The Narratives – Mohamed Miah

What is one question you hate to be asked? Explain.

There’s one question that always makes me sigh, “Where are you from?”

It sounds simple, but it never is. I say England, because that’s where I was born and raised. But that’s never enough. “No, where are you actually from?”

Ah, the real question. What they really mean is, you don’t look like you’re from here, so tell me where your parents are from.

So I say to them. “Bangladesh.”

But it doesn’t end there. In Bangladesh, I get the same question—just in reverse. “Where are you from?” I say “Mirpur,” my family’s village. But that’s not enough either. “No, where in the UK?”

It’s a never-ending cycle. Too brown for England, too foreign for Bangladesh. A foot in both worlds, yet never fully planted in either. It’s not that I don’t love both places—I do. But when you’re constantly asked to justify your identity, you start to realise that no answer will ever be enough.

I used to get frustrated by it. Why can’t people just take my first answer and move on? Why is my identity up for debate? But as I’ve grown older, I’ve realised that this feeling—this lack of belonging—isn’t just my experience. It’s the experience of millions of people like me. Third-culture kids, children of immigrants, born into a world where nationality is tied to skin colour and not just geography.

But maybe that’s why being Muslim resonates so deeply. Allah doesn’t ask where you’re from. He doesn’t separate us by borders, skin colour, or lineage. To Him, we are simply His creation—our worth defined by faith and actions, not by which country claims us.

And that’s where I find my answer. Not in a passport, not in a village name, not in trying to prove where I belong. Because my true belonging isn’t to a country—it’s to something greater.

So, next time someone asks me where I’m actually from, maybe I’ll just smile and say, “I’m from here. I’m from there. But most of all, I’m from Allah.”