Living Abroad

America, the dream of many,a country where all wishes are granted and any desires fulfilled, where no one is poor and riches strike you overnight. Atleast this is the assumption made by many, who stare at you with twinkling eyes, when told that you have just flown in from The United States Of America. I would certainly not deny the fact that, even I was once a great supporter of moving to this first world country, where I could assure myself a promising future and be blessed with all the possible luxuries of life.

My happiness knew no bounds, when my student visa was approved. My greatest wish ever was about to be fulfilled, I was about to become one of the most important personalties in my family. The more I thought about it, the happier I became. Even the hidden tears in the eyes of those I loved didnot depress me.

"I am leaving on a jet plane....I don’t know when I’ll be back again".

The Chicago Skyline was now clearly visible from the airplane’s window. It was a magical moment, with the ear phones buzzing with a dramatic song and a beautiful view upclose. It was a scene I had only seen in movies or my dreams. Tall, glass windows, shining with the rays of sun, the greenish blue water of lake Michigan, everything was just breathtaking. I could feel my heart pounding real hard as if it would burst out any moment.

The first few months in Chicago were marvellous, for I could not get tired by endless walks on the lakeshore. I would sometimes sit on the bench at night on the lakeshore and look at the distant ferris wheel. Or sometimes I would walk around the Michigan Ave, amazed to see boutiques and shops with there commendable display and grandeur. My university was amazing, I liked the environment on campus, made couple of friends and aquaintances. The best part about my university was the fact that it was situated right in the heart of Chicago. I would sometimes take a bus to a Pakistani street nearby, called Devon to grab a quick desi lunch with in class breaks. I shared my apartment with three muslim girls, one from Malaysia and two from Bahrain, they were friendly and kept the place clean. They usually kept to themselves and didnot interfere into anybody elses business. My life was just perfect, when it hit me one day, all of a sudden, maybe it wasn’t that perfect after all.

It started on one Sunday morning, I woke up with a terrible headache, unable to get out of bed even to fetch a glass of water. I lied there tossing and turning, thinking that maybe one of my housemates would drop by to inquire about me. Hours passed, but none of my housemates felt my absence in the house. I gathered up a little strength to go the bathroom, passed through the sitting room, and there they were, watching some show on tv. They said hi, but didnot take much a notice of my condition. I told them that I had a bad headache and one of them said that I should take some asprin, she then resented back to the show she was previously watching. I didnot eat anything the whole day as I didnot have the strenght to cook for myself. That night I laid in my bed, thinking about my home in Pakistan, how everybody would be nursing me when I was sick. How my friends would call me ten times a day to ask for the latest updates on my fever. I cried for the first time in those 3 months, that night. Then slowly and steadily, reality began to unfold over me.

A certain grudge against my housemates, had already developed in me. The more I thought about it the more it saddened me. Even the friends in my University, were just there for mere time pass. They were friends within a certain limit and were very self guarded about their thoughts. I realized that it was nothing like how my friends and I talked in Pakistan; about family, about our lives, about our future. The most my friends at Uni talked about, regarding their personal life was what their boyfriend did or how cute their dogs were. They wouldn’t really be interested in anything I told them about my family in Pakistan. I met some Pakistani and Indian girls and guys, but they were also on the verge of becoming Americanized. They had no time to get together for lunch. Niether did they discuss anything about one common country that we were from. I started longing to tell someone about my thoughts, about what was bothering me and one day decided to talk to my classmate Lubna about it. She told me that she was busy and would definitely talk to me in the evening, but that evening never came.

I was in depression when one day, my Aunt Firoza called from Minnesota. She was a cousin of my dads. She invited me to her house for Eid. I was simply delighted, at last I would get a homely environment and some people my age to talk to. Aunt Firoza had a daugher Mehnaz, whom I met a longtime ago in Pakistan. We were 10 years old then, I remembered she was a very sweet looking, innocent girl. I was sure she would still be the same.

I spotted aunt Firoza immediately at the station. She was wearing an outdated Shalwar Kameez and looked tired and aged. She hugged me tight and told me that I had grown into a beautiful woman. The whole way back home she talked so much. Later she gave me a tour of her house and explained to me how each item was bought. It was really interesting listening to her talk, but I had a feeling that she was doing it after a longtime. She was talking away like a young child, excited by my arrival. Mehnaz came home in the afternoon. Alas, she had changed, well long story short she had become a complete ABCD (american born confused desi)....she and Firoza auntie hardly talked at the lunch table. I remember how I told my mother about my day at school, whenever I came back. Mehnaz really didn’t take much notice of me. She went up to her room in a little while. Firoza auntie noticing my suprise, started to explain to me how Mehnaz had a long day at school and how tired she was. Later Uncle Saleem came back from the office. He was on the cell phone constantly, while Firoza auntie was fixing him dinner. Mehnaz didn’t show up for dinner. Uncle Saleem ate quickly and left for yet another meeting. Both auntie and uncle did not speak much, niether did auntie go outside to see him off.

At night, Firoza auntie came to my room, we talked for a long time. She told me about her days in Pakistan before her wedding. Then she started sobbing uncontrollably. I was shocked with the sudden outburst and tried as hard as I could to comfort her. She told me how miserable her life here was, and nobody had time to talk to her, not even her family. " I'd be better off dead", she said. I was speechless, for I was not expecting her to be so depressed and down. She said that parents marry off there daughters abroad, just because they think life is so good here. What is the use of the luxury and comfort when there is no comfort from within. She was on heavy doses of sleeping pills. Mehnaz worried her more, " This was not how I wanted to bring her up, but how can I hide her from the culture, she learns it all in school." In the eyes of my family, Aunt Firoza was the luckiest women, I had always heard our mothers talking about the how uncle Saleem her liked her in a wedding and thus, a poor girl had ended up with a prince charming. So this was her life, I thought.

Eid came and went, I met many of families in the Islamic center. There was everything these women had, but peace. When told that I had just recently arrived from Pakistan, they looked at me with interest. " How is Karachi ?".. a fat lady asked me. I was baffled by the amount of attention I was getting. Ladies were asking me so many questions, some of them were amazing me. Mrs. Baddar asked me, if there was this shop in Anarkeli bazaar still there. So all in all, I was the center of attention there. Later Aunt Firoza told me that one of the ladies was even thinking of marrying her son to me!.

I came back to Chicago, few days later. My 2 weeks long trip still didn’t relax me at all. I felt more depressed. Then I made myself busier with my studies and tried to neglect the world around me. In those days the Internet was my only friend and I spent all my free time surfing sites, chatting with family and friends in Pakistan or watching some drama online. Three years flew by and I graduated.

My dad called on the day of my graduation to congratulate me. I talked to everyone in the in family one by one. I started to cry for the first time on phone, while talking to them. Before that I had never told them anything I had been through here. "Abu I want to come back...........I hate America..can’t live hear anymore", I said in between tears. "Beta we will not be happier than this, if you come back to us"my dad replied.

Yesterday, I got the ticket and I am leaving next week for Pakistan. I am going to leave behind this country where emotions and human feelings come last, much later then anything else. I am going to my loved ones and to my beloved country where I spent some of the most memorable times of my life. Why did I ever think settling abroad was so great? maybe it was just a lesson from god, who wanted to teach me to value what I have. I am glad that I am not lost amidst the crowd here, never to go back to my homeland Pakistan.