They have no idea those who live inside Pakistan. They breathe the air, walk the streets, and yet they do not feel what we feel. Those of us abroad, we live Pakistan in every moment of our existence. Every breath carries the dust of its roads, every dream is painted in its colours, every heartbeat echoes with its name. We are not absent; we are more present than anyone. Because distance has given us what proximity never could a view from above. We see the whole canvas while they are trapped inside the painting. We watch the fractures form, the wounds deepen, the opportunities slip like water through fingers. And we feel it all. The longing. The grief. The helpless love that will not let go. They live in Pakistan. We live for Pakistan. And that is the difference no map can measure.