Who am I?

Why are these things always so hard to write? It's not like I don't know my name or who my parents were. I'm blessed to know that I will most likely have food in front of me when I sit down to eat next. But who am I really? Born in Pakistan, I don't remember much. I do remember attending what I assume would be pre-kindergarten in the USA. I moved to the heart of Chicago before I turned 8. This is the first time, that I remember, getting introduced to people of so many different races and cultures. We weren't too rich, so we stayed with my uncle and his family in a small 1 bedroom apartment. We are a family of 5. My uncle lived with his wife and daughter at the time. Before I knew it, we were all welcoming our aunt and her family of 3 to the tiny apartment as well. Every night, the furniture in the tiny living room would get propped against the wall to make space for everyone to sleep. A bed sheet was laid out instead of the table being set as there wasn't enough space for everyone. We weren't sad, we were satisfied and filled with hope. This was back in 1997. Earlier this year, 2017, I just bought my first house. One spacious enough to fit my entire family. But the sad part is, my family has scattered around the country. Moving on with their lives and succeeding in every way possible. I want to blog about my journey. I want to show you my perspective. I will try to post once a week for those who care to follow. Don't forget to leave an upvote :)