The immigration cycle. The ones who come, again, to start a new life. We have new people in the house, with new dreams. I am seeing it all over again, what they are going through. The first weeks are exciting. There is vibrant energy. Then nostalgia hits, memories are reminisced, bad, uneasy feelings surface. I have been there. I have felt it, in my way. And now they are going to feel it. Those of us who’ve become citizens point them to a direction, give them hope, and help them move forward. This American dream is so bizarre nowadays. These fresh minds who come from an abyss of dictatorship and censorship. They come and write, uncensored. My father says that your homeland is where you are respected, where you are loved. I disagree with my father. I have many homes and while I’ve felt respected, I have also felt alienated and bitter and yet I have called it home. I don’t know if our newcomers have felt alienated yet. This is a cycle. People coming into our house with bigger, broader, more perilous dreams. They come and as soon as they step in, it’s a dream for them. They want to start right away, begin things, write things, dream in English. Meanwhile, I envy them for dreaming in Farsi. I cannot remember the last time I dreamed in my mother tongue. These newcomers want to feel loved right away in a country that doesn’t know them yet. They want to dream for themselves. They want so many things and I am afraid that the excitement will end, that they will soon see flaws, that they will feel desperate. I have felt all kinds of things and don’t want to see them go through those feelings.
Why do we keep dreaming? What happened to our homeland? What happened to us?
I am conflicted, but this conflict is not new, nor is it troublesome. It is something to think about, discuss, and analyze. Perhaps our newcomers will resolve their conflicts before I do, and perhaps then they can help me. I am hopeful for them and I know they will find everything soon. But it will take time. They have to be willing to struggle and go through the pain. They have to learn before they can start dreaming in English.
And I will be here. I will help them. I will hope with them. I will have my dreams in English, converse with them in Farsi. I will be the translator. I will be the interpreter. I will hope that one day we no longer feel obliged to speak a particular tongue, that we can just be ourselves, that something else other than a new land will excite us.