The only ties we have to Pakistan are those that bind us all: our humanity, and the knowledge that our similarities trump our differences.
This blanket is probably from Scotland, brought over with other essentials by my parents. It’s a simple hand-stitched flannel, and sat under my frilly bedspread, unnecessary in California but there by force of Scottish habit. It eventually migrated to the mattress, where it stayed below the bottom sheet until I left for college. There’s a blood stain on it, proof of its diminished position and of my clumsy adolescent attempts at period management.
Somehow the stain is apropos, since between our countries there is an uneasy alliance, and yet the cheery pink stripes and time-worn softness are more than enough, I think, to overcome any blemish.