Sacrifices of an Immigrant

Back in 2011, I wrote a story about my relationship with my mother, about how this global phenomenon is important in every woman’s life; and being a full-time mother is one of the highest salaried jobs in all fields, since the payment is pure love.

Why does love always seem to require sacrifice? Was sacrifice a necessary component of love? Were the words actually synonymous?

Today, and after years passed by, after graduating from university, starting a job and after getting married, my mother is still the same mother I know since day one, except that I now see her in a different perspective. Different doesn’t mean a bad thing, but a more mature perception.

For me, the creation of any novel or story or even an article is a bit like I visualize childbirth to be: a process of anticipation, fear, unending exhaustion, and eventually, exhilaration…an experience that will be engraved in us till forever. There are stories that are discovered, and others that rise from mysterious, unfamiliar places. This short story of mine is one of the latter.

I am not sure whether it would interest anyone to read this, but in my confusion, I am grasping at straws.

The destiny that matters most in anyone’s life is the one concerning love; specially the love of a partner or Family love. What if it’s a combination of both but life takes you far away from one? Will you still feel the same love? Here comes the question of the “Bond” that occurs with Love and whether it is solid enough to persist regardless of the boundaries and challenges that we face throughout life.

We were a family of four, Mom, dad, I and my brother, and now we are a family of seven after my brother got married and he has the cutest baby boy on earth called “Karim”, and I got married too to my best friend and life partner “Joe”. Our family grew bigger, not just in number, but also in Love; a bond that won’t ever be broken as long as we are still breathing. As I describe it, our family is a circle of strength of love, with every birth union, the circle grows.

I stopped writing since 2015 due to the work load that I have been trying to handle and I wanted to prove myself at work for all the promotions that I was granted; and it clearly paid the check when I reached a senior level, where I was managing my own workflow and reached a point where management granted me their trust, giving me the preference above everyone and always assigning me to projects that are considered critical for the company’s growth.

Why am I back writing again? Why now? Why about this subject? Well it’s because I now value that bond in our family more than anything in the world; because I know that no matter how big a family grows, when this bond we call “Love” that joins it together is solid, nothing could break it down, not even distance. Family is not identified by genes, but by building and maintaining it through Love.

In a market where job vacancies are shrinking, ones future is at risk; especially when a family with kids is involved with all the expenses and bills that show up every end of the month and ought to be paid fully, else the kids will be either out of school or maybe living below average; a position where parents strive to always keep their kids living above it. Unfortunately it isn’t the case with all parents because life takes them away from their dreams, or to be more accurate, obliges them to change their path due to some sort of unexpected circumstances.

Since my husband and I met, we shared a lot of common understandings and beliefs, among which is the unity of the family and planning to work hard for our future and our kids’. For this reason, we moved abroad after my life partner accepted a job offer at a reputable company. I mean by abroad a very far country away from home, when visiting your parents requires a plan to be placed ahead of time due to time difference and cost of travelling back home. Should we have moved to a close country, it wouldn’t have been that hard on us to feel the separation, we could have visited every two or three months, not a big deal. But this time, the distance is far, and travelling needs months of planning, and visits should be restricted to maybe once or if you are lucky enough to have the chance to work remotely, then twice would be the best scenario.

The day we walked into the airplane, ready to close a chapter and open a new one, was the most awful day of my life. Having to see dad’s tears for the second time, the first was when he walked me through the aisle and shook the hand of my husband; mom’s cries that didn’t stop since I got married; my brother’s hands that always provide me with warmth when he hugged me, and even my newborn one week nephew who I barely had the chance to see; this scene and the few people in my family who didn’t miss a chance to stand by my side, I carried them all with me, like the luggage, but they were stored in my heart as precious stones, not for sale nor for trade, but to safe keep forever.

The moment we arrived to Canada, my husband’s brother who is already a resident in the country since 2014, along with his adorable wife, welcomed us and we stayed at their place the first week. No words could thank them enough for the time we spent at their house, where they made us feel like home. As you all know, the first things to do once you relocate are admin stuff like bank accounts, new house, electricity, water and phone lines; all were scheduled to be dealt with once we step into the country. Week two was the time for moving to our own condo that was enough in size for us and so convenient in terms of location, close to everything, and neighborhood.

My legs were unsteady as I walked to the door of our new house. I shook my head, unable to visualize living in that house without my parents; but now I have my husband who will fill this emptiness. Regardless, I couldn’t but think of how we spent our evenings back in Lebanon, gathered for dinner, watching TV and laughing at my dad’s jokes, and there was nothing I could do to stop my tears.

The first two weeks passed, we were busy with all relocation stuff required, buying groceries, food, detergents, electronic equipment and all the necessary things needed to make us feel comfy. My husband started his new job after settling down and I started my job at home, managing household affairs and doing housework.

Days passed, moving around the neighborhood, getting to know the roads and streets that connect our house with the major attractions in the region where we live now, and thank God it was the fall season so we can at least go out enjoy new locations during weekends.

I am chatting with my family on a daily basis, but time difference means that calls should be done at certain hours of the day, so this made our conversations limited to just the basic things and even one call per day. It made me a little bit sad to limit my conversations, especially with mom, but this also has loosened it up on me, when I don’t have to cry every time I hear her voice.

While imagining a life apart from my family is unbearable, I understand as much as they do that I have my reasons. I am not naïve enough to believe that memories will suffice. I wish that things could have been different, but fate seems to have had other plans.

Memories are a doorway to the past, and the more one treasures the memories, the wider the door will open. But for me, memories could also be doorways to a new and different kind of future.

Days passed, we became members at a gym where we are visiting almost every day when Joe comes back from work at night; we also started Salsa classes every Monday at a dance academy. I used to dance salsa while I was still living in Lebanon, but told my husband that I want to carry on when we relocate and that I am ready to go back again to basics if he wants to start as a beginner, so we can move up the ladder together; and that’s what happened, we started together as beginners, and I am glad that he likes it so far, this way I won’t be obliging him to dance with me just to make me happy. He now knows that dancing together makes me even happier.

Every morning, while taking a sip of coffee, I wonder how the day would unfold. I already felt on edge, even as I cautioned myself against getting my hopes up.

During the weekends we are discovering new places, some are close, some are far, depending on the weather, and every Sunday we are attending the mass that, thank God, we were lucky enough to find that it was in our native language (Arabic), and all people who attend it, including the priest, are from our home country “Lebanon”. After the mass we go have lunch somewhere, spend the day just exploring new places, restaurants or even roads.

October 14 came, marking one month since our move; everything was fine so far, my pain wasn’t diminishing, but I was suppressing it, trying to think in a positive way and trying to make others around me feel that everything is fine with me; but it wasn’t the case. October 17 was a day of shock for us, Lebanese, when we woke up to the news that a revolution has started on the roads, due to some politicians, the economic situation and the financial condition of Lebanon that was deteriorating day after day, including its local currency, the Lebanese Pound. Twelve days passed and the revolution was still on, people were on the roads, few were home, unable to go anywhere because roads were blocked, schools, universities, banks and companies were closed and ATMs empty; the whole country was stationary. My concerns grew bigger regarding my parents who were stuck at home, nothing to do but wait for the revolution to end, whether in a positive or negative way. I know it’s hard, but worrying doesn’t help them or me. Winston Churchill once described worry as a thin stream of fear trickling through the mind that, if encouraged, cuts a channel into which all other thoughts are drained.

It needs time, I know, and it’s tough on any person to totally change his life at a certain point, but I didn’t know that it would be that hard on me. After all, Habit and tradition often render change undesirable. Maybe I am not as strong as people know me, or maybe I should be thinking about the whole thing from a different perspective; but what I know for sure is that no matter how far away my life will drive me from home, I need to adapt, do my best to stay strong, at least for my husband, and if God’s plans work well with us, make sure to visit my home twice or maybe three times a year.

The start, development and creation of this nonfiction short story that describes what I have been through for the past few days, is one of the more memorable experiences of my life. In some ways, it’s transformed the way I think about love; more specifically, Family love. A life, after all, is simply a series of little lives, each of them lived one day at a time, and every single one of those days has choices and consequences. Piece by piece, those decisions help to form the people we become. I’ve captured some pieces to the best of my ability, assembled them together and generated what is written now; a true representation of the feelings and emotions I, as an immigrant, have sensed being apart from my own family for the first time.

The sands in the hourglass have fallen without mercy throughout my life, but I try to remind myself of the blessed years that I shared with my parents especially now, when I am drowning in riptides of sorrow and concern. I wonder who I am without them. Even if I am married and mature enough to take care of myself, it was them who helped me face the day. I sometimes felt as though my mother could read my mind; she always knew what I wanted and needed, and I was right. Whenever I call her, she would know if I am feeling well or not, even if I text her a message, she would know from the way I am texting how hard it is on me at the moment to have a voice call. Even though we had our struggles at times, I can think back on the years we spent together and know that I was the lucky one; she and dad inspired and fascinated me.

I don’t know if that’s true, but I want to believe it; and as I watch the days pass by, I think to myself how my parents have always been my cardinal, and I have always been theirs. It’s just that I miss them so much!!

Every movement in our lives has its own price, there’s no doubt about it. Relocating, changing careers, changing a car or anything that has to do with changing your lifestyle and maybe sometimes your comfort zone, all you need is the full understanding and support of you and your partner in order to live a better life.

Spending time away from my family had awakened me to the fact that I didn’t want to be the person I’d recently become. I wanted to be the person I remembered myself to be, someone who embraced life, an enthusiast for both the ordinary and extraordinary; not in the future, but starting now.

Part of me wished I could turn back the clock and make different decisions, but when I was honest with myself, I questioned what I really could have changed. Decisions need to be taken, some were inevitable mistakes that by time, turn out to be of value. Regrets could impart important lessons in life, if one was willing to learn from them. And in that sense, I understood that life wasn’t easy for anyone.

There will always be doubters when it comes to love. Making the bond of love last amid life’s varied challenges is an elusive dream for many. But if you read this story with the same sensation that I felt when writing it, then perhaps your faith and trust in the mysterious force that love can exert on people’s lives will be reintroduced. You might even find yourself obliged to relocate away from your home country, away from your close family, and that’s when you might have a story of your own to tell…..one that has the power to change your life or someone else’s in ways you never imagined possible.

Still, you need to know this: The love I feel for my parents is real, and all the sadness that now comes with it is a price I would pay a thousand times over.

It’s because of them and my husband, after all that I now believe in what they call “Family Bond”.