A First-Generation Challenge
We are a nation of immigrants with a million stories; stories which marry us in a unity of struggles and triumphs as pioneers to a foreign land. We are the adherents of our ancestors who wanted more out of life; those who dreamed bigger about better. They came in pursuit of freedom to rebuild and redefine life as they knew it in their homelands. As daring warriors,they embodied courage, trifled with risk and were favoured fittingly so by fortune. Their sheer optimism was a uniquely human attribute which served them with the riches and promises of freedom. They are the brave species of first-generation immigrants.
Being one of these stories myself, I have witnessed the rigorous inner strength and the persevering hope and faith that the journey of immigration obdurately demands from a family. I have been a firsthand spectator of the tiring nomadic style of the immigrant life, one which shifts its dreams and foundation constantly. I was one of those familiar stories of the immigrant kid struggling to fit into strange and new surroundings – twice.
Seventeen years ago, I nervously understood that my stable childhood in the suburbs of India surrounded by my close family and friends was about to become a distant memory. Having accepted a job transfer to Mozambique, a country in Southeast Africa bordered by the Indian Ocean, my parents daringly opted for the road less traveled at behest of bigger dreams for my sister and I.
As a close-knit family of four, we spent five years starting our lives from scratch: adapting to the colossal culture shock, learning a new language, buying a home, rebuilding a network of close friends, redefining our societal identities and learning to understand a new city and its idiosyncrasies which differed entirely from the city of Mumbai in which our past life was so entrenched. We rediscovered a new home in a new continent and relearned the rewards of buoyant strides of risk.
Then it happened all over again. The enticing promises of the Canadian dream allured us once more when crime rates became overbearing, and promises of a stable future started to wane. Seeking to recreate a new personal utopia, this time, our move was happenstance and sudden.
Amidst the horrific tragedy of the September 11 attacks, we started a new chapter and beginning in a country which promised and assured us of the amalgamation of cultural diversity. Although, this time around, our journey was more arduous than before. We began our journey in an immigrant hub- an assemblage of crowded apartments in central Mississauga which truly did embrace a vast diversity in cultures. Those were trying days indeed. We had to readjust to the climate change as we experienced our first snowfall with no real understanding of the cold Canadian winter, and through it all managed to find our first big break. Severely missing the warmth and support of our close family and friends, we started to learn of the downfall of pursuing larger dreams. I witnessed the typical and dreaded reality of my parents having to re-work their way up the corporate ladder despite being highly established professionals beforehand. Suddenly, it was as if the education and experiences our old homes had provided us were almost invisible in this new land.
Rebuilding a life again this time, all we had as a family was austerity for hard work and the audacity of hope. It has been 12 years since, and today we continue to live as the first-generation in a land in which we have no family ties or previous connections. Holidays hint at celebrations with just us four as we have grown to appreciate the true meaning of family. As a quintessential immigrant success story, the journey so far has been nothing short of sacrifices, forgotten dreams, and copiously invested parental identities in the anticipated outcome of their children. Although seemingly picturesque, there is a subtle emptiness about it – an emptiness those understand, who have had to leave behind everything stable to pursue something which offers more.
Today, as a silver lining, I recollect vivid dispositions of my past. I grew up listening to patriotic expressions of the Indian national anthem and later went on to seeing the borders of Maputo, Mozambique. Now I live in a land where I can feel and express both. This is the essence of the Canadian experience, as we immigrants have always shared a special kinship with the hope for a better tomorrow.