nfs1994
Aug 20, 2012
Undergraduate / "go where life leads you but never forget" - being a part of two cultures [2]
Chaos. An overwhelming stench. A medley of fish lined the walls, crammed into a cubicle along with the dozens of fervent customers negotiating prices. A large, white fan blared over the voices as it served its purpose, generating some breathable air into the congested space. I glanced around apprehensively, unable to locate any familiar faces before catching a glimpse of my dad wrestling through the crowd with a triumphant look on his face, holding up his purchases: a foot-long tilapia and a native, fresh ilish. I stared down at the items in apathy, eager to leave the bazaar.
It had been over five years since I had last been immersed in this environment. I had been a bubbly, energetic seven year old leaving my childhood home for a strange, foreign land called America. Now it was the summer before high school and the "foreign land" had come to resemble home to me. Even though I was naturally Bengali, spending a majority of my adolescent years in America certainly made an impact on my identity. it molded me into a person who loves pizza and birani, speaks English at school and Bangla at home, wears casual and traditional outfits. Going back to visit reversed that cycle and offered me a chance to see myself through an oblique mirror, from the inside.
After leaving the fish market, we stepped out into the muggy summer weather, and I half expected a car to be waiting there for us. Instead, I was greeted by a colorful two-wheeled cart that would be pedaled by a young boy who couldn't be more than twelve years old. He was drenched in sweat and exhaustion was written all over his slender face. A simple ride in a rickshaw, which had been the only form of transportation I knew before, now seemed like an outlandish prospect.
During the ride, the fresh air served as a sharp antithesis to the humidity in the air and I took in my surroundings. Countless children in ragged clothes begging in the street corners. Four siblings fighting over a piece of bread. An elderly woman, unable to walk without a cane, crouched down as she carried buckets of water to the river bank. At that moment, it hit me. I felt a sudden pang of guilt set in for easily being immersed into the materialistic world and taking luxuries for granted.
It didn't happen overnight but that my experiences that summer taught me that my upbringing was unique and that I didn't have to be extensively one culture. I embraced the idea that I was exposed to two vastly different cultures and I was much more appreciative of my current life.
I'll never forget the last piece of advice one of my uncles offered me as I walked into Dhaka International Airport at the end of the summer of 2009, "go where life leads you but never forget where you came from".
Chaos. An overwhelming stench. A medley of fish lined the walls, crammed into a cubicle along with the dozens of fervent customers negotiating prices. A large, white fan blared over the voices as it served its purpose, generating some breathable air into the congested space. I glanced around apprehensively, unable to locate any familiar faces before catching a glimpse of my dad wrestling through the crowd with a triumphant look on his face, holding up his purchases: a foot-long tilapia and a native, fresh ilish. I stared down at the items in apathy, eager to leave the bazaar.
It had been over five years since I had last been immersed in this environment. I had been a bubbly, energetic seven year old leaving my childhood home for a strange, foreign land called America. Now it was the summer before high school and the "foreign land" had come to resemble home to me. Even though I was naturally Bengali, spending a majority of my adolescent years in America certainly made an impact on my identity. it molded me into a person who loves pizza and birani, speaks English at school and Bangla at home, wears casual and traditional outfits. Going back to visit reversed that cycle and offered me a chance to see myself through an oblique mirror, from the inside.
After leaving the fish market, we stepped out into the muggy summer weather, and I half expected a car to be waiting there for us. Instead, I was greeted by a colorful two-wheeled cart that would be pedaled by a young boy who couldn't be more than twelve years old. He was drenched in sweat and exhaustion was written all over his slender face. A simple ride in a rickshaw, which had been the only form of transportation I knew before, now seemed like an outlandish prospect.
During the ride, the fresh air served as a sharp antithesis to the humidity in the air and I took in my surroundings. Countless children in ragged clothes begging in the street corners. Four siblings fighting over a piece of bread. An elderly woman, unable to walk without a cane, crouched down as she carried buckets of water to the river bank. At that moment, it hit me. I felt a sudden pang of guilt set in for easily being immersed into the materialistic world and taking luxuries for granted.
It didn't happen overnight but that my experiences that summer taught me that my upbringing was unique and that I didn't have to be extensively one culture. I embraced the idea that I was exposed to two vastly different cultures and I was much more appreciative of my current life.
I'll never forget the last piece of advice one of my uncles offered me as I walked into Dhaka International Airport at the end of the summer of 2009, "go where life leads you but never forget where you came from".