Last Saturday, the sun shined on us and on UMass with a compelling power reminding us of a change of the season. As I walked out of my room, I saw boys and girls sun-bathing in their swimsuits or playing in groups of two and more on any open space available. The energy all around the campus was high and refreshing. Almost everyone was enjoying the day. All of a sudden, a nostalgic feeling slapped me across the face like I had done something wrong. Then, I remembered my land – we never celebrate the sun by lying down on our backs outside. Well, I thought, it is because Islamic dress codes are different from here. Also, it is that the sun always shines on us and we barely notice its existence. At last, I am from the land of sun, where winters are mild and often snowless and summers are blessed by the constant dry-heat. Isn’t it a part of human nature to not notice things which surround them all the time?

Feeling invisible, nostalgic, overloaded by the pressures of my busy semester, and influenced by a recent reading for a class, a whole mixture of thoughts, questions and even discussions about the issue of “immigration” started in my head. I went on and on fighting with myself, trying to make sense of my emotions toward this place I am living. Have I done the right thing by leaving my family and home to come to the U.S.?

I like where I am living, and I long for the place I left behind. There are some bitter experiences about where I lived which I do not want to face again and there are some unpleasant things about here which I wish not to have sensed. So, I take the walk down the hill thinking. Sometimes I frown at the questions I am asked. Do you have to wear the “thing” when you go home? I want to say “it is not a thing.” It is as comfortable as not wearing a “scarf.” Last week someone asked me to tell her about Egypt since it was “close and alike to Iran.” Many times I even feel disturbed when people pronounce my name the way that is easy for them.

Now, one will definitely say if you were so fond of your life, why did you ever immigrate in the first place? Aren’t I a human? Don’t I have rights to choose the boundaries within which I want to live? Don’t I – as a woman – have the right to progressive higher education? And can’t I have the desire to be understood by my fellow human beings?

Perhaps I shouldn’t be so sensitive. And after all, I am complaining about some small lack of knowledge and misunderstanding of cultures and of languages. Eventually, I will graduate and move on with my life, probably holding my nose high, bragging about my American degree. What about those Asian, Hispanic or Jamaican laborers? Didn’t they immigrate too? Some of them must have undergone so many more hardships than me to get themselves to the land of opportunities.

Some of them are laughed at for their broken English or stereotypes held against them. Some work two jobs to provide for their families back home. What the hell am I complaining for?

Even though this education is costing me so much, I will eventually benefit from it. Even though I miss home from time to time, I am getting to see the world at last. Maybe I am just homesick. Maybe I am much more disturbed than I think I am about family crises. Maybe it is the end-of-semester fever that is hitting me a little bit too early. Anyhow, I believe it doesn’t hurt us to look around. We live in the United States of America, where people of all races and colors have come together to build this country. Almost every single person that we interact with every day has some sort of link with “immigration.” Someone in their family must have emigrated from a country at one point or another.

I guess all I am trying to say is that it was joyful that we celebrated the rare visit of the sun. It is because we hadn’t had it around for a long time.

Jamaica Kincaid once put in words in her book “A Small Place” that “Every native everywhere lives a life of overwhelming and crushing banality and boredom and desperation