No Safe Houses

Over the dining table, my roommate was telling me how depression made her feel. "I was in an ocean--drowning but not dead." She lost interest in everything. She slept through the entire year. I asked her whether she felt she had wasted all the time and she said no time was ever wasted. Is there a standard measurement for how efficient we spend our time? I don't think so. There are moments that we need to go through regardless how they exalt or plunge us. No matter what, it is our very own time and we have all the rights to determine the preciousness of it.

But maybe living in a foreign country, classified as Alien by the U.S. government, we both think beyond the present moment. We cannot stay. We have a home to go to, or do we? Somehow we face instability all the time because we are so aware of our immigration status. Although a green card will not give us the leeway to negotiate between the cultural and language differences, it will nevertheless put weight on our feet--let us stay and grow here. Sometimes I wish I am an American citizen, then I can simply plan my career and other major decisions right at this very moment, in this very country. Sadly, I am not an American.

It does not feel right to use the word "sadly." I should be proud of where I am from. I should be proud of the exposures and encounters I have had. I should be glad that I can quietly console myself by lamenting the "pathetic life those local Pennsylvanian kids live," how most of them have seldom gone beyond Pittsburgh and the little town they are from. But secretly, sometimes I do wish to be a small town Caucasian girl, not having to deal with all the identity, cultural, and societal issues.

I do love college life here. But sometimes the situation is just too stark and I have been demanding to myself: I want to be so capable that I can tackle anything on my own. Because most of the time, I really have to. No, it should be "we really have to."

It is this group of us, this group of females who is cradled by one culture, sandwiched between two, this group of Aliens who try to bridge the two worlds they both half-belong to. We are so toughened that we forget how relaxing and sweet and gentle life can be. We are real girls who try to find a direction which will allow us to further develop, to financially support ourselves and our family, to perhaps, if we are lucky, achieve what we have always wanted to become. Throughout the course, we compromise and succumb at times. We become versatile but we are not sure if we really are happy. There are too many decisions to be made, too few options and too heavy a responsibility.

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