1. First Flight, New Dreams

The United States always seemed like a distant dream. Landing in New York City for my graduate studies was surreal—the towering skyscrapers, diverse languages, and pulsating life welcomed me. Among the excitement, I felt overwhelmed, a stranger finding footing in a foreign land. While walking through Brooklyn one afternoon, trying to adjust to the rhythm of my new life, I stumbled upon something unexpected. Right in the heart of a vintage store window was a glowing display of Pokémon cards.

2. A Nostalgic Flash

The sight stopped me cold. My childhood in Pakistan was filled with whispers about Pokémon—TV episodes dubbed in Urdu, pixelated Game Boy games, and dreams of collecting cards we only saw on the internet. But here, they were real. Shelves stacked with Pokémon cards from every generation. I stood frozen, memories flooding in like a tide. I stepped inside, more curious than I had felt since arriving. The store smelled of plastic and paper—of stories waiting to be held.

3. Entering the Collector’s Realm

The shopkeeper, a man with a Charizard tattoo and denim jacket, greeted me warmly. “First time?” he asked, noticing my wonderstruck face. I nodded. “Welcome to the Pokémon vault.” Glass cabinets showcased ultra-rare cards: shiny foil Pikachus, Japanese editions, cards with value tags that equaled rent. My fascination deepened. He pulled out a binder and let me flip through it—every card a portal to another world. I wasn’t just shopping. I was stepping into a living, breathing cultural time capsule.

4. Culture Shock & Childhood Joy

Until then, my experience of America was lectures, cafeterias, and cautious hellos. But inside that Pokémon shop, I found familiarity in the unfamiliar. Kids with blue-dyed hair debated evolutions; adults with briefcases browsed cards during lunch. It felt like everyone had a connection to this universe. The sense of community was overwhelming. A girl noticed my accent and smiled, “You’re not from here, are you? You still picked the right card.” It felt like my first real American welcome.

5. The Fashion of Fandom

What struck me next was how fashion intertwined with fandom. The guy at the counter wore a Pokémon varsity jacket, hand-painted sneakers featuring Squirtle, and a silver Mew necklace. The visitors weren’t just collectors; they were artists, stylists, and storytellers. I saw streetwear meets nostalgia—Y2K cargo pants with Pikachu patches, trainers embroidered with legendary birds. It was expressive, loud, and unapologetically geek-chic. I had never seen pop culture worn so boldly. I walked out dreaming of my own Pokémon hoodie.

6. My First Purchase

I returned to the store a week later with $40—the leftover of my grocery budget. I bought my first official pack of Pokémon cards. The glossy wrapper crinkled under my fingers as I opened it in the store, a ritual everyone else seemed to revere. My heart raced with each card: two energy cards, a basic Bulbasaur, and finally—a rare holographic Charizard. The cashier gave me a nod, “Beginner’s luck.” I smiled, realizing something rare: joy doesn’t need translation.

7. Conversations Through Cards

In the weeks that followed, my Pokémon card hobby turned into a conversation starter. A classmate noticed my binder and introduced me to his collecting circle. Suddenly, I had Saturday meetups, card-trade coffee sessions, and a community that had nothing to do with GPA. A Filipino friend gifted me a Japanese promo card from the 1990s; another showed me how to protect my collection. I was forming bonds not through shared hometowns—but shared fandom. Cards had built my second family.

8. Pokémon in Unexpected Places

Pokémon cards weren’t just in hobby shops. I found them at Target checkouts, tucked into bookstore corners, and once inside a vending machine in Portland. I learned about Pokémon Day, card drops, and the hype of new releases. The culture was bigger than I imagined—interwoven with tech, fashion, and even finance. I saw YouTubers unbox $10,000 packs, TikTokers turn them into DIY jewelry. The cards were not just relics—they were living trends, reflecting America’s obsession with nostalgia and reinvention.

9. A Piece of Home, A Piece of Here

Six months into my journey, I mailed a pack of Pokémon cards back home to my younger cousin in Lahore. “Now you have the real thing,” I wrote. Holding my collection, I often reflect how something so small bridged continents for me. The Pokémon card shop gave me more than collectibles—it gave me belonging. In a new country where everything was unfamiliar, these tiny, illustrated rectangles made me feel part of something vast, welcoming, and wonderfully universal.