by Sabina Khan
Ammi goes off to make the call. I scoot my chair closer to Abbu.
“How can they do this, Abbu? After knowing you and working with you for all these years.”
“I know, beta.” Abbu gently strokes the top of my head. “You don’t worry about all this. Just keep your focus on school. We’ll figure something out.”
I know Abbu always wants to shield me from the harsh realities of life, but I have a feeling this is something he can’t fix.
The next evening, Ammi, Abbu, and I sit around the dining table for an early dinner of turkey sandwiches and salad.
“Zara, we want to talk to you about something,” Abbu says. “But you have to promise to stay calm and hear us out.”
In the history of conversations, has that line ever worked?
“What is it?” I say, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach.
“You know that Abbu and I were talking about this before,” Ammi says. “And then it seemed for a bit that things might be all right after all.”
“But now, after what happened yesterday, we’ve decided that we want to leave,” Abbu says.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “What happened to staying and fighting?”
“We’re tired, Zara,” Ammi says. “We’ve been fighting for years.”
“But now we just don’t want to stay where we’re not welcome,” Abbu says. “Look at everything that’s happened. It’s not safe for us anymore.”
“We think it’s better if we just go back home,” Ammi says. “Abbu can start his own practice there. And we’ll be with our families.”
Home. Such a loaded word. It’s strange to think that perhaps for my parents this has never really been home. Even though they chose to come here and built a good life, to them home will probably always mean Pakistan, where they grew up surrounded by extended family and people who looked like them, where they didn’t have to explain their existence constantly. But to me, Corpus is home. It’s where all my memories were born even though I wasn’t.
“But what about me?” I say.
“Beta, there are excellent colleges in Karachi also, you know,” Ammi says. “And who knows what opportunities you’ll have in the future? Maybe you’ll be able to come back one day.”
I’m speechless. My brain can’t process the words I’m hearing right now.
“But this is home,” I finally say.
Ammi gives a bitter laugh. “What home? Where you can get shot in someone’s driveway? Where we have to be scared all the time because of what we believe?”
“Zara, you don’t understand how much we’ve sacrificed so that you can have a better future,” Abbu says. “At least, that’s what we thought we were giving you. But now I’m not so sure anymore. Look at how things are for Muslims in this country. We’re all being punished for crimes committed by people who are nothing like us. But we all have to pay the price. Constantly.”
“And, beta, I’m tired of worrying every time you step out the door,” Ammi says. “You aren’t even safe in school here. What will happen when you go away to college? Things seem to be getting worse for us every day. I don’t know how much longer I can take it.”
“What if I don’t want to go?” I say. “What if there is a way to stay?”
“I don’t know how that’s going to be possible,” Abbu says. “But why would you want to stay when it’s clear that they don’t want us here?”
“Not everyone is like that, Abbu,” I protest. “And you know that. When I went to that rally in Victoria, there were so many people who were there to support us.”
“Beta, it takes a lot more than joining one march to change the way things are,” Abbu says. “Policies need to be changed as well as people’s attitudes.”
“Look how quickly the hospital administration turned its back on almost fourteen years of your father’s work,” Ammi says. “All his dedication and the good he’s done. Wiped out just like that without a second thought. Just because of one racist person and his connections. What about standing up for us? But no, it’s much easier just to get rid of us.”
“I agree with everything you’re saying,” I say. “But my whole life is here. And my whole identity is here. You don’t know how much I appreciate how accepting you are of me being bisexual. I can’t be openly queer in Pakistan. I know there have been some positive changes for the LGBTQ+ community there, but there’s still a long way to go before people can come out freely and safely. And I refuse to live in any place where I have to hide who I am.”
“Look, beta,” Abbu says. “We won’t force you to do anything. If you want to try and find a way to stay, we will support you however we can. But Ammi and I cannot stay here any longer.”
There’s nothing left to say. They’ve made up their minds, and now it’s up to me to decide what I want my future to look like. I go up and get ready for bed, but sleep is impossible. Instead, I consider my options.
If I go back to Pakistan with my parents, I’ll be a stranger in my own land. I’ll be surrounded by people, cousins, and neighbors who will only deepen my longing to be with Nick, Chloe, and Priya, the people who share my memories, who are a real part of my life, not faces in pictures and videos sent of weddings and births and celebrations, people who share my blood but whose relationship with me I can barely keep track of.
I know that my parents don’t feel safe here anymore. I am proud to be a Muslim woman. I am proud of my Pakistani culture. And I’m proud to be queer. I should not have to feel unsafe because of any of those parts of my identity, wherever I live. I have a right, just like anyone else, to live without constantly looking over my shoulder and watching my words or my actions. I deserve the dignity to exist as I am. In a perfect world I would be able to do just that. But I’m not so naive that I think the world is perfect.
I have two paths in front of me. One leads me back to Pakistan, where I’m sure I can build a new life and still stay in touch with my friends. I can still get my education and go to law school. After all, Pakistan has plenty of powerful and highly educated women. Maybe one day I might even find my way back here. But the fact remains that I’ll have been driven out of here through no fault of my own. So, I choose the other path. I choose to fight. I have to try.
My confidence bolstered, I get out of bed and open my laptop. Two hours and many articles later, I have come up with nothing. There’s simply no precedent for a case like ours. We’re not undocumented; we’re not being deported. Visa applications get rejected all the time. That’s all that’s really happening to us. But it’s the principle of the thing. How is it that after my father was the victim of a racist attack and almost died, we are the ones who are told to leave and are having our entire lives turned upside down? How is this fair?
How is this happening?
I call Shireen Khala as soon as I think she might be awake on a Saturday morning, and we arrange to meet at a coffee shop. Now that my parents have told me how they feel, I don’t want to discuss all this in front of them anymore.
We get right down to it as soon as we’ve exchanged hugs and ordered our coffees.
“So, I’ve made some calls and it looks like your parents have no choice but to leave the country before your father’s visa expires,” she says. “Of course, Iqbal Bhai could look for another job and try to get sponsored again.”
“I don’t think they have any interest in going through all this again,” I say with a sigh. “They’re speaking of going back for good.”
“What? When did they decide this?” Shireen Khala says. “I just talked with them yesterday.”
“They told me last night,” I say. “It sounds like they’ve been considering it for some time.”
“I can’t say I blame them,” Shireen Khala says. “After what they’ve been through, I can’t imagine that I’d want to stay either.”
“I know and I get it too, but …” My voice trails off.
Shireen Khala puts down her coffee cup. “I wish I had better news,” she says.
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�Thank you for looking into it,” I say. “I really appreciate it.”
“I wish I could do more,” she says. “But I want to discuss your options as well. It looks like you can request to change to a student visa. The only problem is that you’d be considered an international student.”
“Exactly. And there’s no way I can afford that kind of tuition. I’d have to try and get a scholarship or something. I can’t expect Abbu and Ammi to support me if they’re earning in rupees. It’ll be way too much.”
“But it is the only feasible option for now,” she says. “Although I must warn you that it’s highly unlikely that it will go through in the next four months, so you’ll still have to leave the country and wait until you have your student visa in order to reenter.”
My heart sinks. I was really hoping she would have some better news. But there was nothing more she could do.
“I wish Ammi and Abbu wouldn’t give up so easily,” I say once we’ve gotten refills.
“I know it might seem like that to you, Zara,” Shireen Khala says. “But I don’t really think they’re giving up.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, they came here for you. To give you a better life, more opportunities.”
“But they’ve had a good life too.”
“Yes, of course,” she says. “But have you considered what they’ve given up?”
“I mean, yes, I know, but I always thought it’s what they wanted.”
“Zara, think about it,” she says. “Imagine leaving behind everything you know, everything that is home, for you to go and start a life somewhere far away. Without your support system or anything familiar. Even if you know you’re doing it for a good reason, it’s still incredibly difficult.”
She’s given me a lot to think about, so after we’re done, I drive back home to grab Zorro and take him for a walk. We go along the water as usual, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore lulling me into a state of calm. I feel like I’m at war with myself. One part of me feels the same way my parents do, angry at this country that seems to be rejecting me after offering the false promise of home. I long to be with people who accept me as I am, to be around family who lives and talks and celebrates like I do. But at the same time, I don’t believe I’ll fit in completely in Pakistan either, after all these years of living here. And it isn’t anything singular; it’s a multitude of small things that will set me apart: the way I talk and eat and move all will mark me as an outsider. Sure, those things will slowly change over time. I notice it when I watch my parents in old home videos. Their accents, their body language, all of those have changed, almost imperceptibly over the years.
The question is: Did they want these changes? Or did they just happen anyway?
* * *
Ms. Talbot calls me into her office on Monday.
“Zara, I have some good news,” she says to me when I’m sitting across from her.
“I could really use some good news.”
“Sylvia told me she’ll talk to the senator about your situation and see if she can help in any way.”
I jump up. “Oh my God, really? That would be amazing. Thank you so much.” I rush over to hug her and then step back awkwardly.
“I’m glad I could help,” she says with a smile. “Of course, there’s no guarantee that the senator will be able to do anything, but it’s a start.”
“You have no idea how much this means to me, Ms. Talbot,” I say. “And please thank your wife for me too.”
“I will. And I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something.”
“So, did she say what she could do?” Nick takes a sip of his chocolate milkshake. We’re at La Paletera and I’ve just finished telling him what Ms. Talbot said.
“No, her wife will talk about it with the senator and hopefully she can help.” I take a long sip of my frozen cappuccino and regret it immediately when the brain freeze hits.
“Have you told Chloe yet?” Nick asks.
“No, I haven’t had a chance to tell her yet,” I say.
“So, you’re telling me first?” Nick gives me a smug smile before taking another sip.
“Well, I was craving a cappuccino freeze and you happened to be available,” I say, trying hard not to smile. “That’s the only reason, so you don’t have to feel so special.”
“Whatever you say,” he says.
I mutter things to myself that I wouldn’t say out loud in public, ignoring his stupid grin.
* * *
I tell Chloe later that night when I’m in bed.
“That’s so great,” she says. “I’m so glad you might finally be getting somewhere with your visas. I hope the senator is able to pull some strings so your family can stay.”
“I know, me too,” I say. “After my parents told me they wanted to leave, I was almost ready to give up.”
“Don’t say that, Zara.”
“Part of me sort of agrees with what they said.” I let out a deep sigh. “You know, I was thinking about what my life would be like if I really left.”
Chloe is silent for a bit, and the steady sound of her breathing is the only thing I can hear. It’s calming, somehow.
“Am I in the picture in that version of your life?” she finally asks. I realize that I haven’t really considered how she’ll deal with all of this.
“I don’t even know if I’m there, to be honest. It doesn’t feel real.” I’m glad that I can be completely open with her, even if it’s hard to talk about.
“I can’t even imagine how weird this all must be for you,” she says.
“Anyway, enough about me,” I tell her. “How was the therapist? I want details.”
“I don’t know … it was like the therapist was on my side, which I wasn’t expecting,” she says, and I can almost hear a smile in her voice. “I don’t think my parents were expecting it either. It was like she presented it as a problem they were having, not a problem I was having.”
“That’s so great. At least you don’t have to feel like it’s just you against them all the time.”
“Exactly. And instead of stomping out of the room, my parents listened. To be honest, I think my father would’ve happily stomped out of the room. But my mother’s now the one in charge. Like, if it were the Supreme Court, she’d be the swing vote.”
We explore this feeling some more, and when I hang up, I feel as close to Chloe as I’ve ever felt. But as I drift off to sleep, a sliver of guilt nags at me. I go back to her question and wonder, What does the picture of my new life look like … and is she in it?
The question stays with me throughout the following day as I try to keep my mind on my schoolwork, something that is getting increasingly more difficult to do. If I’m not trying to figure out my feelings for Chloe, then I’m worrying about whether I will even be here after four months.
In the meantime, Shireen Khala has convinced Ammi and Abbu to appeal the denial of Abbu’s H-1B renewal. She says that the negotiations about Mr. Benson’s case are still happening, and that if he ends up pleading guilty to get a reduced sentence, then that could change some of the board members’ feelings. The trial isn’t scheduled for months, but the prosecutor has told Shireen Khala that he senses their side wants to settle sooner rather than later, “to get this behind them.” I don’t want them to be able to get it behind them, but I would love a resolution that helped our argument. If the hospital board reconsiders, then we’ll be back on track for our green cards. For the first time in days, I feel it’s possible—slightly possible—that we won’t have to leave.
* * *
Chloe comes over to hang out after school the next day, and since Ammi has taken Abbu to physical therapy, we have the whole house to ourselves. We cuddle on the couch, and soon Chloe’s lips are on mine and I’m lost in the warmth of her touch. It’s been a while since we’ve been together like this, and with everything that’s happened in the last couple of months, I feel like we haven’t really had a chance to ease into our relationship. Th
is whole thing with Tyler happened so soon after the first time we even went out together, it’s as if we were on pause while it was all happening, and now that I know I might have to leave, there’s a sense of urgency in all our interactions.
So, it’s nice to have a moment like this when we’re just kissing and the rest of the world fades away. But the sadness always comes back, pushing all the happy thoughts to the side.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, it’s just, I can’t figure out what I’m going to do.”
“Okay, so let’s talk about it,” Chloe says.
I sit back all the way, pushing my head against the cushion. “I guess with so much up in the air, it’s hard to make any decisions.”
“I totally get that,” she says. “I wish I could do something to help. I feel so useless.”
I take her hand. “Please don’t say that. You’re here for me, and that’s what matters.”
I put my head on her lap, and she runs her fingers through my hair. A calm settles over me, and I lift my head up just enough to meet her lips.
For the next little while, nothing comes between us. We only jump apart when we hear Ammi’s car pull into the driveway.
Ms. Talbot calls me on Friday to tell me that Senator Delgado’s assistant can see me on Monday at four in the afternoon.
“That’s great, Ms. Talbot!” I say. “Thank you so much again.”
“Of course,” she replies. “I hope she can help. Please let me know how it goes.”
“For sure. I really hope there’s something we can do.”
* * *
On Monday, Shireen Khala picks me up for the appointment. We drive to city hall, where the meeting is scheduled, and my stomach is doing somersaults as we take the elevator up to the tenth floor. If the senator’s assistant doesn’t think there’s anything she can do, then I’m back to square one. We step off the elevator into a brightly lit lobby and approach the reception.