That made me reflect on many figures I know — both in history and in my lifetime — who were born in one place, yet carry the nationality of another, and how that affects their presence on the world stage.
I thought of Dr Magdi Yacoub, Dr Farouk El-Baz, Amr Adib, Dr Osama Hamdy, and others. If one of them were to win a prestigious global award in medicine, physics, media, or culture, which country would celebrate the honour? Egypt? Saudi Arabia? England? The United States?
Who owns the pride — the origin or the passport? And how would they themselves feel — to whom would they declare their true belonging?
The nature of identity
A person is born on a land he did not choose, given a language he did not help shape, and bears a name that may not reflect the depth of his inner self.
Over time, he might migrate, willingly or by force, or choose a new homeland that grants him legal papers called “citizenship.” Perhaps he seeks opportunity, safety, knowledge, or even a conscious rebirth of identity.
But does that make him a true son of the new homeland? Or does he still carry within him an ancient homeland that never ages and cannot be erased?
Identity is not an address but a journey — a tapestry woven from experiences, childhood memories, a mother’s voice, the laughter of friends, the pain of failure, and the joy of success.
When asked, “Where are you from?” a person does not answer with the name on his passport alone, but with the name of the land that echoes in his inner voice.
The dual nature of belonging
There are two kinds of belonging:
Inherited, like lineage — rooted in genes, language, customs, and memory.
Acquired, shaped through participation, work, giving, and a sense of responsibility toward a land that embraces you.
But can anyone truly choose between them?
Perhaps not.
A human being may carry within him more than one homeland — living a noble duality between the origin he came from and the future where he lives. Even after acquiring a new citizenship, he needs time to belong — to turn the name on his passport into a living identity.
How many generations to belong?
Sociologists say it takes three generations for roots to dissolve and identity to reform:
• One generation migrates.
• One adapts.
• One integrates.
Yet philosophers whisper that time alone is not enough — for identity is not measured by years, but by the depth of meaning.
A man may live fifty years in a new land without feeling part of it, while another is born abroad yet carries the soul of his distant ancestors.
Belonging is not about residence, but resonance — the ability to see yourself reflected in those around you.
Passport versus identity
A passport is a document of passage, not a certificate of belonging.
It grants you the right to cross borders, not the right to memory.
It defines external boundaries, not the inner ones.
How many people hold foreign passports yet feel alien among languages they struggle with and cultures that do not mirror their souls?
And how many others, stateless, are rooted in their soil like ancient trees?
Culture is the collective memory that connects the inherited with the acquired, what we carry when we leave, and what never falls from the suitcase of the soul.
Language, music, food, proverbs, laughter; all are remnants of a homeland that dwells within us.
When we live in a new homeland, we do not necessarily lose our first belonging, we may instead redefine it through a broader experience, one that deepens our understanding of humanity itself.
Between origin and acquisition
Life is layered.
A person carries an indelible origin and acquires a new identity that enriches them. The problem is not in this plurality, but in denying one side.
He who loses his roots is lost, and he who rejects the new cannot grow.
Mature awareness understands that identity is not a “replacement” but a fusion, and belonging is not measured by birthplace but by the depth of responsibility one feels toward the world he inhabits.
In the end, man possesses only himself as a permanent homeland.
If he is honest with himself, open to the world, and loving toward others, he becomes a citizen of the greater homeland — humanity itself.
The true homeland is not drawn on a map but inscribed in the conscience that binds you to goodness, in the language through which you express love, and in the hand that gives without asking about origin or nationality.
Epilogue: Toward a cosmic identity
At the highest level of awareness, man realizes that his true belonging is not limited by geography nor confined by borders.
Every land touched by sunlight is a home for the spirit, and every smile you meet is kin to your soul.
This, the philosophers say, though the ordinary man who moves from place to place may not yet grasp it.
Awareness can lift us from clinging blindly to a single creed, fighting for its rituals, condemning those who differ, to embracing its essence: that the Creator is One, calling us to love, justice, compassion, and doing good.
Awareness teaches us that homeland is an emotional bond, to shared history, culture, loved ones, and family.
If a new citizen can create that bond, he becomes truly belonging.
When a person’s consciousness evolves from “I am a citizen” to “I am a human being,” he sees a new horizon, humanity as one body, diverse in language and accent, yet united in the pulse of goodness, justice, and freedom.
That is the awareness that does not erase origin but transcends it; that does not forget roots but lets them grow toward the whole cosmos.
When man knows himself, he knows his true homeland.
And when he knows his homeland, he discovers that the entire Earth is one home, and all human beings, regardless of nationality, are members of one household within the vastness of existence.
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