Take me home: International student reflects on homesickness from overseas

VIRAJ PATEL Columnist

I just wish. That I could tell my mother everything. That she could know that I was hurting. The thing is, if I told her I was hurting on the phone, she would sympathize with me, but, eight thousand miles away, she would worry about me, she might even cry. And I cannot let my mother cry.

The very nature of maternal love is that it is immune to the display of true emotions when the loved one is not present. With digital devices, physical distances are almost non-existent, but the emotional responses to the physical characteristics seen or heard over the digital devices are often, maybe subconsciously, reserved. 

It is harder than you can imagine, being an international student. Not a single day passes without me waking up wishing I was in Mumbai. Not a single day, when I don’t wish I was at home, to feel the wrinkles on my mom’s hands, rough from the daily chores she will never give up on. Not a single day I don’t wish I was by my dad, learning how to build a make-do kaleidoscope from him. Not a single day I don’t wish my sister and I could go out for Panipuris at a street-side vendor in the middle of the night. Not a single day I don’t think I need to tell them all this.

And that’s a normal day in the life of an international student.

Then there are times I am having a bad day. And believe me, it takes a lot for me to have a bad day. Spilling coffee on myself or forgetting an assignment for a class doesn’t even begin to cut it. For me, a bad day begins and ends with people. 

People I care about, people I trust, people I love. So, naturally, when people close to me say something downright condescending or insensitive, when people I trust disappoint me or when someone close to me is hurting but they won’t tell me the reason behind it, my bad day begins. Now, I know I need to stay strong and I have friends and teachers to help me, but it’s on bad days like these:

I just wish. That I could tell my mother everything. That she could know that I was hurting. The thing is, if I told her I was hurting on the phone, she would sympathize with me, but, eight thousand miles away, she would worry about me, she might even cry. And I cannot let my mother cry.

 

Viraj Patel is a speech communication major and can be reached at [email protected]