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a breath of honesty
14 Dec 2002
Sometimes I wonder if anyone can hear me, if maybe those closest to my heart have somehow forgotten my existence. Maybe I'm speaking too loud. Maybe I'm just being ignored. But I'm starting to get the feeling that I deserve something better in life. I can't imagine what I want, but I'm looking for an answer, an answer to so many questions that fill my head. My dreams argue that I deserve better. At least I hope. One would hope one night of sleep would come so natural. A peaceful ride to work or even to school wouldn't be accompanied by the soothing loud words coming from my stereo. The truth is I can't face the truth. One silent moment by myself and I cant breath. Can you relate? I highly doubt it. Imagine your throat tightening as if your body had somehow separated from your mind and holds its' own agenda. Now imagine this occurring every time someone steps out the room, or when a long commercial comes between you and the show you were watching hoping to fall asleep between scenes.
I realize how scary this sounds. Believe me when I say that I'm probably the last person that anyone would think would write such words. But I just want to be honest, maybe to myself. I'm in a stump. This is usual for a person my age, one would argue, but the thing is I've been in this mood for quite a while. Now, I don't intend to unfold my entire nineteen years on these pages, but the recent sleepless nights.
Let me explain a minor detail. I was born in Somalia. But as luck would have it, a tragic war brought me to the land of the free. Don't get me wrong. I could recite the national anthem in a heartbeat, but understand the circumstances I have had to live with for enjoying such a privilege.
My entire life since the day I stepped into American soil I've been living in two cultures. For many years, I didn't even recognize the problem that was arising. But I had a rude awakening not too long ago. I wish I could describe this moment. Maybe it was somewhere between watching t.v on a Friday night mean while individuals such as age indulged in the life of the average teen outings or finalizing my college decision knowing I had no real choice. Of course, being of my culture and living in a foreign country I had no choice but to attend any school in driving capability. How sad you must be thinking. That's not even the half of it. In my house, we are to act as respectable Somalians. There's no such thing as going out with a bunch of Americans, or going to school across the country, especially not for a girl.
Now picture the relationship I have with my mother. I don't, to this day, hang out with my friends as much as I would like to because I have failed to make Somalian friends in my time. So I'm punished for it. But don't think for one second that I didn't have my movie nights. So I lied. So I said I was going to work knowing I wasn't. I had to. You must understand. How could I be placed in a school expected not to make any friends, not to have a life only to come home to find my kind of people around the city?
The years passed on. I joined as many clubs as I could to keep myself in the loop of the teenage life style. Eventually, the day had come when I graduated from high school and I had to leave the only thing that kept me hidden from facing the truth. After school clubs and work gave me a vital excuse for the overprotective mother waiting for my arrival. But as most good things soon end, graduation day came and went away.
Now, a freshman in college, I sit here typing these words. I can't say college has changed my life for the better nor for the worst. I still live in two very distinctively different cultures. Presently, instead of arguing only about my clothing or my choice of friends around the diner table, such topics as dating and marriage have been added. My mother is dead set on believing that I'm bound to live in a house filled with cats and me sitting in a chair reading a book for the rest of my life. I refuse to accept the "rules of marriage" as my mother would put it. I argue on a daily basis that there's no way that I'm going to spend so many years in school only to end up knocked up worrying about some husband of mine and his God forsaken diner. I'm perfectly content about feeding a dozen cats if that's my alternative.
I'm torn between two worlds. The problem is that I was raised in one culture expected to live in the other. My whole life I've been fighting this battle. But now, in the later hours of the night, I realize my fast approaching adulthood coming and I still can't pick a path. It's hard for most to understand why I have to pick one path. I've come to find out that my two identities, my "Americanized" side and my deeply rooted culture, cannot coexist. One future would enable me to have the type of relationship I should have always had with my mother, and the other allows me find out what my past and my present shall lead me to combining the two cultures. The future terrifies me. My paths are clearly different as night and day and I'm lost between the two. It's scary when you know what the future could hold and neither path's are ones I'd rather take. So where am I bound?
Change was the theme for the incoming freshman class of Otterbein. I've made every transitional change possible since the day I arrived to America. It has allowed me to face so many challenges and overcome so many obstacles. But the biggest obstacle is waiting for me. Nights are beginning to be long and sometimes dreadful as I'm caught between two lives. It's like I'm waiting for something, something to end this race, this web of lies, this constant struggle and it's getting harder and harder. Sometimes I cant breath. Others I'm free to inhale. As I've learned so far, life is change. We don't get to choose what we struggle with, but we live with it.
Life, someone once told me, is like a box full of lemons. You either make lemonade, or you just have lots and lots of lemons. Maybe this is my answer. Maybe I've been staring at lemons all this time. I'm overdue for making some lemonade.
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