught me.
What’s my nationality? It’s me—every piece, every heartbeat, every story. And that, to me, is something truly worth celebrating.
