Reimagining the narrative of the Immigrant Hustle

Naina’s parents. Courtesy of Naina Humayoon.

“As I am writing this I'm no longer in my beautiful family home with intricate paintings from Lahore hanging on the walls of the landing, the Persian rugs my aunties would ship over from Iran, or the patchwork cushions my dad's family would bring from India. I now sit in my first ever little home in London and the only traces of my family I have in this room are that of perseverance and true trust in the process.”

Words by Naina Humayoon

My parents moved from Pakistan in the early 2000s so that my mum could do her PHD, which was soon interrupted by the fact that she was expecting me. 18 years later, I have just moved to London for university myself and I’m comparing the circumstances through which my parents moved across oceans for education and employment. I’m asking myself in what ways their very real fears and struggles have translated into my own perceptions of ‘hustle’ culture and my efforts to rebrand the very ideology myself and other first-generation individuals have been surrounded by since birth.

I spent the first five years of my life accompanying my mum to her lectures and lab session, buggy on hand. Whilst this seems inconvenient, her reasoning remains that “to arrive at the unknown was a risk enough but to leave my child with an unknown would make the degree worthless”: an inherent understanding that her own choices were being made with the intention that such a determination would rub off on me and that, in order to survive away from the motherland, we had to somewhat prove our determination and drive.

This perception of working hard and ofter harder was only further instilled throughout school, as I remember my father framing any and every piece of art or writing I produced to be sent first class to my grandparents home in Karachi, hung up in their drawing room awaiting my arrival the following summer. In hindsight, I am massively grateful for the fact that my creativity was celebrated in a way that strayed from the confines of immigrant hustle, as opposed to the safety that comes with being a doctor, lawyer, engineer and so on. But nonetheless, there was an understanding that working hard came hand-in-hand with recognition and that, just as there was a pressure to prove your worth to a foreign, capitalist society, a similar reassurance was craved by those awaiting at 'home' as it was hoped that the sacrifices made were coming into fruition. Often, something I still question is as to whether my successes are reflective of what those before me would have envisioned.

But my insecurities and the way in which they had manifested only really came to light for me most when I was 16 and first began freelance writing. Initially, it was an insight into the industry exposure I had been longing for, until I soon noticed that I attached my self worth to how many jobs I was booking or how much attention each piece of work was getting, and this was at its core a reflection of what my parents experienced so that I would not have to. But nonetheless, it was only when I would gain appreciation from others for my own hustle and hard work, would I allow myself to feel proud. Admittedly, this is still a narrative in my mind that I am trying to regain control over.

As I am writing this I'm no longer in my beautiful family home with intricate paintings from Lahore hanging on the walls of the landing, the Persian rugs my aunties would ship over from Iran, or the patchwork cushions my dad's family would bring from India. I now sit in my first ever little home in London and the only traces of my family I have in this room are that of perseverance and true trust in the process. But likewise, I see myself as living proof of the fact that my parents were able to succeed in a country that prioritised their professionalism above all else. They prevailed in spite of the myriad of adversities thrown their way, and as their child, I hope to be an embodiment of that success. And now, we must carry our respective family legacies, to build upon our mothers’ and fathers’ accomplishments and advance even further.

To this day I am still navigating the balance between self-satisfaction – rooted in the foundations of capitalism – and finding gratitude towards myself that excels past achievement, but rather being a positive and wholesome reflection of the sacrifices made by my Amma and Abba.

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