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" Displacement " America is home to several immigrants. This country has been built upon the shoulders of settlers from nations far away. I am one myself, and I can clearly see why this country is a haven to so many people and nationalities. As I first stepped out of the plane, a feeling of exhilaration came over me. I had stepped in a country where many people only dream of stepping. A rush of excitement took over my body as I saw the country for the first time. The feeling, even today, is very strong within my memory. That tingling feeling was one of the most refreshing I have ever felt. We must, though, pay a price for everything, and this case is no exception. Once here I realized that I had indeed traded something for the privilege of living here. I had traded my "placement." You see, by coming here I lost my distinct identity. This happened in several different ways. By coming to the U.S.A. I had to adapt to a new culture, and that is never completely possible. My cultural traits were still part of me and were easy to notice, especially in the first few months. I tried to tailor my life around this culture, but it was impossible to do so. This medley of cultural practices put me out-of-place and for the first time gave me the feeling that I was "displaced." The "medley" that I have mentioned above also interferes in enjoyment even when I visit my native country. When we left, I was completely different. My behavior was different, my thoughts were different, and almost everything else about me was different. Now when I return to my country, it will be the same case as when I came to the United States. Everything will be foreign and unfamiliar. My whole life would be given another "jolt," of sorts. The way I do things will be bizarre to everyone I know. I would again have the same feeling of "displacement." Inquisitive behavior is also a common "reaction" to me. Every single day in the cafeteria, there are questions about this or that. Always asking me what type of food I brought, how it is made, and if it is tasty or not. Questions like these are not the only questions asked. When I was young my father taught me English and by the time I was five, I had a strong vocabulary. Doing well on something such as this actually spurs the rate of questions. Accustomed to television definitions of Asian Indians, my proficient knowledge of the language contradicted everything they knew about Asian Indians. Every day I am still asked about how I know English so well. Questions like these have no real answers to others. My father taught me the language, I always reply, but the same question will be asked to me again just moments after I had replied to it. People are also very curious of my name. Sravisht, I can barely pronounce it, so I expect people to ask me questions about it. Although this is true, I have been asked the same question at-least twice by every friend I have. Again, I have developed a standard answer to this question, but it never seems to satisfy anyone. Such questions further corroborate my feelings that by coming here I have lost the distinct identity I once had. To conclude this article I would like to add to restate and emphasize one sentence from the article. "We must, though, pay a price for everything, and this case is no exception. Once here I realized that I had indeed traded something for the privilege of living here. I had traded my ‘placement.’" Yes, every time I think about my stay in the U.S. I think about all I have traded to get here, the feeling of "displacement." Yet, I love this great country and hope that I would realize the "American dream". Date posted: December 13, 1998. What do you think about this? |