At the age of 12, I remember carrying my bags onto the auto rickshaw and witnessing the struggle in my family’s eyes. We set out to the airport en route to the United States. I barely slept during the flight, I kept thinking about everything I was leaving behind.
Coming to America was the biggest adaptation I have ever made in my life. The first hurdle was the language barrier. I was a good speaker and writer. The only problem was that it was all in Bengali. I recall the sheer frustration of not being able to communicate. I was laughed at for being “different.” I wanted to go back but I knew that was not an option, America was my new home and I had to accept the new reality. I had to become perfect in an imperfect situation, so I studied. For every second, every minute, and every hour until I could hold a decent conversation, understand television, and comprehend basic literature. Within a year, I went from ESOL level 1 to level 4. Two years later, I found myself in Honors English reading “The Outsiders.”
Coming to America was a monumental change. Despite the hardships, my family was finally together for the first time. Growing up in Bangladesh, I had everything except my dad. My father came to America when I was 3 months old. Since then, he visited me every year for twelve years, only to stay for a month or two before returning back. Teary eyed, I asked “Dad, why do you have to leave?” I never understood why each year he put us through a rollercoaster of emotions: the joy when he came and the trail of sadness when he left. Growing up, I saw everyone had a father who would play with them, support them, a relationship that I wanted every moment but one that I experienced just once a year. I still remember the pain as I tried to hold back my tears at the airport.
Twelve years later, I would be in the same airport but this time with a different atmosphere. My mom, sisters and I are all going to live with my dad in the land of opportunity. After our arrival, we lived in a one-bedroom house. Even though I had a complete family, I rarely saw them. Dad had to work day and night to support the family, and soon mom would too. I was left to take care of my younger siblings. Things haven’t changed much between now and then. I rarely get to see my family between going to school fulltime and working 30 hours a week.
Getting an education was the only way out for immigrants for so long. Now, the rise of crypto currencies is giving me the hope to one day break out of the system we are all forced to be part of. Here’s to the struggle and a brighter future for all those chasing the American Dream.