“So, do y’all ride elephants to schools in Bangladesh?” I was talking to my host sister while vigorously searching for my luggage on the carousel. Almost two days of endless flying and layovers at multiple airports had finally brought me to Dallas, Texas and the best year of my life was about to begin.
The word ‘home’ was never singular to me. I grew up in three worlds, and each couldn’t be more different than the others. Together they have built my personality and the differences amongst them made me accustomed to many ways of life. Every battle I fought against poverty, lack of resources, and isolation added a new layer of confidence and flexibility to my character. These obstacles brought unimaginable suffering but also brutally stripped away the unessentials, uncovering contentment and appreciation of life.
Growing up in ‘Bagadi-Dakshinpara’, a remote Bangladeshi village, I understand why my host-sister would think that we use elephants to go to school. Paved roads are scarce and motor-cars are almost non-existent. We don’t have an elementary school in our village, the nearest one is three miles away. Those long walks to school taught me more than the school itself. My mother, a teacher there, would walk beside me holding my hands, protecting her little angel from all the evils of the world. She taught me about love, passion and sacrifice, how we should never stop loving even if our beloved ones can’t be with us, how we shouldn’t lose a smile even in our darkest hours, how true triumph comes through sacrifices for family and friends.
When I graduated elementary school, my mom decided that I was wasting too much time playing around. So, I was sent to a boarding school in our capital city, Dhaka. You may ask why my mother was making such decisions in a patriarchal society like ours. Well, that’s because my father’s job at our border security force required him to serve at remote border outposts and he could visit home only once a month. So, my mother had to run the family by herself, making all the decisions.
My friends at my dorm call ourselves, “inmates who pay rent.” We are not allowed to use any electronic device, get up from the reading desks before midnight, or go outside the school compound under any circumstances. While my mother loved the idea of this “solitary confinement for educational purposes,” I loathed it. Even though I agree that maintaining that strict routine was vital for my academic success, my soul craved freedom. I wanted to explore the world, meet new people, and gather experiences. That’s why when a teacher of mine told me about the exchange scholarship offered by the US government, I didn’t hesitate for a moment before signing up.
We often say exchange year is not ‘a year in life’ but ‘a life in a year.’ My host mother’s teary goodbye reminded me of the lifelong ripples I left in my school and community. The year wasn’t without challenges, but I never gave up. Those tough days eight thousand miles from home made me more responsible and self-dependant. I developed a thick southern accent, built a preference for Dr Pepper over water, broke stereotypes, learnt about new cultures and made friends from all over the world. My experiences forged me into a new person, more passionate, loving and open-minded than ever.
I see my life clearly for what it is – uncertainties with a glimmer of hope at the distant horizon. My life never had adequate resources but I always knew how to dream. And, I didn’t stop there, I learnt how to take responsibilities and work hard to make them come true. Every morning, I wake up to face new challenges, but I feel happy with myself and my life. No matter wherever I am in this world, I always feel at home.
