Looking back, moving to the United States was the finest decision my parents ever made for my future. However, the rocky days that followed my first years in America weren't so appealing or pleasant. As I sobbed my way to the Ahmedabad airport, I fluttered one last goodbye to my close friends, family, and neighbors. Knowing I wouldn't see them in a while, I yelled and screamed at my parents for compelling me to move to the United States. Even thought it was my first time on a plane, I wasn't enthusiastic or hyper for the sixteen hours that we had in the air.
My first thoughts as I walked out the international airport were beyond my imagination. So many people, so many cars, and so much traffic. This was definitely not the same as India. I was greeted by my aunt and uncle who had been living in the United States for twenty years. After two months of observing, exploring, and questioning, I became accustomed to the environment and the people. I even began to love it. That is, until my first day of school, a day every child dreads of when they first move to a new country, state, city, or town. As I got on the bus and sat in a seat all by myself I wondered what school would be like in America. Walking into the classroom, everyone stared at me. Quietly whispering behind my back about the clothes I was wearing and the way I looked. A skinny little Indian boy, they weren't used to, the new kid.
As the days passed and I scarcely carried on, there were times where kids would come up to me and ask me if I was from Afghanistan, Iraq, or an Arab (with the southern accent). Confused, I realized these stereotypes would continue and there was nothing I could do about it. Other days, when I tried making friends or interacting with other kids, I was ignored and at some points, told "to go back to my own country, you terrorist." Alarmed, irritated, and infuriated, I wasn't able to comprehend how kids, who are thought of as innocent and as the only human beings who don't judge or criticize a person based on their skin color, could say such harmful things to me. These occurrences caused by enthusiasm and passion towards school to slowly deplete. Before, school was the best part of my day, the idea of getting to learn something new everyday aroused me. Finally acknowledging that I would never be accepted into the mainstream society of the United States, I began to give up.
However, the following years, things began to change. My fellow classmates began to interact with me. They began to take an interest in my culture and realized the exciting things I had to offer. And just like that, in just a matter of just two years, I wasn't the "skinny little Indian boy who looked like a terrorist."
My first thoughts as I walked out the international airport were beyond my imagination. So many people, so many cars, and so much traffic. This was definitely not the same as India. I was greeted by my aunt and uncle who had been living in the United States for twenty years. After two months of observing, exploring, and questioning, I became accustomed to the environment and the people. I even began to love it. That is, until my first day of school, a day every child dreads of when they first move to a new country, state, city, or town. As I got on the bus and sat in a seat all by myself I wondered what school would be like in America. Walking into the classroom, everyone stared at me. Quietly whispering behind my back about the clothes I was wearing and the way I looked. A skinny little Indian boy, they weren't used to, the new kid.
As the days passed and I scarcely carried on, there were times where kids would come up to me and ask me if I was from Afghanistan, Iraq, or an Arab (with the southern accent). Confused, I realized these stereotypes would continue and there was nothing I could do about it. Other days, when I tried making friends or interacting with other kids, I was ignored and at some points, told "to go back to my own country, you terrorist." Alarmed, irritated, and infuriated, I wasn't able to comprehend how kids, who are thought of as innocent and as the only human beings who don't judge or criticize a person based on their skin color, could say such harmful things to me. These occurrences caused by enthusiasm and passion towards school to slowly deplete. Before, school was the best part of my day, the idea of getting to learn something new everyday aroused me. Finally acknowledging that I would never be accepted into the mainstream society of the United States, I began to give up.
However, the following years, things began to change. My fellow classmates began to interact with me. They began to take an interest in my culture and realized the exciting things I had to offer. And just like that, in just a matter of just two years, I wasn't the "skinny little Indian boy who looked like a terrorist."
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