This summer, I returned home to Pakistan, only to experience the inception of a series of unfortunate events. On July 28, a day after “Shab-e-Barat,” (literally, Night of Destiny, which Muslims spend in prayer) 152 people died in a plane crash. A day after that, there were torrential rains in Swat Valley, killing many people.

It didn’t stop there. Each day, the death toll continued to rise as the floods continued to wreak havoc in the lives of many, washing away village after village. Vast areas of agricultural land were destroyed as the heaviest rains in living memory hit Pakistan.

However, this flood-devastated region, which includes the Swat Valley and Chitral, is one that I will always envision as a dreamland, a land of exquisite beauty and serenity, even after the Taliban insurgency. Every summer, as a family tradition, we would travel through northern Pakistan. Just two summers before coming to Harvard, I went through the Karakoram Highway, the highest paved international highway in the world, driving all the way up to Gilgit. I took a small detour to go through the Swat Valley, renowned for its scenic landscapes and Buddhist heritage. We approached Saidu Sharif, the urban hub and capital of Swat, where the lush orchards had been replaced by a myriad of barricades and barbed wires along the newly-built road, an early reminder of the heightened security tension in the once tourist attraction. From here, we drove all the way to a place called Marghazar, where we saw the White Palace, built by the former Ruler of Swat. It was here where we lodged for a mere $10 a night.

The following day, we embarked upon our journey to Kalaam Valley and then beyond that to Mahodand lake. The view was breathtaking; the emerald-green Kalaam river winding around the road on one side and the gigantic mountains of the Hindu Kush on the other. We continued to stop at various stations for a cup of tea and to take photographs of the place. Some of the men were saying their prayers, prostrating on a flat boulder next to a ravine, and probably were oblivious to what the world thought about them. They may have had beards; they may have appeared primitive, but they were not terrorists or radicals. The only things you saw in their eyes were humility and purity. Small children wearing bright shalwar kameez gathered around the car, almost perceiving it to be some magical creature. No words could describe the beauty of these shy and innocent children, who were oblivious of the world and its perplexities. They had no clue of what fate awaited their homes and villages.

Looking back, I wish I had spent more time in appreciating the simplicity of the Swati people, because little did I know that this would be the last time, at least for a long time, where Swat would be in the same state of beauty, peace and tranquility.

Come 02138. Seven thousand miles away across the Atlantic Ocean, in my home away from home, I witness the “image deficit” that Pakistan is facing. It has been unilaterally portrayed in the media as war-torn, ravaged by terrorism, war, and now a natural disaster. However, Pakistan is more than this summation. But just as in Haiti, when the floods hit, nobody is hurting more than the innocent victims of a great catastrophe, people who are drowning not only from the waters, but from disease, famine, poverty, and despair. Nobody is at a loss except the innocent.

Many Pakistanis abroad consider themselves ambassadors for their country, trying to remove the negativity that pervades Pakistan’s image. A nation so brutally damaged by terrorism, fundamentalism, earthquakes. and now floods, Pakistan is probably the last nation on Earth that would be on anybody’s bucket-list. However, it is about time that we remove this image deficit and show Pakistan’s true and vibrant colors. Fortunately, a number of initiatives are being undertaken by various student groups and faculty members to do precisely this and to raise awareness about the floods in Pakistan.

In our capacity as students, there is only so much that we can do to alleviate the suffering of the flood victims. Countless have been orphaned and countless have been deprived of an innocent childhood, out of no fault of their own. These children, who played in the valleys, swam in the lakes, and were nurtured by Mother Nature herself, deserve much better. I only hope the coming generation after me, which has seen only war and despair, can get to see Pakistan’s natural beauty and cultural heritage that I was fortunate enough to see. I only pray that the supplications made on “Shab-e-Qadr” are heard and the “Night of Destiny” truly bring a hopeful destiny for all.

Laila Kasuri ’13 lives in Lowell House.

CORRECTION: November 14, 2010

An earlier version of the Nov. 9 op-ed "Pakistan’s Image Problem'" incorrectly reported that July 28 was a day after Shab-e-Qadr. In fact, it was a day after Shab-e-Barat. The Crimson regrets the error.