Olga Osipova
Latvia
ESOL 400
Fall 2007
When I went to Italy as an Au Pair for the first time, one of the difficulties I had to face was adjusting to Italian pace of life. From my early years, I thought that punctuality was a sign of politeness and respect and that I always should be on time. I had heard about the Mediterranean lack of punctuality before, but I did not expect to have culture shock because of this "insignificant" difference between the Northern and Mediterranean perceptions of time.
Culture shock is what many people who travel abroad face, and it often causes misunderstanding among representatives of different cultures and wrong conclusions about the countries they visit. The culture shock that Robert Levine, author of “Social Time: The Heartbeat of Culture” experienced in Brazil led him to carry out research about the pace of life in different cultures.
Professor Robert Levine describes the situation in a Brazilian university when he was late for his class and therefore he “in panic … broke for the classroom,” but surprisingly he “arrived breathless to find an empty room” (p. 75). That shows that people are used to bringing their pace of life to a new country. I was in a similar situation when I had to pick up Anna, a girl I was taking care of, from kindergarten. Sometimes I realized that kindergarten would be closing soon, and I would run there in fear that I would be late and little Anna would be the last child left in the kindergarten. I was very surprised, though, to find that there were still many children whom parents had not picked up yet.
It is mentioned in the Robert Levine’s and Ellen Wolff’s article that “no dictionary clearly defines the meaning of ‘early’ or’ late’ ” (p. 75). It is also illustrated by their research, which shows how differently students in the American and Brazilian universities interpret such terms as “late” and “early” when Brazilian students considered 33 ½ minutes as “late”, while American students defined “late” as 19 minutes (p. 76). Every culture has its own understanding of such time terms. I personally experienced differences in understanding the term “soon” when I went to meetings with my Italian friend. In Italy my northern punctuality turned against me. I would come to a meeting and realize that my friend was late. Then she would call me and assure me that she was arriving “soon” – what I thought could be 15 minutes. Finally, she would arrive half an hour later that was beyond all my expectations. That made me quite angry. Similarly it made me angry when I was waiting for Elena, Anna’s mother, to return from work. I remember the first time I had to pick up Anna from kindergarten and spent a couple of hours waiting for her mum to come home. Elena told me that she would finish her work at 6 p.m. and come home “right after six.” The girl did not know me well yet and was asking for her mummy all the time. I assured her that her mum will come very soon. I impatiently waited for 6:30, the latest time I would expect Elena to be back. She arrived at 7:30. By that time the baby was crying and I was very nervous and angry at Elena. When I complained of why she did not tell me that she was going to be that late, Elena replied: “But I am not late! I returned after six, as I promised. I just took my time, and did some shopping.” I was so confused and thought that Elena was an irresponsible person, but as Robert Levine points out, “when we realize we are out of step, we often blame the people around us to make ourselves feel better.” That what was happening to me; I could not get the Italian time sense and that often irritated me, until I understood the reasons why Italians were not as punctual as northern people are.
After living some time in Italy, I realized that Italians do not consider being late as a sign of disrespect or lack of sense of responsibility. They rather see it as a sign of an unstressed person and a relaxed and positive way of life. After I realized it, I started to enjoy my time in Italy to the fullest. I did not stress any more because of being late and I did not blame people when they were late. In my opinion, Robert Levine and Ellen Wolff express a very important idea: that “appreciating cultural differences in time sense becomes increasingly important as modern communications put more and more people in daily contact. If we are to avoid misreading issues that involve time perceptions, we need to understand better our own cultural biases and those of others” (p.77). I think everyone who travels to different countries should listen to this advice and should never deny the pace of life of a country he or she is visiting, but try to understand it.
Friday, January 25, 2008
The Sacrifice
Suraya Azimi
Afghanistan
ESOL 173
Fall 2007
“Why do you laugh when you know that monster hates it?” my aunt asked her.“He doesn’t hate only my laughter, but also my life, so should I stop living, too?” She was still giggling while talking. My aunt was dressing the wounds on her body.
I was 12 years old, but I remember it as though it were yesterday. My aunt called me inside the room and told me to help her find a bandage. I found a bandage and gave it to her, but tried not to look up as I did not want to see the wounds again, and I wished I had not seen them at all. Her body was all black and blue.
“Khala![1] I hate your husband. Leave him and go to your father’s house.” “I have to live with this monster. A divorced woman has no dignity in our society,” she replied. “I do not want to get divorced and go live with my father because people will look down on my family, and that will hurt my father’s and brother’s dignity.”
The next day when she came, my aunt was not at home, so she had to wait for her in the living room. I was doing my homework there. I liked that room a lot because it was the largest room in all the building, and it had a big window through which warm sunlight would come inside the room.
“You are so lucky that you can go to school!” she told me. “Did you not go to school at all?” I asked her. “I wish I did. If I could write, I would write my life story so people would learn from it.” I told her if she wanted, I would try to write her life story, but she had to tell me everything and not hide anything. She agreed to my conditions, and made me promise that I would write the story and publish it one day if I ever found the chance.
“First of all, answer me. Why did you marry him?” I asked. “It was decision of the Jerga[2] and I had to accept it. My brother killed the brother of my husband in an argument, and the elders of the tribe called my father to the Jerga. In the Jerga, they all came to an agreement that to compensate for the murder, my father had to give me as bad[3]” she replied.
“When my father arrived home, my mother asked him about the Jerga. He replied that the family of the deceased agreed in the Jerga that if we give bad, they will not kill anyone in our tribe for revenge.” She continued, “My father said that he knew my life would be miserable in their family, but he had no other option because if he hadn’t accepted their condition, they would have taken revenge and killed a member of our family.” Therefore, she had to be sacrificed to stop the bloodshed.
She said that she had been married for twenty years. In those years, her husband never missed any chance to torture her. He would torture her in many ways and somehow send the news to her father. She had never seen her family in the 20 years, but once got a letter from her father, in which he mentioned that he hoped he could help her, and that his pride was more valuable than his own life or anyone else’s life to him.
She said she knew that there was nobody who cared about her, except her four children. She wanted to live only because of her children, and she did not want to give up. Her only wish was to see her children be well educated and get married. She said that she was very happy that she did not have any daughters, and also because her sons would not follow their father because they hated him. My aunt came and interrupted our conversation.
That was the last time I saw her. We moved from that house to another, and I had totally
forgotten her . One day, after 4 years, I was visiting my friend, who was living near our old house. My classmate and I were walking toward her house when my classmate stopped by a grave to pray. She finished her prayer and asked me to pray at that shrine as well. I asked her if that was the grave of her relative because she had stopped to pray there. “It is grave of a woman who was killed by her husband, and she was innocent. Therefore,
everyone comes here and prays for her,” she replied. “What else did you hear about her?” I asked her. “I heard from my mother that her brother died of cancer, so she was crying all day and night begging her husband to let her see her family. He did not let her go, but instead beat her to death. He escaped with his sons to another city.” she told me. “One of my relatives saw him and told us that he is married someone to else now, and his children had run away from him.” she added.
I kept my fingers crossed and prayed for her: “May your soul rest in peace.”
[1]Aunt; due to respect, you do not call women older than you by their name.
[2] Jerga means “council” (It is a community council of elders to solve tribal issues, in which a decision is made based on vote of the majority.)
[3] Bad is a custom that refers to compensating for the murder; the murderer or one’s father/brother has to compensate according to the choice of the victim’s family and decision of the community council (Jerga).
Afghanistan
ESOL 173
Fall 2007
“Why do you laugh when you know that monster hates it?” my aunt asked her.“He doesn’t hate only my laughter, but also my life, so should I stop living, too?” She was still giggling while talking. My aunt was dressing the wounds on her body.
I was 12 years old, but I remember it as though it were yesterday. My aunt called me inside the room and told me to help her find a bandage. I found a bandage and gave it to her, but tried not to look up as I did not want to see the wounds again, and I wished I had not seen them at all. Her body was all black and blue.
“Khala![1] I hate your husband. Leave him and go to your father’s house.” “I have to live with this monster. A divorced woman has no dignity in our society,” she replied. “I do not want to get divorced and go live with my father because people will look down on my family, and that will hurt my father’s and brother’s dignity.”
The next day when she came, my aunt was not at home, so she had to wait for her in the living room. I was doing my homework there. I liked that room a lot because it was the largest room in all the building, and it had a big window through which warm sunlight would come inside the room.
“You are so lucky that you can go to school!” she told me. “Did you not go to school at all?” I asked her. “I wish I did. If I could write, I would write my life story so people would learn from it.” I told her if she wanted, I would try to write her life story, but she had to tell me everything and not hide anything. She agreed to my conditions, and made me promise that I would write the story and publish it one day if I ever found the chance.
“First of all, answer me. Why did you marry him?” I asked. “It was decision of the Jerga[2] and I had to accept it. My brother killed the brother of my husband in an argument, and the elders of the tribe called my father to the Jerga. In the Jerga, they all came to an agreement that to compensate for the murder, my father had to give me as bad[3]” she replied.
“When my father arrived home, my mother asked him about the Jerga. He replied that the family of the deceased agreed in the Jerga that if we give bad, they will not kill anyone in our tribe for revenge.” She continued, “My father said that he knew my life would be miserable in their family, but he had no other option because if he hadn’t accepted their condition, they would have taken revenge and killed a member of our family.” Therefore, she had to be sacrificed to stop the bloodshed.
She said that she had been married for twenty years. In those years, her husband never missed any chance to torture her. He would torture her in many ways and somehow send the news to her father. She had never seen her family in the 20 years, but once got a letter from her father, in which he mentioned that he hoped he could help her, and that his pride was more valuable than his own life or anyone else’s life to him.
She said she knew that there was nobody who cared about her, except her four children. She wanted to live only because of her children, and she did not want to give up. Her only wish was to see her children be well educated and get married. She said that she was very happy that she did not have any daughters, and also because her sons would not follow their father because they hated him. My aunt came and interrupted our conversation.
That was the last time I saw her. We moved from that house to another, and I had totally
forgotten her . One day, after 4 years, I was visiting my friend, who was living near our old house. My classmate and I were walking toward her house when my classmate stopped by a grave to pray. She finished her prayer and asked me to pray at that shrine as well. I asked her if that was the grave of her relative because she had stopped to pray there. “It is grave of a woman who was killed by her husband, and she was innocent. Therefore,
everyone comes here and prays for her,” she replied. “What else did you hear about her?” I asked her. “I heard from my mother that her brother died of cancer, so she was crying all day and night begging her husband to let her see her family. He did not let her go, but instead beat her to death. He escaped with his sons to another city.” she told me. “One of my relatives saw him and told us that he is married someone to else now, and his children had run away from him.” she added.
I kept my fingers crossed and prayed for her: “May your soul rest in peace.”
[1]Aunt; due to respect, you do not call women older than you by their name.
[2] Jerga means “council” (It is a community council of elders to solve tribal issues, in which a decision is made based on vote of the majority.)
[3] Bad is a custom that refers to compensating for the murder; the murderer or one’s father/brother has to compensate according to the choice of the victim’s family and decision of the community council (Jerga).
Reckless Adventure
Michinao Okachi
Japan
ESOL 173
Fall 2007
“I am tired! I am thirsty!” I said to myself.
The air was very cold in spite of the fact that it was August. The sun was going down, and the surrounding scenery was darkening. There was no one around. I could only hear the sound of passing cars sometimes. However, no one was paying attention to me. I had no energy to ride my bicycle, and the slope of the mountain which I was going up was amazingly steep. I had to walk.
“I can’t walk any more!” I sat on the roadside at last and I began to regret this rash adventure.
I had decided to go from Tokyo, where I lived, to Kyoto, which was my parents’ home, by my bicycle. I had had confidence that I could go to Kyoto in two days. However, I did not expect the Japanese mountains to be steep. By looking at the maps, I could not have imagined how hard it would be to climb the mountains.
I woke up at 5 a.m. and went toward Kyoto cheerfully. Actually, it was a comfortable trip because I did not need to worry about traffic jams. Moreover, I loved riding bicycles. I went more than 150 kilometers (which was about 100 miles) and reached the foot of a mountain. There was no one who was walking or riding on a bicycle. Everyone was riding in cars, yet I thought it was not difficult to go up because I was not tired in spite of having pedaled for a long time.
However, reality did not equal the expectation. After I had pedaled for 10 minutes, I began to feel tired. I got off the bicycle, and walked in order to recover my energy. Nevertheless, no matter how far I walked, I could not get back the power to ride on the bicycle, and I gave up riding it.
I walked around 4 hours; it was getting dark and I had already run out of water. I wanted to sleep and recover my energy, but I did not have a tent or blankets. “I cannot sleep outdoors.” I said to myself. Then, I decided to give up this severe journey, and use my cell phone to ask for help. However, the mountain was outside the cell phone’s service area!“Oh God! What should I do?”
I had no way out, but to continue to walk. It began to be colder and colder. In addition to that, I felt much colder because of my sweaty t-shirt. There were no houses or buildings. I heard the sound of crows. I walked more than 30 minutes. "I may die.” I felt like that. However, if I had said the words, I would have had a feeling that I would really have died. Thus, I never said such words.
Then, just before the sun sank, I saw a sign which indicated the top of the mountain. “That’s it! That’s it! That’s what I wanted see for a long time!” I shouted out, and hurried to go there with the little extra energy that I had. I almost cried.
Then, I rode the bicycle downhill. The speed was amazing! I did not pedal, but I could gather speed faster than the speed of cars. “Hey! Come on! Come on! I love this speed!”
I immediately reached the foot of the mountain. I bought water, and searched for a hotel. However, I could not find one. Thus, I had to pedal more to find it.
When I reached a bigger city two hours later, all of the hotels was booked because it was August 15th, the memorial day of the end of World War Two.
I felt bewildered again. It was completely dark. I was so tired and wanted to lie down on a bed. Then, I went to a police station to ask whether there were any places to stay or not.
“Excuse me, sir. Are there any places to stay around here other than hotels?” I asked. “What happened to you? You look so tired. What’s your name? What’s your address?” He looked at me doubtfully. “My name is Okachi Michinao. I came from Tokyo.” The moment I said Tokyo, he responded, “You came from Tokyo? Are you sure? By bicycle? Did you go up the mountain?” he screamed. “Yes, sir,” I said quietly. I did not want to hear the loud voice. “Could you tell me any place to stay?” After I questioned him quietly, he got serious and began to looking for one. After a few minutes, he brought a map and indicated one place. “This is not a hotel but a coffee shop, yet it is open 24 hours, so you can stay there. Is it okay?”“I do not care. I will sleep in that shop. Thank you very much.” After I said that, I went to the shop, and slept sitting on a chair.
Next morning, I gave up continuing the adventure by bicycle. I went back to my parents’ home by trains. After I arrived there, I slept over twelve hours.
Before that reckless adventure, I thought I could overcome many difficulties with my strength and tough spirit. However, I understand that reckless is reckless. Now, I have to consider a plan before carrying it out.
Japan
ESOL 173
Fall 2007
“I am tired! I am thirsty!” I said to myself.
The air was very cold in spite of the fact that it was August. The sun was going down, and the surrounding scenery was darkening. There was no one around. I could only hear the sound of passing cars sometimes. However, no one was paying attention to me. I had no energy to ride my bicycle, and the slope of the mountain which I was going up was amazingly steep. I had to walk.
“I can’t walk any more!” I sat on the roadside at last and I began to regret this rash adventure.
I had decided to go from Tokyo, where I lived, to Kyoto, which was my parents’ home, by my bicycle. I had had confidence that I could go to Kyoto in two days. However, I did not expect the Japanese mountains to be steep. By looking at the maps, I could not have imagined how hard it would be to climb the mountains.
I woke up at 5 a.m. and went toward Kyoto cheerfully. Actually, it was a comfortable trip because I did not need to worry about traffic jams. Moreover, I loved riding bicycles. I went more than 150 kilometers (which was about 100 miles) and reached the foot of a mountain. There was no one who was walking or riding on a bicycle. Everyone was riding in cars, yet I thought it was not difficult to go up because I was not tired in spite of having pedaled for a long time.
However, reality did not equal the expectation. After I had pedaled for 10 minutes, I began to feel tired. I got off the bicycle, and walked in order to recover my energy. Nevertheless, no matter how far I walked, I could not get back the power to ride on the bicycle, and I gave up riding it.
I walked around 4 hours; it was getting dark and I had already run out of water. I wanted to sleep and recover my energy, but I did not have a tent or blankets. “I cannot sleep outdoors.” I said to myself. Then, I decided to give up this severe journey, and use my cell phone to ask for help. However, the mountain was outside the cell phone’s service area!“Oh God! What should I do?”
I had no way out, but to continue to walk. It began to be colder and colder. In addition to that, I felt much colder because of my sweaty t-shirt. There were no houses or buildings. I heard the sound of crows. I walked more than 30 minutes. "I may die.” I felt like that. However, if I had said the words, I would have had a feeling that I would really have died. Thus, I never said such words.
Then, just before the sun sank, I saw a sign which indicated the top of the mountain. “That’s it! That’s it! That’s what I wanted see for a long time!” I shouted out, and hurried to go there with the little extra energy that I had. I almost cried.
Then, I rode the bicycle downhill. The speed was amazing! I did not pedal, but I could gather speed faster than the speed of cars. “Hey! Come on! Come on! I love this speed!”
I immediately reached the foot of the mountain. I bought water, and searched for a hotel. However, I could not find one. Thus, I had to pedal more to find it.
When I reached a bigger city two hours later, all of the hotels was booked because it was August 15th, the memorial day of the end of World War Two.
I felt bewildered again. It was completely dark. I was so tired and wanted to lie down on a bed. Then, I went to a police station to ask whether there were any places to stay or not.
“Excuse me, sir. Are there any places to stay around here other than hotels?” I asked. “What happened to you? You look so tired. What’s your name? What’s your address?” He looked at me doubtfully. “My name is Okachi Michinao. I came from Tokyo.” The moment I said Tokyo, he responded, “You came from Tokyo? Are you sure? By bicycle? Did you go up the mountain?” he screamed. “Yes, sir,” I said quietly. I did not want to hear the loud voice. “Could you tell me any place to stay?” After I questioned him quietly, he got serious and began to looking for one. After a few minutes, he brought a map and indicated one place. “This is not a hotel but a coffee shop, yet it is open 24 hours, so you can stay there. Is it okay?”“I do not care. I will sleep in that shop. Thank you very much.” After I said that, I went to the shop, and slept sitting on a chair.
Next morning, I gave up continuing the adventure by bicycle. I went back to my parents’ home by trains. After I arrived there, I slept over twelve hours.
Before that reckless adventure, I thought I could overcome many difficulties with my strength and tough spirit. However, I understand that reckless is reckless. Now, I have to consider a plan before carrying it out.
The Parking Ticket
Agnes A. Zycinski
Germany
ESOL 173
Fall 2007
I was sitting in my car and driving down Bloomfield Avenue. It was 9.40 a.m. Just 15 minutes and I should arrive at the train station in Newark. I had mixed feelings. I was happy and very anxious to see my friend Svenja from Germany, but also feeling guilty for breaking my word to not go to Newark. It was my second week in America as an Au Pair; I was driving my new host family’s big Lexus SUV. I could remember my host dad’s words: “I don’t feel comfortable with you going to Newark; it’s too early for you to drive such a far distance.” However, here I was driving to Newark. How could he expect me to tell my friend to take a cab? I was unbelievably happy that she was able stop by while traveling through America. I was looking forward to meeting with somebody familiar in this country full of strangers. I remember having sleeping problems. My bad conscience didn’t let me sleep. I just didn’t know what to do, but then at one point I decided I couldn’t disappoint my friend, whom I have known for almost 5 years.
While driving on Bloomfield Avenue, I looked at my directions again. The way seemed to be easy: Go straight on Bloomfield Avenue and then make a right. I even knew where to park so I could save money. Another girl’s host dad advised me to park at the Burger King right next to the station. I didn’t realize yet that this advice would turn my day into an unpleasant one, but I just felt confident and happy. I remember the weather being wonderful. It was September, the trees had just started to lose their leaves and it was still mild. I was so excited that I could show Svenja my “new home” and New York City.
I arrived at a quarter to eleven at the Burger King parking lot. I was only five minutes late for Svenja. I locked up the car and started to walk towards the train station. My heart started to beat faster while I was entering the building. Up until that point, I didn’t realize how much I missed my home and my friends. I was walking through the big lobby, looking around, trying to find my friend in the crowd. Then I finally saw her, sitting on one of the benches waiting for me. “Svenja!” I yelled, feeling overwhelmed with emotions upon seeing her. “Agnes!” she screamed back, and before I knew what was happening, we ran towards each other and hugged. “Oh my gosh, I’m so happy to see you!! How are you? How is your host family? How does it feel to live here now?” she started to ask while I was talking to her at the same time. “How was your trip so far? I’m so happy to see you.” After a while, we decided to go back to the car and drive home, so we would be able to catch the bus to New York City. “It’s so great to see you. We already miss you in Germany, Agnes!” she continued while we were walking out of the train station towards the car. The weather felt warmer and the day looked even more beautiful than before. “I miss you all, too, but I really have luck with my host family. They’re very nice people and the kids are adorable, and wait until you’ll see the awesome car,” I laughed. We walked into the parking lot. ”See, a nice 2006 Lexus.” “A Lexus?” Svenja said laughing back. “Look at that one on the truck, there; we have exactly the same one, and my car is there on the right. . . ” I replied. Suddenly, like in slow-motion, my eyes wandered from the car on the truck to the spot where I had parked my car, but there was nothing! I couldn’t see what I actually should have seen-- my car. Suddenly, I looked back at the truck, and then I finally realized the situation. That was my car, on the truck, which was actually a wrecking truck, about to leave the parking lot. I couldn’t breathe for a second and a thousand thoughts ran through my head. It seemed my heart had stopped beating and I felt the world stop for a moment; and then I just started to run. I forgot about my friend, who had no idea what was going on, and I just wanted to stop the truck. I was running like never before. The few feet seemed like a mile, and the only things I could think of were: what will I tell my host parents and how will I get the car back and would I have to go home? “Stoooop!!!Stooooop!!!” I screamed, almost out of breath. “Please stooooop!” but the truck started to go onto the street, driving faster. I was running like crazy, but then, suddenly, I was able to catch up with the truck, which had to stop at the stop sign. “Sir, please stop. I’m the owner of the car.” I panted for air. ”Where are you taking the car, sir?? Please tell me what is going on.” “Lady, you parked on private property and your car will be towed away to our property. If you want, I can take you with me,” the man replied unemotionally. “Let’s go with him, Agnes,” Svenja said, putting her hand on my shoulder. I didn’t even notice she was running after me the whole time.
So there I was, sitting in this truck, a dirty truck, stinking like cigarette ashes, with a dirty obese man looking like as though he hadn’t taken a shower in days, sweaty and unshaven, in Newark, America. Svenja was holding her big travel bag with her belongings and her laptop while trying to look not too scared, but I knew her too well; she was. We were driving for about 10 minutes, through a shabby, dark neighborhood before the car pulled onto the company property. “Get out, girls!” the stinky man shouted at us. Go into the office across the parking lot and talk to the boss. I’ll unload your car.” Svenja and I climbed out of the truck and walked to the office. “Agnes, listen to me,” Svenja suddenly whispered to me, “Start to cry as soon as we get in there and perhaps he’ll make you a deal when he sees how upset you are!” ”I’ll try,” I said. I knew Svenja was right and this was the only chance I had so that I wouldn’t have to call my host parents. I knocked at the door. “Yes,” a dark male’s, voice answered. I went into the office and as soon as I saw the bedraggled office and the greasy man, I couldn’t stop my tears. ”Listen, girl, you’ll have to pay $380 or you’ll pay me $250 in cash with no receipt .” I just agreed by nodding my head. I guess I had never been as afraid as at that moment. “Do you have cash?” he wanted to know. “No sir, but where is the nearest bank?” I asked in a quaky voice.” Just four blocks from here, and hurry up, girl, I don’t have time the whole day!”
I still don’t know how Svenja and I managed to walk, no, almost run the 4 blocks, frightened to death, with her laptop and all her belongings, through the “ghetto” neighborhood, get the money and walk back, pay the greasy man, go and get into the car and drive with our Lexus through the shabbiest neighborhood I have seen so far in America with our Lexus, getting uncomfortable attention from people loitering in front of their houses. It was 10.55 when we were on Bloomfield Avenue driving home, in silence, trying to put together all the things which just had happened.
It’s now more than one year since I had to go through this experience. I’m still living with the same family, who have become like a second family to me. I never told them what happened. I know that at one point in my life I’ll tell them, and I’ll look back and laugh, but now I have learned my lesson. First of all, trust people with their advice, especially when they have lived much longer in this country than you have, and don’t park in a Burger King parking lot “to save” money. Instead of paying $5 for a parking ticket, I paid $250.
Germany
ESOL 173
Fall 2007
I was sitting in my car and driving down Bloomfield Avenue. It was 9.40 a.m. Just 15 minutes and I should arrive at the train station in Newark. I had mixed feelings. I was happy and very anxious to see my friend Svenja from Germany, but also feeling guilty for breaking my word to not go to Newark. It was my second week in America as an Au Pair; I was driving my new host family’s big Lexus SUV. I could remember my host dad’s words: “I don’t feel comfortable with you going to Newark; it’s too early for you to drive such a far distance.” However, here I was driving to Newark. How could he expect me to tell my friend to take a cab? I was unbelievably happy that she was able stop by while traveling through America. I was looking forward to meeting with somebody familiar in this country full of strangers. I remember having sleeping problems. My bad conscience didn’t let me sleep. I just didn’t know what to do, but then at one point I decided I couldn’t disappoint my friend, whom I have known for almost 5 years.
While driving on Bloomfield Avenue, I looked at my directions again. The way seemed to be easy: Go straight on Bloomfield Avenue and then make a right. I even knew where to park so I could save money. Another girl’s host dad advised me to park at the Burger King right next to the station. I didn’t realize yet that this advice would turn my day into an unpleasant one, but I just felt confident and happy. I remember the weather being wonderful. It was September, the trees had just started to lose their leaves and it was still mild. I was so excited that I could show Svenja my “new home” and New York City.
I arrived at a quarter to eleven at the Burger King parking lot. I was only five minutes late for Svenja. I locked up the car and started to walk towards the train station. My heart started to beat faster while I was entering the building. Up until that point, I didn’t realize how much I missed my home and my friends. I was walking through the big lobby, looking around, trying to find my friend in the crowd. Then I finally saw her, sitting on one of the benches waiting for me. “Svenja!” I yelled, feeling overwhelmed with emotions upon seeing her. “Agnes!” she screamed back, and before I knew what was happening, we ran towards each other and hugged. “Oh my gosh, I’m so happy to see you!! How are you? How is your host family? How does it feel to live here now?” she started to ask while I was talking to her at the same time. “How was your trip so far? I’m so happy to see you.” After a while, we decided to go back to the car and drive home, so we would be able to catch the bus to New York City. “It’s so great to see you. We already miss you in Germany, Agnes!” she continued while we were walking out of the train station towards the car. The weather felt warmer and the day looked even more beautiful than before. “I miss you all, too, but I really have luck with my host family. They’re very nice people and the kids are adorable, and wait until you’ll see the awesome car,” I laughed. We walked into the parking lot. ”See, a nice 2006 Lexus.” “A Lexus?” Svenja said laughing back. “Look at that one on the truck, there; we have exactly the same one, and my car is there on the right. . . ” I replied. Suddenly, like in slow-motion, my eyes wandered from the car on the truck to the spot where I had parked my car, but there was nothing! I couldn’t see what I actually should have seen-- my car. Suddenly, I looked back at the truck, and then I finally realized the situation. That was my car, on the truck, which was actually a wrecking truck, about to leave the parking lot. I couldn’t breathe for a second and a thousand thoughts ran through my head. It seemed my heart had stopped beating and I felt the world stop for a moment; and then I just started to run. I forgot about my friend, who had no idea what was going on, and I just wanted to stop the truck. I was running like never before. The few feet seemed like a mile, and the only things I could think of were: what will I tell my host parents and how will I get the car back and would I have to go home? “Stoooop!!!Stooooop!!!” I screamed, almost out of breath. “Please stooooop!” but the truck started to go onto the street, driving faster. I was running like crazy, but then, suddenly, I was able to catch up with the truck, which had to stop at the stop sign. “Sir, please stop. I’m the owner of the car.” I panted for air. ”Where are you taking the car, sir?? Please tell me what is going on.” “Lady, you parked on private property and your car will be towed away to our property. If you want, I can take you with me,” the man replied unemotionally. “Let’s go with him, Agnes,” Svenja said, putting her hand on my shoulder. I didn’t even notice she was running after me the whole time.
So there I was, sitting in this truck, a dirty truck, stinking like cigarette ashes, with a dirty obese man looking like as though he hadn’t taken a shower in days, sweaty and unshaven, in Newark, America. Svenja was holding her big travel bag with her belongings and her laptop while trying to look not too scared, but I knew her too well; she was. We were driving for about 10 minutes, through a shabby, dark neighborhood before the car pulled onto the company property. “Get out, girls!” the stinky man shouted at us. Go into the office across the parking lot and talk to the boss. I’ll unload your car.” Svenja and I climbed out of the truck and walked to the office. “Agnes, listen to me,” Svenja suddenly whispered to me, “Start to cry as soon as we get in there and perhaps he’ll make you a deal when he sees how upset you are!” ”I’ll try,” I said. I knew Svenja was right and this was the only chance I had so that I wouldn’t have to call my host parents. I knocked at the door. “Yes,” a dark male’s, voice answered. I went into the office and as soon as I saw the bedraggled office and the greasy man, I couldn’t stop my tears. ”Listen, girl, you’ll have to pay $380 or you’ll pay me $250 in cash with no receipt .” I just agreed by nodding my head. I guess I had never been as afraid as at that moment. “Do you have cash?” he wanted to know. “No sir, but where is the nearest bank?” I asked in a quaky voice.” Just four blocks from here, and hurry up, girl, I don’t have time the whole day!”
I still don’t know how Svenja and I managed to walk, no, almost run the 4 blocks, frightened to death, with her laptop and all her belongings, through the “ghetto” neighborhood, get the money and walk back, pay the greasy man, go and get into the car and drive with our Lexus through the shabbiest neighborhood I have seen so far in America with our Lexus, getting uncomfortable attention from people loitering in front of their houses. It was 10.55 when we were on Bloomfield Avenue driving home, in silence, trying to put together all the things which just had happened.
It’s now more than one year since I had to go through this experience. I’m still living with the same family, who have become like a second family to me. I never told them what happened. I know that at one point in my life I’ll tell them, and I’ll look back and laugh, but now I have learned my lesson. First of all, trust people with their advice, especially when they have lived much longer in this country than you have, and don’t park in a Burger King parking lot “to save” money. Instead of paying $5 for a parking ticket, I paid $250.
My First Day at the Noodle Shop
Yuriko Matsuda
Japan
ESOL 400
Fall 2007
I was a high school student when the computer became affordable, yet expensive, for the ordinary family. Believe it or not, the price for a Macintosh computer, which came with a black and white screen, was nearly $7,000.00. Because I was full of curiosity about the new technology, I wanted to use it. I coaxed my parents into buying it, with the excuse that I was tired of writing essays with a typewriter. (It was not a lie since it caused frustration when I had to correct even a tiny mistake.) My father was also interested in the new technology, so he agreed to pay half the price. I thought it was a fair deal. Therefore, I decided to take a part-time job.
The next day, I looked through the newspaper advertisement page.
“Waitress wanted! $4.00/hr.+tips.”
It was an ad from the Japanese noodle shop in my neighborhood.
“2 to 3 days a week.” Check.
“Students okay.” Check.
All right. I called and made an appointment for an interview. That was easy, I thought.
However, when I went to the noodle shop for an interview, suddenly I was scared. It was dark inside and the red sign on the door said “CLOSED.” The shop seemed to be rejecting me. I walked nervously to the door. I wished it was locked so I had an excuse to go home. Unfortunately, it was unlocked. The door felt so heavy because anxiety and fear were pulling me back. A lady came out from the back and greeted me without a smile. I asked for the owner. “I am the owner.” she replied, again without a smile. I got tense. “Oh, no, one strike,” I murmured.
We sat together at the corner table. With a sharp glare, the owner asked, “Why do you want to work?”
I couldn’t tell the truth because it was that I would quit after I earned enough. I said, “I have never worked before. I want to start gaining some work experience with a part-time job.”
Suddenly, the owner’s face changed. With her squeaking voice she said, “I don’t like to distinguish jobs as part-time or full-time because what you do is the same: work seriously! Don’t even think that a part-time job is easier! Also, don’t expect me to be soft on a student. You will be treated the same as the full-time workers.”
I was stunned. What discipline for a $4.00/hr. job! “Two strikes,” I murmured again. I would be out with one more strike. However, I was accepted somehow. She told me to start working 5 days a week since I needed a lot of training. I couldn’t talk back to her. “Yes, Madame.” That was all I could say.
My busy days started. I woke up 6:00 am for pep band practice and took 7 classes, followed by cross country practice, which finished at nearly 5:00 pm. I went to the noodle shop directly from school and finished working around 10:00. Finally, I started doing homework, which usually lasted until 1:00 or 2:00 am. In a few months, I was so tired that my mother had to scream out loud to wake me up every morning.
Since I worked 5 days a week, I earned enough to buy a computer in less than 6 months. My mother wanted me to quit. There were no reasons to stay. However, I did not quit. Because of the money? It was partly true. I earned a lot with tips. However, I did not quit because I couldn’t let the owner think that I was running away. I wanted to quit after the owner admitted that I was a valuable worker. I was still treated as a trainee, so the owner was shrieking all the time:
“Don’t you know how to speak polite Japanese?!”
“Open your eyes! There are empty water glasses in front of the guests!”
“Yes, Madame,” said I, and followed her instructions. I was her slave. “Some day,” I kept telling myself, “some day, she will consider me as a worker.”
One night, however, nearly one year later, I heard what I wanted to hear.
“Hey! You didn’t. . .oh, never mind.”
I had already done what she wanted me to do. After the same thing happened several times, she stopped shrieking at me. I was finally recognized as a valuable worker!
A few months later, I quit. It was not revenge. There was no bitterness inside my heart. In fact, I was thankful to her that I had gained self-confidence. I still remember what she said when I was leaving.
“You did great. I was amazed that you suffered my strict training. Thank you.”
The owner changed me from an inconsiderate young girl to something better. It was a $4.00/hr. job, but I earned a lot more than the money and the computer.
Since my first job, any job now seems to be easy and decent. Fortunately, I am usually pleased by how I work. However, it is also unfortunate that I can’t ever take it easy when I work.
Japan
ESOL 400
Fall 2007
I was a high school student when the computer became affordable, yet expensive, for the ordinary family. Believe it or not, the price for a Macintosh computer, which came with a black and white screen, was nearly $7,000.00. Because I was full of curiosity about the new technology, I wanted to use it. I coaxed my parents into buying it, with the excuse that I was tired of writing essays with a typewriter. (It was not a lie since it caused frustration when I had to correct even a tiny mistake.) My father was also interested in the new technology, so he agreed to pay half the price. I thought it was a fair deal. Therefore, I decided to take a part-time job.
The next day, I looked through the newspaper advertisement page.
“Waitress wanted! $4.00/hr.+tips.”
It was an ad from the Japanese noodle shop in my neighborhood.
“2 to 3 days a week.” Check.
“Students okay.” Check.
All right. I called and made an appointment for an interview. That was easy, I thought.
However, when I went to the noodle shop for an interview, suddenly I was scared. It was dark inside and the red sign on the door said “CLOSED.” The shop seemed to be rejecting me. I walked nervously to the door. I wished it was locked so I had an excuse to go home. Unfortunately, it was unlocked. The door felt so heavy because anxiety and fear were pulling me back. A lady came out from the back and greeted me without a smile. I asked for the owner. “I am the owner.” she replied, again without a smile. I got tense. “Oh, no, one strike,” I murmured.
We sat together at the corner table. With a sharp glare, the owner asked, “Why do you want to work?”
I couldn’t tell the truth because it was that I would quit after I earned enough. I said, “I have never worked before. I want to start gaining some work experience with a part-time job.”
Suddenly, the owner’s face changed. With her squeaking voice she said, “I don’t like to distinguish jobs as part-time or full-time because what you do is the same: work seriously! Don’t even think that a part-time job is easier! Also, don’t expect me to be soft on a student. You will be treated the same as the full-time workers.”
I was stunned. What discipline for a $4.00/hr. job! “Two strikes,” I murmured again. I would be out with one more strike. However, I was accepted somehow. She told me to start working 5 days a week since I needed a lot of training. I couldn’t talk back to her. “Yes, Madame.” That was all I could say.
My busy days started. I woke up 6:00 am for pep band practice and took 7 classes, followed by cross country practice, which finished at nearly 5:00 pm. I went to the noodle shop directly from school and finished working around 10:00. Finally, I started doing homework, which usually lasted until 1:00 or 2:00 am. In a few months, I was so tired that my mother had to scream out loud to wake me up every morning.
Since I worked 5 days a week, I earned enough to buy a computer in less than 6 months. My mother wanted me to quit. There were no reasons to stay. However, I did not quit. Because of the money? It was partly true. I earned a lot with tips. However, I did not quit because I couldn’t let the owner think that I was running away. I wanted to quit after the owner admitted that I was a valuable worker. I was still treated as a trainee, so the owner was shrieking all the time:
“Don’t you know how to speak polite Japanese?!”
“Open your eyes! There are empty water glasses in front of the guests!”
“Yes, Madame,” said I, and followed her instructions. I was her slave. “Some day,” I kept telling myself, “some day, she will consider me as a worker.”
One night, however, nearly one year later, I heard what I wanted to hear.
“Hey! You didn’t. . .oh, never mind.”
I had already done what she wanted me to do. After the same thing happened several times, she stopped shrieking at me. I was finally recognized as a valuable worker!
A few months later, I quit. It was not revenge. There was no bitterness inside my heart. In fact, I was thankful to her that I had gained self-confidence. I still remember what she said when I was leaving.
“You did great. I was amazed that you suffered my strict training. Thank you.”
The owner changed me from an inconsiderate young girl to something better. It was a $4.00/hr. job, but I earned a lot more than the money and the computer.
Since my first job, any job now seems to be easy and decent. Fortunately, I am usually pleased by how I work. However, it is also unfortunate that I can’t ever take it easy when I work.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Unexpected Happiness
Hansa Hasgur
Turkey
ESOL 400
Fall 2007
“How can it happen? I had all the required documents!” I said, then started to cry. It was a beautiful, sunny October morning and I was standing in front of the enormous American Consulate building in Istanbul, Turkey. “Do not worry! You can apply again, and this time you will get it.” My sister was with me and she was trying to console me, though her disappointment could be read on her face. I was there to get a visa to the United States, but unfortunately, my application was rejected without any explanation by an American official. My grief was very big because up to that point I had prepared the documents, solved different problems related to the process and struggled by myself because my parents were outside the country at that time. What’s more is, I was well assured by people around me that I would get the visa at this interview.
After all those difficulties and all that encouragement, I had come to the consulate building with great excitement and expectation. I had passed through three checkpoints and one x-ray when finally I arrived at the main room in which all processes of getting the visa were taking place. There was such a huge crowd that I could not find any seat available in that big hall. I handed in my documents and started to wait my turn for the interview with others who were waiting impatiently. I started to chat with two ladies who were standing beside me. They asked me why I wanted to go to the U.S., and I told them that my reason was to study. Then they said, “Oh, if you are applying for a student visa then you do not have anything to worry about. It is really easy to get a student visa.”
When my number was called, I started to walk toward the counter with a kind of relief and hope in my heart. The official was a plump, black woman, whose voice was very eerie. During the interview, I was supposed to persuade her that I did not intend to immigrate to the U.S. She just opened my passport, looked at my visas and asked me what I was doing in Kyrgyzstan. “I was studying at the university,” I replied. “Why did you choose to study in Kyrgyzstan?” “I did not choose it. My parents were appointed there, so I went with them.” After asking me several questions related to my family and my siblings she said, “Sorry, but I cannot give you visa to the U.S.” Her words were so sudden that I could not open my mouth for a moment. As soon as I got rid of my first shock, I needed to ask her the reason. “May I ask you why?” Instead of giving an answer, she threw me a sheet of paper and said, “If you read this, you can understand why.” Then she turned and walked away. Holding the paper in my hand, I could not move for several minutes, because I was petrified with astonishment.
When my father called me from Kyrgyzstan to learn the result of interview, I was still crying. While sitting at the seaside and watching the beautiful landscape of the sea and the city I told him everything. When I finished, he said, “There is nothing to grieve about. It is not the end of the world. You can come back to Kyrgyzstan. You know, there is a job waiting for you here.”
Suddenly, I understood what he meant. After graduation, I was offered a position at my university as a teaching assistant in the management department, but I preferred to go to the U.S. Of course, that was not the only reason for my refusal. I was not sure of my ability to lecture in English. But now, sitting by the seaside under the warm sun, the idea of returning to Kyrgyzstan seemed to me the only alternative that I could go after. Perhaps, thinking of being an assistant at a university had a healing effect on my disappointment.
One week later, I was sitting in the seat of an airplane traveling to Kyrgyzstan. I was so excited, as if it were my first journey to that country. Besides, I had a strange fear. The reason for my fear was that I was going back there as a different person, not as a student, and I would work with my professors. Indeed, that would be a great experience for me.
On that day, I had my first class as an instructor. I was very excited for it seemed to me as if I did not know anything and I would not be able to say any words in front of the students. I had many questions in my mind. “What if they do not like me?” That was an important point for me because according to my own experiences, your achievement is closely related to your feelings about the teacher. If the student does not like the teacher, he/she never likes the course either. “What if I am boring and they do not understand what I am trying to explain?” Those questions made me more anxious and made me change my mind every five minutes. “No, no, wait! I give up! I cannot teach!”
Now I was in class, in the presence of the students’ curious eyes. They were examining all of my movements, behaviors, sentences and even clothes. I told the students about myself. The common question that I encountered in each class was: “How old are you?” They could not believe that that little girl would be their teacher because I looked younger than many of my students. However, undesirable things never happened in my classes, and my worries never became real. I got used to being in a class as a teacher and loved my job. Students liked me and understood the class; I could see that in their eyes. Some of them are still sending me e-mails and telling me that they miss me.
Today, when I look back at that October morning, I say, “Fortunately I could not get that visa.” It was one of the best things that happened to me in my life because during that year, I improved my knowledge, experience and English in order to give the students the best. Throughout my assistantship, I carried out a lot of research that also included translating documents. I went to a TOEFL course, which prepared me for my next year in the U.S. My assistantship experiences have fostered my love for and dedication to being an academician. After that year, I knew what I wanted for my future and that was worth everything.
Turkey
ESOL 400
Fall 2007
“How can it happen? I had all the required documents!” I said, then started to cry. It was a beautiful, sunny October morning and I was standing in front of the enormous American Consulate building in Istanbul, Turkey. “Do not worry! You can apply again, and this time you will get it.” My sister was with me and she was trying to console me, though her disappointment could be read on her face. I was there to get a visa to the United States, but unfortunately, my application was rejected without any explanation by an American official. My grief was very big because up to that point I had prepared the documents, solved different problems related to the process and struggled by myself because my parents were outside the country at that time. What’s more is, I was well assured by people around me that I would get the visa at this interview.
After all those difficulties and all that encouragement, I had come to the consulate building with great excitement and expectation. I had passed through three checkpoints and one x-ray when finally I arrived at the main room in which all processes of getting the visa were taking place. There was such a huge crowd that I could not find any seat available in that big hall. I handed in my documents and started to wait my turn for the interview with others who were waiting impatiently. I started to chat with two ladies who were standing beside me. They asked me why I wanted to go to the U.S., and I told them that my reason was to study. Then they said, “Oh, if you are applying for a student visa then you do not have anything to worry about. It is really easy to get a student visa.”
When my number was called, I started to walk toward the counter with a kind of relief and hope in my heart. The official was a plump, black woman, whose voice was very eerie. During the interview, I was supposed to persuade her that I did not intend to immigrate to the U.S. She just opened my passport, looked at my visas and asked me what I was doing in Kyrgyzstan. “I was studying at the university,” I replied. “Why did you choose to study in Kyrgyzstan?” “I did not choose it. My parents were appointed there, so I went with them.” After asking me several questions related to my family and my siblings she said, “Sorry, but I cannot give you visa to the U.S.” Her words were so sudden that I could not open my mouth for a moment. As soon as I got rid of my first shock, I needed to ask her the reason. “May I ask you why?” Instead of giving an answer, she threw me a sheet of paper and said, “If you read this, you can understand why.” Then she turned and walked away. Holding the paper in my hand, I could not move for several minutes, because I was petrified with astonishment.
When my father called me from Kyrgyzstan to learn the result of interview, I was still crying. While sitting at the seaside and watching the beautiful landscape of the sea and the city I told him everything. When I finished, he said, “There is nothing to grieve about. It is not the end of the world. You can come back to Kyrgyzstan. You know, there is a job waiting for you here.”
Suddenly, I understood what he meant. After graduation, I was offered a position at my university as a teaching assistant in the management department, but I preferred to go to the U.S. Of course, that was not the only reason for my refusal. I was not sure of my ability to lecture in English. But now, sitting by the seaside under the warm sun, the idea of returning to Kyrgyzstan seemed to me the only alternative that I could go after. Perhaps, thinking of being an assistant at a university had a healing effect on my disappointment.
One week later, I was sitting in the seat of an airplane traveling to Kyrgyzstan. I was so excited, as if it were my first journey to that country. Besides, I had a strange fear. The reason for my fear was that I was going back there as a different person, not as a student, and I would work with my professors. Indeed, that would be a great experience for me.
On that day, I had my first class as an instructor. I was very excited for it seemed to me as if I did not know anything and I would not be able to say any words in front of the students. I had many questions in my mind. “What if they do not like me?” That was an important point for me because according to my own experiences, your achievement is closely related to your feelings about the teacher. If the student does not like the teacher, he/she never likes the course either. “What if I am boring and they do not understand what I am trying to explain?” Those questions made me more anxious and made me change my mind every five minutes. “No, no, wait! I give up! I cannot teach!”
Now I was in class, in the presence of the students’ curious eyes. They were examining all of my movements, behaviors, sentences and even clothes. I told the students about myself. The common question that I encountered in each class was: “How old are you?” They could not believe that that little girl would be their teacher because I looked younger than many of my students. However, undesirable things never happened in my classes, and my worries never became real. I got used to being in a class as a teacher and loved my job. Students liked me and understood the class; I could see that in their eyes. Some of them are still sending me e-mails and telling me that they miss me.
Today, when I look back at that October morning, I say, “Fortunately I could not get that visa.” It was one of the best things that happened to me in my life because during that year, I improved my knowledge, experience and English in order to give the students the best. Throughout my assistantship, I carried out a lot of research that also included translating documents. I went to a TOEFL course, which prepared me for my next year in the U.S. My assistantship experiences have fostered my love for and dedication to being an academician. After that year, I knew what I wanted for my future and that was worth everything.
Almost Late
Rathapong Ploencharoensri
Thailand
ESOL 400
Fall 2007
It was exactly on Valentine’s Day in 2006 that I was awakened by a strange call in the early morning. Usually, nobody would give me a call around that time. My friends knew that I would be in a bad mood for the whole day if I had to wake up so early. I tried to dig myself out of the bed and looked around to find my cell phone. While looking for the phone, I saw the sun had risen, shining fresh light through my window. I did not know for certain how the weather outside was because a heater in an apartment kept me warm all night, but I was sure it must be really cold out there since it was still winter. I felt a little bit cranky because my phone kept repeatedly ringing. Finally, I found the phone and saw the long distance number, which was familiar to me, showing on the phone display. Oh…it was my family’s number.
I suddenly became calm and answered the phone with a drowsy voice. “Hello. Who’s that?” I asked “Hello. What time is it there?” I noticed that it was my mother’s simple voice. “It’s just 7.15 in the morning. What’s going on, Mom?” I slowly replied. Then, without an introduction, she said, “Dad’s got liver cancer.” I was extremely shocked right at that moment. I hoped that I would be sleeping and was having a bad dream, so everything would be fine when I woke up.
Unfortunately, it was not a bad dream. It was absolutely true, and then I got back to focus on the conversation with my mom. My mom told me the entire story: that dad had his annual check up, and the doctor gave him the bad news. My dad came home normally without a sign of sickness, and told mom that he was in the final stage of liver cancer and could live for 4-6 months depending on his health. My mom felt so blue for a while. Then, she realized that she had to be strong enough so that my dad did not have to worry about anything. One important thing that my dad did not forget to immediately warn mom about was that mom must not call New York. My mom suddenly knew that, by New York, my father implied me.
I had been in the States for almost 3 years and, at that time, I was studying Graphic Design in New York City. During the 3 years that I had stayed in the States, I had no chance to go back to visit my family even once because of my student visa. All I could do was to chat over the computer or to make an overseas call, and wait for the time that I would get admitted to a college so that I could be more confident in re-applying for a new visa.
Although this terrible news made me want to go back to my country, Thailand, badly, I had to pretend that nothing had happened to my dad. I made several calls back home since then and talked to everyone in my family. My family and I acted normally, but we actually knew that what was going to happen. Every time we had a conversation over the phone, my father kept telling me that I must obtain a degree before going back home. I know that I am the oldest son of my family and the family responsibility would fall on me according to my culture. Inside, my dad strongly expected me to be the family leader after his passing, I believed. Since my family is Buddhist, I have been taught all the time that no one is immortal and all of my family accepts that fact. However, I did not expect my dad to pass away at such an early age. His time should not have come this soon. My dad and I talked more often, and I could notice that my dad was gradually getting worse from time to time. He had been sent back and forth between home and the hospital a few times. I knew the situation because of my mom.
In the middle of May, in the same year, I had no patience acting like nothing was happening anymore. After having the last long distance talk with my dad, I decided to fly back to Thailand immediately, without telling anyone, even though my dad still pretended to be fine and hid his sickness from me. My dad’s voice was dramatically awful, which made me worry that I would not have a chance to see him for the last time. Once the plane landed in Thailand, without exhaustion, I caught a taxi heading to the hospital. I entered the patient’s room quickly, where my dad, with his feeble body, was lying on the bed. My family was also in the room and they were all surprised that I could possibly be there. Only my mom seemed not to be surprised. I thought she might have guessed that I might go back there at any time, since she kept letting me know every move in my family. The first question that my dad asked me was: “Why are you here? You’re supposed to be in the States and having an exam in a couple of days, aren’t you?” I answered back calmly, “Don’t you worry dad. I’ve postponed the exam date already.” Then, he kept asking me a lot of questions both about how I knew that he was sick and how my life was while staying alone in the US. We had a good face-to-face conversation after not having had one for 3 years. Our conversation began to flow without stopping. At that moment, my head was completely empty. I knew that my dad was half-conscious and half unconscious. He tried hard to make me worry less about his terrible symptoms. We all knew what was going to happen. All I could do was to pray to Buddha and hope that my dad would not have to painfully suffer from his decease, and that he would rest in peace.
I stayed at the hospital and kept my dad within my sight for the rest of his time. Five days after my arrival, my dad died peacefully. The last promise that I made to his dead body was that I would earn a degree, as he longed to see me to obtain one. I also thanked Buddha for giving me the last chance to see my dad alive. “Dad, I promise I will do my best.”
Thailand
ESOL 400
Fall 2007
It was exactly on Valentine’s Day in 2006 that I was awakened by a strange call in the early morning. Usually, nobody would give me a call around that time. My friends knew that I would be in a bad mood for the whole day if I had to wake up so early. I tried to dig myself out of the bed and looked around to find my cell phone. While looking for the phone, I saw the sun had risen, shining fresh light through my window. I did not know for certain how the weather outside was because a heater in an apartment kept me warm all night, but I was sure it must be really cold out there since it was still winter. I felt a little bit cranky because my phone kept repeatedly ringing. Finally, I found the phone and saw the long distance number, which was familiar to me, showing on the phone display. Oh…it was my family’s number.
I suddenly became calm and answered the phone with a drowsy voice. “Hello. Who’s that?” I asked “Hello. What time is it there?” I noticed that it was my mother’s simple voice. “It’s just 7.15 in the morning. What’s going on, Mom?” I slowly replied. Then, without an introduction, she said, “Dad’s got liver cancer.” I was extremely shocked right at that moment. I hoped that I would be sleeping and was having a bad dream, so everything would be fine when I woke up.
Unfortunately, it was not a bad dream. It was absolutely true, and then I got back to focus on the conversation with my mom. My mom told me the entire story: that dad had his annual check up, and the doctor gave him the bad news. My dad came home normally without a sign of sickness, and told mom that he was in the final stage of liver cancer and could live for 4-6 months depending on his health. My mom felt so blue for a while. Then, she realized that she had to be strong enough so that my dad did not have to worry about anything. One important thing that my dad did not forget to immediately warn mom about was that mom must not call New York. My mom suddenly knew that, by New York, my father implied me.
I had been in the States for almost 3 years and, at that time, I was studying Graphic Design in New York City. During the 3 years that I had stayed in the States, I had no chance to go back to visit my family even once because of my student visa. All I could do was to chat over the computer or to make an overseas call, and wait for the time that I would get admitted to a college so that I could be more confident in re-applying for a new visa.
Although this terrible news made me want to go back to my country, Thailand, badly, I had to pretend that nothing had happened to my dad. I made several calls back home since then and talked to everyone in my family. My family and I acted normally, but we actually knew that what was going to happen. Every time we had a conversation over the phone, my father kept telling me that I must obtain a degree before going back home. I know that I am the oldest son of my family and the family responsibility would fall on me according to my culture. Inside, my dad strongly expected me to be the family leader after his passing, I believed. Since my family is Buddhist, I have been taught all the time that no one is immortal and all of my family accepts that fact. However, I did not expect my dad to pass away at such an early age. His time should not have come this soon. My dad and I talked more often, and I could notice that my dad was gradually getting worse from time to time. He had been sent back and forth between home and the hospital a few times. I knew the situation because of my mom.
In the middle of May, in the same year, I had no patience acting like nothing was happening anymore. After having the last long distance talk with my dad, I decided to fly back to Thailand immediately, without telling anyone, even though my dad still pretended to be fine and hid his sickness from me. My dad’s voice was dramatically awful, which made me worry that I would not have a chance to see him for the last time. Once the plane landed in Thailand, without exhaustion, I caught a taxi heading to the hospital. I entered the patient’s room quickly, where my dad, with his feeble body, was lying on the bed. My family was also in the room and they were all surprised that I could possibly be there. Only my mom seemed not to be surprised. I thought she might have guessed that I might go back there at any time, since she kept letting me know every move in my family. The first question that my dad asked me was: “Why are you here? You’re supposed to be in the States and having an exam in a couple of days, aren’t you?” I answered back calmly, “Don’t you worry dad. I’ve postponed the exam date already.” Then, he kept asking me a lot of questions both about how I knew that he was sick and how my life was while staying alone in the US. We had a good face-to-face conversation after not having had one for 3 years. Our conversation began to flow without stopping. At that moment, my head was completely empty. I knew that my dad was half-conscious and half unconscious. He tried hard to make me worry less about his terrible symptoms. We all knew what was going to happen. All I could do was to pray to Buddha and hope that my dad would not have to painfully suffer from his decease, and that he would rest in peace.
I stayed at the hospital and kept my dad within my sight for the rest of his time. Five days after my arrival, my dad died peacefully. The last promise that I made to his dead body was that I would earn a degree, as he longed to see me to obtain one. I also thanked Buddha for giving me the last chance to see my dad alive. “Dad, I promise I will do my best.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)