The FIFA World Cup does something to people.
It brings out a kind of passion that is hard to explain: flags everywhere, faces painted, strangers becoming family in the stands, an entire country holding its breath over a single kick. And watching it all unfold this week, one word kept coming back to me.
Patriotism.
It is a strong word. The true definition, a deep sense of love, devotion, and attachment to one’s country or homeland. Simple enough on paper. But for some of us, it is a lot more complicated than that.
My homeland is India. I am deeply rooted there, my culture, my traditions, my essence, the way I see the world. All of it traces back to India. And yet I have never lived there for more than a year. India is where I am from. It is not where I grew up.
I grew up in Oman. I built my life in the US. Three countries. Three places that have shaped me in completely different ways. I have no legal obligation to Oman or America, no passport, no citizenship, no formal ties. But I have something else. An emotional attachment that is just as real. Just as deep.
So what does patriotism mean for someone like me?
Which country do I wave the flag for?
The World Cup made me sit with that question in a way I hadn’t before. Because everyone around me was so clear about who they were rooting for. So certain. So unambiguous in their loyalty. And I found myself thinking that kind of singular belonging is something I have never quite had.
I think for immigrants, for people who have lived between worlds, who carry more than one place in their chest, patriotism doesn’t fit neatly into one country. It can’t. Because your identity was never just in one place. It was the accumulation of everywhere you have ever called home. Every culture that shaped you. Every country that left its mark on you.
My patriotism is layered. It is Indian at its roots. It is shaped by the warmth of Oman. It is expanded by the opportunity of America. All three live in me simultaneously. And I don’t think I have to choose.
But here is why this actually matters.
Because when you don’t accept it, when you resist the in-between, you live in denial.
And denial is exhausting.
It looks like spending your life waiting to go back. Holding the place you are in at arm’s length because it doesn’t feel like home. Never fully investing in where you are because somewhere in the back of your mind, you are still planning to leave. But the truth is, you chose to be where you are. And that place is giving you something. Something real enough to make you stay.
When you finally accept that when you stop fighting the in-between and start living in it, everything changes.
You stop mourning the place you are not. You start loving the place you are. You stop existing in the gap between two worlds and start owning the fact that you get to carry both. That is not a consolation prize. That is actually a gift.
The in-between is not a waiting room. It is a life. Your life.
And it is worth showing up for fully, not with one foot always pointed toward somewhere else, but with both feet planted exactly where you are.
That is the life of an immigrant. You don’t belong entirely to one place. You belong to all of them and to none of them at the same time.
Accept that. Love that. Because that is you. All of you.
And you carry the world with you. Not everyone gets to say that.
What I’m Reading
My Life in Full: Work, Family, and Our Future- Indra Nooyi (Starting)
A leadership memoir on balancing ambition, purpose, family, and long-term impact.
Start with yourself - Emma Grede (Finishing)
A practical guide to taking ownership, building influence, and creating opportunities.
Note to Self
You are not lost between worlds. You are made of them.
Accept where you are. All of it. Because the life you keep waiting to go back to and the life you are living right now — they are both yours.
Stop waiting. Start living.
Be bold. Be real. Be Anomalous.
— Sai Menon
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