Hi thank you! It’s a 77
I knew a few phrases! But English was commonly spoken (it was once colonized by the British)
Yes I did, and I loved it. I loved the culture and the city and my friends. But Bangladesh can wear a person out, it’s a very heavy place to live - I was ready to leave.
I’m about to disclose a lot of painful information about my past, so please be kind and considerate. This will not be easy for me:
to answer your question, i am very proud of who i am and how i survived the dangerous path that led me to where i am now - let me tell you why. in the past three years alone, i have experienced more than your average will experience in a lifetime. dealing with my father’s heart disease and mother’s health (first a breast tumor, now skin cancer), my brother’s near-death in war, my sister’s relationship with an abusive man and her drug addiction and juggling three children all by herself, moving for my 12th time - from bangladesh to hawaii, long-distance with my best friend, depression, my parents’ on-going divorce (which is terribly ugly and by itself is held accountable for most of my problems), bullying in middle school, a clique of disparaging young girls from freshman year, stress/anxiety from going to the best private school in my state, being played by countless boys that have all closed my heart into a box, tightly with sharp wires and a lot of ache.
so my god am i compassionate and caring? maybe not! maybe i can’t be, maybe what you don’t understand is that i have to be good to myself first because all my experiences in the past have taught me that at the end of the day, i will fall asleep alone, naked in my own skin. i always end up alone. i could even be sleeping next to the most beautiful boy i’ve ever loved and the next week he will leave me and in that moment i’ll have no idea that anyone could have ever hurt me so deep. until a few months later i’ll find myself tangled in a love who cannot love me back because his roots drown in a soil that is saturated with pain. he mistook touch for words - fingers for eyes and he too would leave me alone. or maybe hearing my parents screams and mother’s accusations spun from venom and my father’s tears because he cannot fathom how someone he once loved so dearly could ever speak a language born from so much hate. or when my sister calls me asking me to convince my parents to adopt her kids because she cannot bring enough food to the table. or my best friend who’s sun will set six hours before mine, goes to sleep almost every night with loneliness and watered eyes because she has her own situation and her own battles and sometimes it just gets too hard.
am i caring or compassionate? am i capable of looking in the mirror and being proud of myself? i am more than proud of who i am.
but i don’t have to be caring or compassionate - i don’t have to, not yet. when i was little, my father warned me about the men he fought overseas in counties i couldn’t pronounce, but he never warned me of the ones that have lips that will frame deceiving smiles, and achingly blue eyes that are just as cold as they appear.