Sometimes it takes a second glance to fully see the significance of a place that may seem irrelevant at first. There is a place that holds this type of importance for me, though it took another visit for me to fully understand it.
There aren’t many places I have traveled to in my life. But there has been one place I’ve been to twice. I was born in Bangladesh and moved to New York when I was three years old. The first time my family went back to visit our home country was in the summer of 2004, when I was nine years old. The second time, and most recent, was this past summer. My two trips were extremely different and if I hadn't gone again last summer, my opinion of the place would be completely different right now. The summer of 2013 was an uncertain and awkward stage in my life. I had just graduated high school and was about to head off to college. Right in the middle of all this confusion, my parents decided it would be the perfect time to visit Bangladesh as a family. I, however, did not want to rush my process of getting ready for college by leaving the country. But this was a trip that had been prolonged by my family for a couple of years so there was no way I could get out of it. And so, I was about to visit a country that I was not so enthusiastic about. What started out as a dreaded vacation, ended up being one of my most treasured experiences. In hindsight, I realize my attitude was the problem when we first landed in Dhaka. I did not want to enjoy anything and I was very irritable. Everything, from the heat, the mosquitoes, the humidity, and mostly the crazy amount of people everywhere was irksome. Being one of the smallest countries in Asia, the amount of people the country can hold is unbelievable. The minute I stepped out of the airport doors, I was hit with the stench of sweat and poverty all around me. My uncles welcomed us with a car with air conditioning, which was considered lucky, unlike the van that would be taking our luggage. I almost felt bad for our eight luggage. I mean, they had to travel all the way across the globe with us and not even get the luxury of escaping the mind numbing heat. After the 24-hour flight, jetlag hit me pretty hard the first couple of days in Dhaka. I honestly cannot remember what I did the first three days of my trip besides sleep. We stayed in the city for a week to get accustomed to the environment because Bangladesh is known for causing poor health, especially to those who are visiting after a long time. The second week, we went to the village side where my grandparents used to live. The five-hour journey from Dhaka to Noakhali, one of the many villages in Bangladesh, was particularly unforgettable and one of the highlights of my trip. We headed out at dawn in hopes of beating the morning rush of cars, buses, and rickshaws. Having woken up in the middle of the night, I had hoped to get some sleep along the way. But it was nearly impossible to do so because of the non-stop honking of cars in the city and the bumpy dirt roads when we got out of the city. Soon I abandoned the idea of getting some eye shut, for the sun had risen. Along with the sun, rose the cows and the chickens, and I realized I would never get to see this anywhere else. It was quite a remarkable sight. The further we went from the city, the richer in culture the country seemed. There was an endless amount of green land, trees, and a bright blue sky above us. Living in New York for the majority of my life, the sight in front of me was one that I didn’t come across too often. As I looked out the window glass, I was aware of calmness in me that I had never felt before. I felt a sense of cleanliness inside of me, as if all the evil and anger in my heart was scooped out and all that remained was a pure me. Maybe I had become one with nature or maybe I was losing my mind. I have yet to figure that out. When we reached my grandparents’ village house, I was reintroduced to the area and my Mamma, my maternal uncle, and my cousins who lived there. After the awkwardness of first time meetings faded, my cousins showed my brothers and I around the house. The house was about two times bigger than our one family house in New York. But the best part of the house was that my grandparents’ back porch lead to a medium sized lake in which we were allowed to swim in. The memories that took place in the following three weeks are ones I would not trade for anything. During the daytime, we would stay in the water, trying to learn to swim using the banana trees my Mamma cut down for us. Banana trees float! When the sun set, we would go inside and drink cold coconut water, quenching our thirst from the overbearing heat for a little bit. My cousins were of all ages and I found that I liked that quite a lot. I understood how important the concept of family was to them. We sat around the house, some on the beds, some on the floor, and ate jackfruit, mango, guava, lychee and countless fruits that I never seemed to enjoy in New York. We spent the night telling stories of each other’s lives until sleep drifted upon us. The days that I spent with my family in Bangladesh changed me in a few ways. Suddenly I became less tired, healthier, and eager to spend every day having fun. The people and things that I encountered were so different from what I was used to. Maybe because Bangladesh is a third world country that it felt so unlike the United States. The way people talked to me was different. There was a feeling of familiarity and closeness that I did not expect to feel. Of course my cousins and aunts and uncles treated me with care and love, but what pleasantly surprised me was that people that I did not even remember ever knowing, treated me the same way. I was able to spend valuable and irreplaceable time with my family who I felt were AWOL in New York. I felt an immeasurable amount of love, which is why this trip is one I hold close to my heart. It took me a second visit to Bangladesh to realize how special this country is and how irreplaceable the memories of this place would be to me.