Student Spectrums

It was so sudden. I woke up in the middle of the night, barely awake and lousy. The only thing I could see in my room was the moonlight reflecting on the floorboards. In the corner of the room, a mysterious silhouette stood still, as if it were waiting to be discovered. The silhouette was my little sister, and she had told me that we were leaving everything behind and going to the airport. Immediately, I went to the bathroom, washed my face with cold water, and tried to get active.

When I entered the living room, I saw all of our belongings being packed into suitcases, and I saw the stressed look on my parents’ faces. An hour later, we were all done packing up and loaded the stuff into my dad’s truck. As we drove to the airport, I stared at the neon lights and the city’s skyline, and got very nostalgic knowing that I would most likely never return. Half an hour later, we arrived at the airport. We got our bags checked and went through security, and we eventually ended up at the gate.

After a little while, boarding started, and my family entered the aircraft. The seats were very cramped and there was little to no legroom, and a noxious scent filled the aircraft, nearly making me pass out. I proceeded to fall asleep.

The jittering of the plane landing woke me up almost immediately, and I almost fell out of my seat. It was 1:30 P.M, and we had arrived in America. We walked out of the plane, got into the airport and spent the next half an hour looking for our bags. Eventually, we got all of our belongings, called over a taxi, and arrived at our small apartment. The apartment was in a god-forsaken part of town, and had multiple issues. A filthy stench filled the apartment, the air-conditioner (AC) malfunctioned, and there was a monotonic buzzing that never stopped. Additionally, the floorboards creaked very loudly, and the place was just very run down overall.

Over the span of two weeks, we started trying to adapt into American culture everywhere we went. My father spoke English and was our main translator, and the rest of my family spoke Arabic. After a month, my parents enrolled my sister and I into public school. For the first few weeks, I had no friends since I could hardly speak English.

My parents quickly found jobs, my dad found an accounting job at a law firm and my mom worked at a hair salon. Eventually, I found some friends that also spoke Arabic, and I quickly adapted as they would translate everything for me.

I was in my bedroom reading one of my comic books when my mom barged in, and said in Arabic,

“Take this $100 bill, go to the grocery store near us, and buy us bread, spices, eggs, and snacks.”

I got into a small argument with her and told her,

“But mama, I am in the middle of something right now and I do not want to go, go get it yourself.”

She became livid and started yelling at me so loudly that the whole apartment complex could hear it. Angrily, I got out of my bed and decided to go walk to the grocery store a couple of blocks away. On my way, I saw homeless people every now and then and there was litter all over the streets. At the grocery store, I wandered around bewildered, looking at all of the food options that lay in front of me.

Unlike back home, all of this food was bioengineered chemical junk that was terrible for the human body. None of the food was fresh, and there were more chemicals than natural ingredients in every single item. There were so many options, and I spent nearly an hour just looking for the Arab brand of food my mother told me to get. The difference between the food in America and the food back home was great, and I was overstimulated just by looking at the oversaturated colors in the bags and the chemically processed junk. I bought the food I needed and went home. That night, all the food tasted like cardboard, not because of my mom’s cooking, but because of the chemically processed junk that tasted vile from the start.

The next day at school, there was a gift exchange occurring, and I brought a traditional gift from back home. However, I was embarrassed as everyone else had brought better gifts, which made me stick out like a sore thumb. People had gift cards and watches, causing me to get picked on for not bringing anything American. Classmates kept saying racist comments about me and kept making fun of me for my appearance and my accent. American culture was unwelcoming and rather rude.

Unlike back home, no one in America had manners, everyone was selfish, and the society was very flawed. Back home, everyone was accounted for in society, regardless of their differences or situations, but in America, society only seemed to benefit those who were White or those who were rich, making us immigrants feel left out. Additionally, there was no hospitality in America, and everyone was ignorant and spoke with hatred.

That same week, my father took me to an NBA game to show me what Americans liked to watch for entertainment. The only great thing about American culture was their entertainment. Americans watched various sports such as basketball, baseball, and football, that were not very popular in other countries. The way the players dribbled the ball, cooperated with each other, and passed to each other really fascinated me. All the players came from different ethnic backgrounds, and there was no fighting amongst them. 

I knew my family would not last in this harsh environment, so I started to support my family. I landed a part-time job as a clerk at a corner store two blocks away, and I made a little money. Working as a clerk in the corner store was a very benefitting experience for me. The store was tucked into the street corner and seemed to fit right in with the nearby businesses. The corner store was located in a shady area of the city and always had this radiant red glow from the neon lights that were always powered on 24/7.

Every day, I saw the same types of people come in. Workers, parents, immigrants, poor, and the rich. They all had the same routine. The workers would come in every day around the evening and would grab their energy drinks with the same miserable look on their faces, as if they had witnessed something so bizarre that it could not be put into words. The parents seemed to be exhausted, hauling around their kids and listening to them complain and distress, and some of the immigrants could be seen struggling, just like me. The corner store helped me realize that everyone in America has their own problems to resolve, and their position in society didn’t matter when it came to solving problems.

Eventually, everyone in my family settled in. I had just graduated high school, and I could properly speak, read, and write English. My accent was not as noticeable as before, and I now knew how to fully interact with everyone. My parents had also integrated in society, and they both were well known in the community for all of the great work and help they had done for the town. They were both highly respected.

My sister had also learned how to interact with people and seemed to like America more than back home. In retrospect, the real harsh challenge was not the city or the people that I interacted with, but it was me. I was too embarrassed to express myself and my culture, which made it very hard for me to integrate within society. I was too ashamed of my cultural heritage and my original roots, which really made integrating difficult for me.

Maybe if I was not so ashamed of myself and my culture, I would integrate faster into society and would not make a big embarrassment of myself and my family…I guess I have a lot to learn and a long way to go yet…