Internal Affairs of Immigrants

On a freezing cold February morning in 2007, I landed in New York after a journey that lasted more than 24 hours. From tropical Bangladesh to subtropical New York City, the weather couldn’t be any more different. I didn’t realize that the weather difference was just a sneak peek, that nothing would be the same again. While a change in my attire provided a quick fix for the punishing thermal difference, the new life ahead would demand something entirely different, a total change in attitude. It’s evidently so that the first thing for a newcomer to deal with is to get a good grip on his attitude that can be as stubborn as a boulder. 

Shiny Town On The Hill

The next thing to deal with is the ever increasing and everlasting confusion in an immigrant’s mind. Was the decision right? It did make a lot of sense to leave everything behind and head for the shiny town up on top of the hill. As the fog clears comes a clearer picture of an uphill climb ahead. The confusion is reinforced with real-life complexities everyday. For example, a loved one is on a dead bed back home and the immigrant is too far away to meet and say good-bye. In situations like this, the lurking question raises its head again, was it worth it?

A Permanent Departure

After a tourist boards a plane, it takes him around and returns him to the same place after his vacation. Everyone waves at him with a pair of jealous eyes. But when a would-be immigrant boards a plane, it’s after a good farewell. A farewell like this doesn’t happen twice in his life. The day of my departure, family members gathered as close to me as airport security allowed. Their wide opened eyes and mine, expressed more than tears, a fear that I’d never be the same comrade again. For all practical purposes, that was the end of one life and the beginning of another. A pair of mighty jet engines roared back to life and flew me away through the layers of chaotic clouds up above to a world with crystal clear and calm blue sky. No obstructions as far as those eyes could see. Never before have I imagined how it would be to lose the homeland below the clouds.

America runs on donkeys! 

Initially, an immigrant is not much more than a donkey, except we can talk. Any amount of load you put on him he’ll carry until he collapses. Nature provides only two options to a life: survival or perish. The newcomer is driven by the survival instinct while cornered by many limitations. His eyes have blinkers, the only way he sees is the way ahead. These donkeys gladly take on jobs that locals would hesitate about because they’re either undignified or hazardous. For example, not many Americans would sign up to pick strawberries under hot sun at a minimum wage from a field that was repeatedly treated with agrichemicals. This job is not only hard but also hazardous because workers come into direct contact with the pesticides. If it weren’t for these donkeys, America would be in free fall under the weight of its declining population.

Go Back to Where You Came From!

Once a customer got upset over high ATM fees and screamed “go back to India!” to me during when I was making my livelihood from a convenience store in my early days in America. I found it funny because I’m not from India. Once I told him the fact he replied, “wherever!” Although he was unclear about my home country , his message was clear. Many colored immigrants are exposed to this vile welcome. The reality is once that plane clears the tower he becomes an outcast in his own country and upon landing he begins as an outsider in the eyes of those who’s ready to scream “go back to where you come from!” With the quick evaporation of a sense of belonging, going back is not as straightforward as getting on a plane. At the same time, it’s hard to forget where I came from. An immigrant is like a planet caught between two stars, each with a strong gravity acting on him.

Since I mentioned a negative experience here I now feel obligated to make it clear to the readers that I’ve a far greater number of positive experiences here in America. Those positive experiences and the opportunities that I’ve had have resulted in a feeling in one part of my mind that I may, afterall, belong here for the rest of my life. But immediately, another part of the mind protests and tells me, “No, you’re not. You ought to go back to where you came from.” So here I’m, maybe other immigrants too, settled with an unsettled mind.