One-Way Ticket
I was tossing and turning the night before my planned flight back to Kazakhstan from America. My mind was busy, just like when you have a million windows open on your computer screen, the whole system freezes, and you have to restart it. The idea of returning home to my regular routine was giving me the goose bumps. I could not stay in bed anymore. I glanced at my suitcases packed with clothes, three new swimsuits which I probably would not be able to use back home, and a bunch of souvenirs. A bright pink Flamingo, a stuffed toy with an unreal, human-looking smile, was sitting on the top of my bag, winking at me. Holding my ticket, I dialed my Mom’s number without a having a clue what I was going to say. My fingers were not obeying me and I kept dialing the wrong number repeatedly. Finally I got through to her.
“I am so excited to see my baby very soon!” my mom screamed into the phone.
I was silent.
“Hey, are you there?” Mom said.
“I am here,” I answered.
I paused before speaking again.
“I don’t think I am coming back, Mom.”
“What? Are you crazy? Have you lost your mind?”
“Mom, I love it here! This is the place I’ve always wanted to live!”
“Oh no, that is not happening! You are packing your bags and taking the first available flight immediately!” Mom sounded insane.
“I am not going back to prison! I want to live my own life; I do not need anybody’s directions!” I shouted, losing my temper.
I hung up the phone on her. I felt my heart contract. Tears rolled down my cheeks. Then I called her back.
“Mom, please don’t worry about me, everything will be perfect. It is like paradise here!”
It was the most confusing time in my life because I had to make the most important life decision I had ever faced. I had to choose between living an independent life in the foreign land of America where I was now or going back to a life in my family’s strictly ruled home in Kazakhstan. However, deep inside I already knew what my choice was, despite my mom begging me to return.
I remember the night years ago when I decided to leave my home in Kazakhstan as if it happened yesterday. I was sitting in my small but tidy room with its walls painted in blue. The reason I chose the color blue for my room is because blue symbolizes freedom, strength, and opportunities. A picture of two flying birds hung on my wall, and I looked at them with amazement and envy of their ability to fly. Often, I wished I could be a bird so I could open up my wings and fly away. I stared out through the open window. Watching a bunch of kids and dogs fooling around on the playground, scattering golden leaves all over the place, I thought, “What a carefree life they have!” Fresh, crystal clear air was tickling my throat and lungs. I took another deep breath.
“Have you got your homework done?” asked my mom, popping her shorthaired head into my room.
“Yes!” I answered, closing my Glamour magazine.
“Well, if you are done, come to the table so we can have dinner.”
I picked up my cell phone and trudged to the kitchen. My mom, brother, and grandmother had already started consuming the baked chicken with roasted potatoes, slightly slurping and enjoying the culinary masterpiece by my mom. Missing even one member of the family at the table was a catastrophe for my mom. That is why I had to join them even though I was not hungry.
“My friend invited me over to watch a movie tonight,” I said, without taking my eyes off the phone. My mom reached towards me, grabbing the phone out of my hands and put it on the counter.
“No parties, no movies, no clubs this week! I already told you. You came home two hours late last week!” she said with finality.
“But, mom!”
“I do not want to hear anything! Now, please continue your meal.”
My brother snickered. Emotions were tearing my heart apart. I felt a lump in my throat, but I did not show it. That was the breaking point, and my escape plan that had been sleeping somewhere in the back of my head started to grow like wildfire.
I have been a freedom lover since I was a kid. Growing up in the primarily Muslim country of Kazakhstan is a big challenge for young girls like me. My family was not strictly religious, but the concept of my family followed the country’s cultural beliefs, so freedom was still very limited. I had many obligations at home; my mom taught me how to cook and do house work so I could take care of our home while she was making a living to provide for our needs. Sometimes, I had to stay home and prepare dinner while my friends were enjoying the beautiful weather outside. I was never allowed to stay out after nine because my mom is very conservative and tried to keep me on a short leash. Staying out after nine with my friends was a crime to my mom. The only case when I could stay out past that time was when an event involved adults or parents. I could not date boys until I was eighteen. I did not let my mom to walk me to school, but she still spied around the corner to make sure I made it there safely. Ten years later, I had not changed much; I still did not like it when somebody tried to control me. All fights with my brother were about me wanting to go out. In most cases, the victory was his, because in our culture you must respect whoever is the eldest.
Once I made up my mind to leave, nothing else mattered anymore. My books gathered dust on the shelf and the nice coat my mom bought me for my birthday stuffed under the bed. I spent all of my scholarship money on make-up and clothes, not considering how my mom managed to pay the bills on time by working seven days a week. Finally, I was ready to make my move, so I talked a friend into coming with me to apply for a “Work and travel in America” student program. We imagined America in our heads as a land of limitless fun and craziness. Four months later, I bought a round-trip ticket, not yet realizing that the round-trip ticket would really be a one-way ticket.
After two transfer flights, we finally stepped off the plane at JFK airport in New York City. Without a final destination, we rented a car and decided to start exploring the new land. We crossed all states from north to south, making quick stops in motels and rest areas, meeting new people, and practicing our ridiculously poor English. We met another couple of girls and guy who spoke the same language as we did. They said they were on the way to a beautiful place, Florida, known as “the sunshine state.” I was hungry for sun and warm weather after almost six months of winter. That is how we ended up in St. Pete Beach, Florida. To save money, together we rented a two-bedroom apartment, right on beach. I could not remember the last time I had a hot, homemade meal because our refrigerator was always full of beer and frozen pizzas. Our music played until sunrise. Florida did not fail to provide the limitless fun, freedom and happiness I sought.
However, after a couple of years, I realized how much my life had changed. I missed my mom and our traditional dinners with everyone together, which allowed us to grow closer as a family and stronger as individuals. I was not interested in parties anymore. I saw the stacks of bills growing on my table. Collection agencies were harassing me with their calls and warnings. I started skipping friends’ events, trying to make extra cash, and worked two jobs. I now understood that there are serious things in the life to consider besides parties and fun, and that it takes hard work hard to achieve success.
I finally understand how ungrateful I had been all my life back home, pursuing meaningless and unimportant goals while my mom worked very hard to make ends meet. I understood my mom’s concerns, why she would not let me go out any time I wanted to and why she was always nagging at me about homework. Luckily, my mom had set an excellent example and taught me many things whether I wanted to learn them or not, so I was able to tackle my new goal of improving myself through hard work. All of the useful skills she taught me during my time back home, like cooking and cleaning, helped me a lot while living on my own. I could still count on being able to call my mom when I needed advice about my problems. Even though at first she did not want me to stay in America, she knows how hard I have worked and how much I appreciate the things she taught me. Now, I see her as my best friend; she is my support and has become very proud of me and my life in America, which makes me happy. When I left Kazakhstan for America, I saw a ticket to what I thought was only freedom and fun. What I got, thanks to my mom’s teaching, was a one-way ticket toward beginning my life’s journey. I have finally learned to appreciate what I had with my family and what I have accomplished now for myself in life.
