Where is home?

                                                                                                      Shyamala Shiwakoti

 

 

When people ask me how long I have been living abroad? In my mind, it's always around ten years. Last week, I did the math. It's way more than ten years. Growing up, I always heard this conversation about people going abroad and studying. My father went to Canada in 1993, and when he returned, I remember he brought me a wristwatch and an audio cassette with all Bob Marley songs. I remember the song "buffalo soldier" very clearly, and he described the song's context and meaning. He mentioned that each household in Canada has a car, like every house has a "doko" in Nepal. As a kid, I used to think that must be cool. 

 

Fast forward to the year, I came to this country (USA) in 2009—the land of opportunities. This country will not disappoint you. Despite all the negative news in the media, it is still the most welcoming and true land of opportunity. I started my life with two suitcases and $1000 in this country. I have built my career and my higher studies here. Thanks to this great nation, I have achieved whatever I wanted. I always tell my husband coming to this country has helped us to break the poverty cycle for us and our family. We got this super octane fuel for our life to propel faster and further than we had imagined. Living abroad and leaving my birthplace has me thinking broadly, traveling to different places worldwide, and meeting many people I would have never met without coming here. No complaints or dissatisfaction at all. 

           

However, nostalgia hits every year when it hits October/November or Tihar (Deepawali) in Nepal. Even though I do everything I did in Nepal, like making Rangoli, lit lights, making Selroti, fini, and other sweets, and buying some pricy marigolds, the vibe is not the same. This festival makes me miss my homeland every year with the same intensity.

           

I sometimes stumble upon these talk shows from Nepal on digital platforms where they speak about people like me who left the country for better life and opportunity. I sense a lot of judgment and cynicism from these platforms. Some of the common themes are we are missing out on life, we do not have social connections, and we lack family values. I am not denying these, but just saying no one has any right to judge us. We are doing our best that we could do. Going out when you are a full-grown adult and trying to build a life is not an easy job. It takes courage, determination, sacrifices, and hard work. Imagine a full-grown tree, and you just uprooted and planted it elsewhere. Consider all the adjustments a tree needs to make with the soil and environment. It is almost impossible to describe this feeling in words. One has to live that life to be able to feel it. When you are first generation immigrant like me, there are extra layers of complexities with living abroad. You are bound to navigate between your family's younger and older generations. And let me tell you, all those generations are unhappy with you due to obvious reasons like the generation gap and not meeting their expectations. 

 

Listening to Zakir Khan (stand-up comedian and poet), I absolutely loved how he described people like me. I am paraphrasing and translating (from Hindi to English) his words here. Hopefully, I will do justice. He stated it does not matter how we leave our homes. Willfully, like me, to so-called developed countries or unwillingly, like many of my family members, to sustain life and provider for the family in Golf countries. We are all like a ripped piece of cloth (torn from our homeland) with its edges open. Those unstitched edges will always be like open wounds and stay with us forever. Those wounds are healing for me, but the scars will remain forever. Recently in last NOV 2022, when I left Denver, Colorado, and went to Nepal for a short trip, for the first time, I felt I was leaving home, not going home. 

 


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