Ish - 33

I have many stories. Through the power of these stories and legends, I’ve been able to see my life for what it is … a gift. This life hasn’t been easy, in fact, it’s been anything but. It’s been challenging, depleting, frustrating, and at some points, near life ending. But, through these experiences, I’ve brought back stories and fragments of myself and lineage that had been long lost.

I grew up illegally in America. In early 2002, at the age of 13, I came to the US with my family, to visit my uncle in Texas. It was quite good luck for us to have got our visas. We were applying from a Muslim country, and 9/11 had just occurred. My dad was especially concerned about me, a lanky kid with whiskers coming out of his upper lip, pretty much the stereotypical look of a terrorist that was being floated around most news mediums. But somehow, we got the visas. We were the first family out of the country post 9/11 to have received the visitor visas. After we arrived, my uncle advised my father to apply for a work permit, so we could all legally stay and work. And that’s exactly what my dad did.

As our residency papers were being processed, my father chose to return home to tie up loose ends. This meant training his replacement and leaving his job. There was a whole life still back there for us, and my dad figured we could go back as a family later to fully close out our chapter back home once our visas were approved. However, being separated from the family was hard for the man, as he began suffering from low blood pressure and diabetes. 

After a few months, towards the end of summer, our applications were approved. By then, my sister and I had started attending school in Texas, and we were looking forward to reuniting with our father. I remember going to pick him up at the airport. And I remember him mentioning how he was looking forward to not traveling for a while. If he only knew...

On the night of his arrival, we had a celebratory dinner. The lawyer who had been processing our application flew out from California. Over the course of the dinner, he was shocked and surprised to find out that my father had not been living here the entire time. He realized that he forgot to mention one of the golden rules about immigration application, which is that you can't leave while paperwork is being processed. I remember witnessing this interaction from the nearby couch. As the whole party was unfolding around me, my eyes were fixated on my dad. I truly believe that I experienced the entire emotional spectrum available to a human through my dad that night.

At that point, we became illegal. From the age of 13 until the age of 25, I couldn’t work, couldn’t drive, couldn’t participate in society in a way that most of my peers did. I did a lot of hiding. Every single thing that I did was to make sure I blended in as much as possible, so that I could avoid any interaction with law enforcement. I also saw it in my father, who went from the most social human to a shell of his former self.

On top of being born into a devout Bangladeshi Muslim household, the lack of security reinforced the idea that no matter how miserable it feels, safety is found in blending in and being a part of the status quo. This was better than standing out. So, I lived most of my life following every single law to a T, blending in, because that’s what I was told was safe.

Eventually, I graduated high school and completed college Magna Cum Laude. I got a great job at a Fortune 100 company and found myself in a great relationship. But the underlying fear, insecurity, and neurosis never left. And the voice inside questioning my identity got louder and louder.

Through this questioning, I lost my identity more times than I can count. I also realized something. I realized that the life I was living wasn’t really mine. I didn’t choose the school I went to. I didn’t choose a vocation I was interested in. I didn’t choose my friends. I didn’t choose to live in, or leave, a place that wasn’t safe for me. I realized that I was following a path prescribed by my parents, teachers, and community.

But no one following this path seemed happy. And if they weren’t happy, what made them so sure that it would be any different for me? This opened up something in me, and I decided to experiment. For the first in my life, I chose. I chose to find my own path, based on what felt right. If that path led to contentment, great! If it didn’t, at least I’d have some stories along the way.

For the last decade, I’ve been experimenting. These experiments have led to living off of $20 for a month at a time, being in the US Army, being deported to Mexico, finding the love of my life (and then promptly losing her), moving countries, and doing more than enough psychedelics to make Ram Dass proud.

In a way, I’ve been trying to give that younger boy who didn’t really have a proper childhood some of that time back. I’m a late bloomer, I know. I’m making mistakes that I should’ve made earlier. But you know what? We’re all going to die and it's so much better to go out making stories and living a life that feels something like your own. Something that you can look back on and share stories from.

My underlying fear and neurosis haven’t left. I’ve just chosen to embrace them. Make stories of them if you will. After all, that’s all I have. Stories.

Music - Ish’s music choices during our photo session included Sturgill Simpson, The National, Explosions in the Sky and Rodriguez.