The expats have passed another year away from home. It brings on a convoluted sadness that is inseparable from a feeling of not wholly belonging somewhere and missing out from where you have left. This dichotomy of being, gives rise to a conflict where you see the best in your own and the worst among the locals or vice versa. One carries on, nonetheless, fearing the day when nothing would be left to recall or regret. If you live in the moment and do not dwell over yesterday or tomorrow, you could avoid the curse of the expat. This may not work, however, if you hail from Pakistan. It is never a dull moment there, which can be so fascinating and so frustrating at the same time. Between the echoes of the days of fun and the pain caused by the ‘breaking news’, you wonder about the in-jokes and the latest slang, things that are difficult to imagine a few time-zones away. It makes you feel homesick, again and again. You really have to leave in order to miss Pakistan. And we often leave to improve or escape from ourselves. We are told that loving life is easy because no one knows you there. It is difficult initially, but if you tough it out, nature chisels you into a better person. Subsequently, you experience your kind huddled together in bars and restaurants, talking not just about their homelands, but also about the experience of leaving. These people aren’t from the same countries; often the mere experience of leaving lands and loved-ones behind brings them together. They share the pain and the promise of happiness out there. It is true that home may be a state of mind and we are no longer at home anywhere. But home is also where our stories began, reminiscences were shaped and friends fit in. It is a place where love resides; flowers bloom; laughter never ends; things wait until we come back; and all the dots in our lives connect. The dilemma for an expat is whether the ache in the chest is about missing home or from realising that home has become someone he does not recognise. Equally, nothing might have changed as everything looks, feels and smells the same; what has changed is the man himself. Everyone leaves at some point, but those who come back are the real flag-wavers. When I moved abroad, you could talk to people about religion and politics. We laughed at the wall hangings in the barber shops requesting customers to refrain from religious and political discourse. One could sense, however, that the ethnic and the religious minorities were feeling uncomfortable. The clever and the influential among them were already planning to proceed abroad. This became an exodus when sectarian and political violence broke out in the 1990s. The trend was orchestrated by General Zia when he strangled political freedom to prolong his rule by dividing people along religious, ethnic and communal lines. Before him, very few people knew or cared about what cast, sect or social class they belonged to. This monster has grown into a creed now as ‘tribal’ warfare is on. If you do not belong to a professional, religious, or political tribe, your survival is impossible. It is true that home may be a state of mind and we are no longer at home anywhere. But home is also where our stories begin, reminiscences are shaped, and friends fit in. It is a place where love resides; flowers bloom; laughter never ends; things wait until we come back; and all the dots in our lives connect Throughout history, successful states were always built on diversity of religious and ethnic talent. Since the flight of such talent (academic, admin, legal, medical, financial), Pakistan is facing growing crises in multiple domains. It is foolish to think that a couple of Institutions could hold it together. Imran Khan is planning to buck this trend by a change of government. I am afraid his two hundred honest men could just about make the country functional, but only if he includes the diaspora. We need to copy the diaspora-led progress achieved by China, Malaysia and now Hindustan. Beyond that, as Shahbaz Sharif proclaims, a national consensus on educational, administrative, legal, political and military reforms would be required to take the country forward. She was also an expat once. When she said Lyallpur was dull, I thought about Imran Khan. Rather than arguing, I gave her a glimpse of my life when I visit. The day starts with a walk in Jinnah Gardens followed by breakfast at Serena. Subsequently, exciting seminars/talks at Punjab Medical College or Divisional Model College take place before meeting the Board of Governors at the Lyallpur Museum. I also visit the Agricultural University and the generous District Administration to discuss projects completed since my last visit. The spaces in between are filled with gracious friends and relatives while sampling local delicacies. The days usually end with friends having dinner, often complimented by the local music. She got very excited, wanted to go immediately, and then write about it. We had decided to hide her in the DCO House for obvious reasons. I have since asked Shahbaz Sharif to make Jemima Khan a Good-Will Ambassador of Pakistan (or Punjab) to promote tourism. Since he and Imran Khan got the good news from the same Supreme Court on the same day, do you think I should ask again? The writer is a Consultant Psychiatrist & Visiting Professor. He tweets @AamerSarfarz Published in Daily Times, December 19th 2017.