alarmcycle-blog

[alarmcycle-blog]

My home

Tears streamed down my cheeks, as I limped home hobbling on my right foot. It was a beautiful sunny day in Pilkhana, Dhaka. Right on queue of the school bell, a large mass of students left the school gates and scattered out on to the many green fields surrounding the school. Some played football with makeshift imaginary posts made of backpacks, some played catch with a tennis ball and some screamed wildly as they ran about playing tag. I was one of the last ones leaving school having sustained an ankle sprain during recess period. The pain from my left foot only magnified, as I saw my friends and classmates out on the field without me.

It hates me to admit it, but from a very early age I have had a severe case of FOMO (fear of missing out). I hated the idea of staying inside my house while there were fun activities to partake in. Missing just a week of playtime on the fields may seem insignificant, but I understood that I enjoyed a privilege many children in Dhaka didn’t.

Dhaka as a city is very messy and disorganized. The buildings are cramped, the roads are too small and open spaces are very limited. Dhaka is one of the most population dense cities in the whole world, and while it may boast a large number of private and public schools; none accompany any fields or facilities for student use. I remember my cousins who lived in the city would only get access to the rooftop of their buildings for fresh air and exercise.  

Luckily, my upbringing entailed a different fate.  I lived in a tiny apartment in a teacher’s residence complex inside the training facility for the border guards of Bangladesh (BDR). The community was a restricted area and only border patrol trainees and a school teachers had allowed access inside. Looking back at my 7 year tenure in BDR, my most distinct memories highlight the time I spent wandering around the open green area with my school friends. I remember soccer matches on the rainy days turning into mud fights. I remember endless hours of playing cricket on the streets outside, running away to hide anytime we broke accidentally broke the glass windows.

While the apartment may have been small, home wasn’t just the walls of the 2 bedroom apartment that confined me. Home included the 9 other families whose members I became friends with. Home included the incredible green parks and fields where I went to spend all my afternoons. Whenever I have the chance to go back home to Bangladesh, many of the days are spent wandering my old playing grounds in BDR. The freedom and joy I had experienced there can’t be rivaled, I will always be truly grateful to my parents for providing one of the. While most of my memories are positive, the reason for my ill-fated departure from this fantastic paradise also plagues my mind often.

One of many fields I spent my hours as a youngling. 

Cramped spaces in the heart of Dhaka. 

It was Febuary 25th, 2009. My dad had just departed for his business trip in the morning, leaving only my sister, my mother and I in the house. I was lounging on the couch consuming my daily digest of morning cartoons when I heard the first instance of glass shattering. Scurrying out onto the balcony, I trailed my little sister to investigate the cause for the commotion. The offender of the sound was in clear view; a grown man in khaki gear brandishing a large wooden club. He was smashing the glass windows of the southern side of the school and shouted animalistic-ally. I called to my mother who seemed just as confused by the sudden commotion. Her eyes lit up when she saw the man and she yanked me and my sister inside urgently. She closed the balcony door shut, her eyes darting to each corner of the room.

My mother commanded us to stay inside the living room as we closed shut every entrance to our house. After ten minutes the second round of chaos ensued. In the distance, we could hear the rabid sounds of a machine gun firing off. The noise wasn’t coming from the school but it was still clearly distinct. Huddled together in the center of the room my mother switched the TV channel from my cartoons to the local news channel. The headlines appeared stating “67 dead and many injured”. I was just a presumptuous ten year old and up until this point all the commotion made me excited. That changed after seeing the color fade away from my mother’s face. This was the first time I had seen my mother who is generally calm and collected, begin to look nervous and worried.

The BDR group of soldiers had enclosed the community and was under a state of mutiny against the government. The community was under lockdown, as the mutiny group controlled and eradicated all existence of it’s opposition with in the community. My family was split. My father communicated with us from my grandparents place. We spent the days crouched under our kitchen, and the nights were spent sleeping underneath the platform of our bed. Peeking out of the window would reveal armed men ready with assault rifles and the noise of heavily armoured vehicles patrolling could be heard throughout the day. We even had instances where the sound of helicopters would rattle us awake from sleep.

After the third day of confinement, the mutineers had the will in their heart to let the teachers and other non-army associates the option to exit through a secured area. My family members and 20 other families lined up and exited in single queue accompanied by armed mutineers. We were taken to a secure border wall where we climbed up a ladder and hopped to the other-side. Free.

The armed soldiers patrolling our grounds.

The front entrance to the complex where we stayed. 

After the mutiny debacle, my father introduced us to the idea of leaving the country and accompany him to Thailand. A chance for new opportunities for my father, a safer space for my sister and I to go to school and grow up safely. My home in BDR had been compromised.

The freedom and security I previously associated with my home was no longer there. Thus began our search for our second home.

The transition couldn’t have been more different. It was like being magically upgraded from your small hotel room to one of those ocean-facing suites – all of my teen years were spent in an exclusive, wealthy, expatriate suburban bubble 25 kilometers north from the heart of Bangkok, Thailand. A major upgrade in living standards from my years living in Dhaka.

As much as I was pleasantly surprised by the red tiled villas, abundance of electric golf carts as a mode of transportation, and the wide array of nationalities represented, my initial impressions of Thailand didn’t go as well as you might expect. A new country, a new language and new food; I remember my stomach churning at the thought of having to experience it all, this sudden knee-jerk reaction to the complete 180º culture shock all my senses were going through.

If there was one saving grace I remember helping me move through the growing pains, it was that I was looking forward to making new friends again. Instead of people I had grown up with,  people similar to me, I was now surrounded by a completely different group – there were the wealthy socialite Thai students, the US embassy kids, and then a diverse mix of students, all with various reasons for being in Thailand but all ending up in the same place – the same place I now was as well. The fields where i spent my afternoons also changed, from the bumpy uneven muddy fields to the evergreen dew fields.

Over time, though, I did feel myself relaxing, my stomach accepting the now-familiar taste of khao pad kai and hundreds of new delicacies that felt familiar on my tongue. Golf cart rides to a department store, late night hunger pangs satisfied by 7-11 dinners, and so many other shenanigans that I would have been blown away by started to feel... completely natural. “New friends” just became “friends” as I completely stepped into the role of just another expatriate teenager in the community.

As I sit here, it’s funny to think about a younger me adjusting to Bangkok in a similar way I have recently adjusted to college life here at UBC, my new home. Personally, moving has taught me what I really value and what helps keep me grounded. My life has been through drastic changes, but the changes have come for the better. My definition of home has also changed from where I lay to sleep at night to where I feel the most comfortable, the most at peace.

Red Tilled villas 

Pad Thai.