From Lahore to Lexington: definitely not Emily in Paris

Emily had fashion shows. I had Walmart runs. Guess who cried more? When I first watched Emily in Paris, I thought, “That's me.” A young woman, dropped into a new country, navigating cultural shock, language barriers and that terrifying question of “How to belong?” But here's the twist: Emily's Paris isn't my Kentucky.

Emily arrives in France and magically picks up the language in six months to a year. I came to America already fluent in English which is Pakistan’s second national language and still struggle to connect. Emily makes friends within days, builds a social circle, even juggles three or four love interests like it's a side hobby. I, on the other hand, walked into my first graduate college class in Lexington, Kentucky, and realized I was the only Pakistani in that room. Not just that for a long time, I was the only brown person in my entire college. Just to be clear, I wasn't the only international student. There were classmates from Ghana and Nigeria, and I loved working with them. But even then, I felt different. They had each other, shared cultural references, food, music. I was proud to be a Pakistani, but I was alone.

I used to be an extrovert. Back home in Lahore, Pakistan which is a bustling city of over 13 million people, alive with food, music and late-night Chai stalls, I was always surrounded by friends. Throw a Lahori into Lexington, Kentucky, and it feels like sending a New Yorker to a tiny southern town. Suddenly, my jokes didn't land. Back home, a quick cricket joke would light up the whole room. In Lahore, people would laugh instantly, because cricket is more than just a sport, it’s a passion. Here, I tried the same line and got blank stares. That silence echoed louder than any laughter ever could. The references that made my friends laugh back home left my classmates here confused. And when people didn't laugh, I felt smaller and smaller, until my personality shrank into something I didn't recognize: an introvert.

That kind of isolation doesn't just stay in the classroom. It follows you to the cafeteria, into dorm hallways, even into the silences where you sit and hope someone will notice you. And then there was food. Imagine trading the spice, color and aroma of Pakistani food for opposite cafeteria meals. Back home, food was love such as steaming Biryani, sizzling Kababs, sweet Jalebi from a street corner shop. And Lexington, dinner was grey mystery meat and french fries. On top of that, No Chai the way my mother makes it. I didn't just miss that taste. I missed the feeling of belonging that came with every bite. On top of a difficult roommate situation this was also my first time living away from my parents after 23 years. You can imagine how the so-called “American College dream” looked very different in reality.

Maybe there should be a guidebook: “What to expect when you move from Lahore to Lexington.” Since there isn't, considering this my attempt at writing one not just for Pakistani students like me, but for anyone who's ever felt like their story didn't match the script they saw on Hollywood shows and movies. I grew up watching Hollywood college movies with loud parties, buzzing cities and less excitement. But Lexington wasn't New York or Los Angeles. It was quiet, reserved and sometimes even isolating. The gap between the screen and reality hit me harder than I expected.

This is only the beginning. Because while Emily's Paris gave her confidence, Ayesha’s Kentucky is teaching her resilience. And resilience makes for a much more interesting story.