“Where are you from?”

A question I have heard more times than I can count. Not because I have an “exotic” look, but more because I immigrated to Bali, Indonesia, which has become a tourist hotspot. People from all over the world come and go, and then, of course, you have curious locals asking the question: “Where are you from?” Being an introvert and not really into small talk with strangers (or anyone, really), I end up giving the same answer: “Germany.” That way, I don’t have to explain myself, and having dark-blond hair, it just makes sense. In reality, it’s a question I can’t even answer myself.

My mum is Egyptian, and my dad is German. That’s what I thought, at least. But let’s start from the beginning.

I was born on a very hot summer day in July 1995 in Düsseldorf, Germany. At 11 months old, my parents separated, and my mum decided to move back to her home country, Egypt. She had to start her life over and worked as a cleaning lady, which ultimately meant that my sister and I grew up very poor in Cairo. Not the tourist Cairo you are imagining, full of night markets and fancy hotels near the pyramids. Proper, local Cairo, where people were struggling financially. I would mostly run around barefoot, playing with sticks or going to the local market to buy pigeon and rabbit from the butcher when we had enough money to buy meat. I was almost a local star because the majority of people had never seen a white, blond girl before. Arabic was the first language I learned, and because my mum never really learned German, I didn’t know how to speak German either.

We lived in Egypt for almost five years, and when we moved back to Germany, I was old enough to start school. Not speaking a single word of German, it was tough to make friends at first. I remember the confusion on people’s faces because I “looked German,” but as soon as I opened my mouth, I was Arabic. Just because we moved to Germany didn’t mean that our culture at home was anything like that of a typical German household. Instead of Pumpernickel or other German bread, I would show up at school with my falafel wrap. Our life consisted of going to days-long Arabic weddings and hanging out with friends at their Lebanese restaurant. Our family friends were exclusively Arab, which didn’t help my mum learn German. Luckily, kids learn languages very quickly, and once I learned to speak German, I had to help my mum translate and fill out important documents.

My mum met my stepfather when I was two years old. He was Iraqi, and his family was politically persecuted when the dictator Saddam Hussein came into power, so they ended up fleeing to England. When the Americans entered Iraq in 2003 and Saddam went into hiding, my parents decided it was the right time to go to Iraq and rebuild the house my stepfather had grown up in.

We moved to Baghdad when I was eight. I had to learn a new Arabic dialect, and because there was an active war, my sister and I weren’t able to go to school or socialize with other kids. Again, I was the only white, blond girl around, and again, there were confusing looks on the faces of the US Army soldiers when they would see me.

Almost two years later, we moved back to Germany, and it felt like I had to start from the beginning. New school, new friends, getting used to speaking German again.

At 17, I decided to join the German military (I was young and needed the money), which meant moving, moving, moving. The city where I was born and had lived half my life wasn’t my hometown anymore. In fact, I didn’t feel at home anywhere I went.

So what was the most logical thing to do after my time in the military? Move again.

This time, to a place very far away from Germany, Egypt, and Iraq.

At 21, I decided to move to Bali, Indonesia. A place where I had spent a two-week holiday before. Even though I knew nothing about the country or the culture, I felt at home immediately. They say that home is a feeling and not a place, and I fully agree.

The freedom I felt here is something I can’t really explain. Of course, the sunny weather and the beach helped, but what made Bali so special to me were the local people. Not speaking any English or Bahasa Indonesia was hard in the beginning, but thanks to Aussie tourists and local friends, I learned both languages within a few years.

Now I have lived in Bali for over 10 years, and even though I do consider it my home because I have lived here for my entire 20s, I also know that I will never fully belong here. I am an immigrant, and I am grateful to be able to live here. I am grateful that “Mama Bali” hasn’t kicked me out yet.

I try to do my part by giving back to the community and respecting the land and the culture.

As I said in the beginning, when people ask me where I am from, I say Germany, even though I never felt German. I have stereotypical traits that might be considered German, like my love for bread, punctuality, and efficiency, but I feel more comfortable in places that are chaotic, like Cairo, and where people are warm and welcoming.

A few months ago, I became interested in my heritage and decided to take a DNA test just for fun. The results came back, and it turns out I am 40% Egyptian, 31% Southern Italian, and only 6% German, along with a few other European countries.

Why I am not half German is a mystery in itself.

But knowing that now opens up the question…

Where am I from?