An excerpt from Finding My Way by Malala Yousafzai.
When I arrived in Birmingham for spring break, I told my dad we had to visit Pakistan. If my college friends could go there during their holidays, I deserved the same right. I was growing restless; it felt like if I didn’t go now, I never would.
“Let’s wait until summer,” he suggested.
“If you want to wait, that’s fine. I’ll go alone,” I challenged him. “I’ll book my own flight, leave this house by cab, and call Moniba when I land to pick me up.”
Deep down, I wasn’t that brave, but I wasn’t sure my dad realized it, which gave me a small advantage.
Each time, we were told: “It’s not the right moment for Malala’s return.” My dad heard it so often that I feared he was losing hope.
“It will never be the ‘right’ moment!” I exclaimed, trying to rally his spirit. “I am a Pakistani citizen with a valid passport. They have no reason to stop me.” Though I sounded angry, inside my heart was breaking.
At 24, I had recently experienced more reminders of home—its food, music, sports, and language—in a few weeks than in the past five years. That sudden awakening brought pain, like blood rushing back to numb limbs.
I was tired of watching my old friends on Facebook, of wandering streets on Google Maps. I couldn’t keep dreaming of home at night and waking up confused every morning.
“It will never be the ‘right’ moment! I am a Pakistani citizen with a valid passport. And they have no grounds to stop me.”
Summary: Malala’s emotional struggle to return to Pakistan reveals her deep connection to home despite challenges and delays, highlighting her resilience and yearning for belonging.