It has been two years since the move to Canada. My parents moved us here in hopes of a better education for their kids. This is the beauty of being a parent – having to make sacrifices for your kids. This is why I love, adore and respect them a lot. I don’t have kids yet so I may not understand the depth of the emotions fuelling the choices they make. I do feel immensely proud on the receiving end though. Who wouldn’t? You get good food, proper shelter, decent clothes, entertainment, education and pocket money. Why does it matter where dad or mom get the cash from? Why does it matter the long hours they put in? Why does it matter if dad did not get nikon camera because he had to pay the taxes and still be able to take you to wonderland? Why does it matter if mom could not see the talent show because she was working hard so she could take you to that vacation she promised? Why does it matter if they up and move and leave their lives behind?
My parents left their birth place and moved to Dubai because my dad wanted better for his kids. He worked 8-10 most days, six days a week from morning till night. Yet, do I still act indifferently? Should I not yield to his wishes even if they are for my own long-term good? No one forced my mom to cook fresh meals for us daily, do our laundry or anticipate our return from school. So now when we are old enough to help her around the house, is it a lot do it no questions asked? I remember some nights ago when I yearned for an ice-cream. My dad came home and after dinner went out to get my sibling and I some from the petrol station.
I went on with my education on one hand. Unknowingly, on the other, my dad planned our future and ways to better it. And we ended up in Toronto. All the years my parents spent making a life, a home, in another country smothered up in ashes, stored in their heart. It is easier for us to adapt to a new place, but a lot harder for my parents. Yet, they did it for us. And I wonder do my parents in fits of nostalgia ever think to themselves: “Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.” ― James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room. Do I still envy the supposed limitations they wind around me? Should I still tell them that they will never understand, that “why can’t you be more like my friends”?