My Immigration Experience

thirteen years I spent in my homeland, Bangladesh. It was only upon departing, that I appreciated the happiness and melancholy alike I found there, the people I knew there, and the mistakes I made there. To start off, a third world nation having recently garnered its independence back in 1971 is young, and I have yet to be a part of its history because so am I.
My memory of things is a bit unclear, it isn’t possible to be able to recount of my first steps or predict my last, although I remember in fragments. To me, my memories of home are all that I have of it, I can always go back, but it will only be for a visit, and that means I have to leave at one point. This is indeed an immigration story indeed, although it is not so much about the
Life was once linear for me, structured with specific expectations being symptomatic of culture and economy. Within that system, I was able to learn of my self-worth and was demonized by my parents, mostly my mother because it wasn’t enough. To be born in a family years after they have already given birth to the first child, the stakes are high, because the difference you want to make may have already been made. Self-worth is as much of a strength to me as it is my biggest weakness. I was a shadow in the accolades my older brother basked in, and I began to think I was a mistake. Everything I did shaped my seeming preordained life as the degenerate of the family. It was a stimulus response that I be the retrograde if my brother was the paragon. As far back as I can remember, my mother had always told me to pay heed to education, make use of the privileges that my father provided for me, and live up to my brother’s success. I was in a private school, the expenses were costly and my performance never up to par, every student was equally intelligent and numb to individuality. It was a great aggressor to be in an environment that was utopian in its own way, and my way of making a difference was
I figured if I was not going to go down a path of academic brilliance, I could at the very least provide entertainment for those who did. I observed how caged they seemed behind the veils of their pride, but that did not work out in my favor, my friends were far ahead of me in life at the point, but only because they obeyed. The lasting impression of being a disappointment stuck with me, and then my parents decided to leave the country in hopes of renewing my educational stance for maintaining their image and reputation. I could tell that while my mother’s friends were bragging to her about their children at my school, she had nothing in return to say to them.
Propaganda such as that does not go unnoticed, my native society was one of showmanship, competition drove everybody, but unfortunately not me. I was sensitive because of my self-awareness, and I used to think it was wrong that I questioned everything around me, even myself. Although, truth be told, I would not change a thing as the most significant lesson