O n a gorgeous spring afternoon, my cat Vivianna and I were playing in the backyard. I sat on a stair as Vivianna jumped around the green grasses. This is my favorite time of the year, April, when the weather is perfect and the wind seems to embrace you. For a brief moment, I closed my eyes and smiled as dozens of Springtime memories merged and blended in my head. It tickled my senses and helped me recollect my thoughts as I began to recall those happy childhood memories while I was in my home country. Every year in the spring, millions of Bangladeshis throughout the world celebrate the Bengali new year. While I glanced at the grass, I thought about all the foods we used to eat during Bengali New Year, all the new outfits we used to wear, and all the locations we used to visit. A smile appeared at the corner of my lips.

My mother called during this time, breaking my thoughts. My cat and I dashed downstairs, where I discovered my mother seated on the couch. She motioned for me to sit on the chair next to her. While I sit, I attempt to think of any rules I may have broken, anything I did wrong that is getting me in trouble, and as I drown myself in my thoughts  I watch my mum taking something out from her bag and she hands me a ticket, a ticket to Bangladesh. "Surprise, we're going to Bangladesh," she announced as she handed me my plane ticket. I was struck by shock and excitement. Her words sounded as surreal as a dream.  For the next few days I kept myself busy with packing and preparing for the trip.  Soon it was time for us to leave. I put my cat in her carrier and we headed out for the airport. We sat in the lounge and waited until it was time for us to board the plane.

As the plane takes off I can’t help but look out the window and miss the place I have been calling home for years. I put my airpods on and start listening to my favorite music, “Run Away” by Aurora. In my subconscious mind I create and abandon hundreds of dance steps. I love to dance, and perhaps I love to choreograph even more. When the song is going through a lower beat I think of doing a second Arabesque followed by a Soubresaut that is connected to a Grand Battement. When the song reaches a point of higher beat I do a front Aerial followed by La Second turns, 4 to be exact. I think of millions of different ways to connect a step to another. I think of all the possible outcomes. I think until I find the perfect steps.

“Ma'am” The flight attendant calls out in hopes to gather my attention. “Oh hi” I replied, snapping back to reality. “Hello ma'am, would you like a drink?” “I have tea, coffee, sodas and juice,” she added. “No thank you” I replied. “I will have a diet coke” my mum said gesturing at the neatly stacked diet coke on the top of the tray. “Sure thing” replied the flight attendant. I put my airpods back on and this time started listening to “House of Memory” as the song goes on, I once more dove into my imagination. This time however I am not dancing in front of my mirror or at the corner of my studio but rather I am on stage competing nationals giving my best trying to impress the 3 judges. The remainder of the flight was mostly spent in the same manner, with music, dance, movies and occasional calls from the flight attendants.

12 hours later we landed in Bangladesh. When I get off the plane, I cannot help but notice how sweet the air smells, how gorgeous the traditional clothing looks, and how vibrant everything is. I've lived here most of my life, yet this is the first time I've noticed these things. We waited at the airport for a "rickshaw," a mode of transportation, sort of like a bicycle where one person (the driver) paddles the cycle and the passengers sit at the back. After a while one ricksha came and picked us up. It was a rather short ride that took about 7 minutes. Soon the rickshaw dropped us at our destination. I went forward and rang the bell. Ding Dion the bell goes. My uncle opened the door and next to him were my two cousins Savan and Safan. Behind them stands my aunt.  As I reunite with my relatives, I can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of belonging and warmth. Something I missed for a long time, so long that I almost forgot how it feels like.

I stared at the big clock located directly in front of my bed, it is an old clock, a really really old one. I heard from my grandmother that grandpa got it as a gift from Sir Sheikh Mujibur Rahman. He was an activist and politician from Bangladesh, and many Bangladeshis adore him. Many people, myself included, believe he is largely responsible for Bangladesh's current status as a nation. My grandfather received this clock from Sir Rahman during his time as a freedom fighter. Considering that timeline of 1971 the clock saw some days to say the least. I have always seen that clock in my room but I never really paid attention to it except when it is Eid and I just can’t wait for it to be morning or on result day, when I wish for a few extra hours in order to postpone the result paper as long as possible.

  My mom took me to one of the traditional outfit stores to buy me a new dress. I saw quite a few that I liked but all of them were too colorful. I don’t really like color, they kind of hurt my eyes. “Oh look I love that one such a pretty blue color” my mother said pointing at a gorgeous light blue “lehenga” , a gown like dress. “ It is a pretty color but I am a woman not a 10 year old mother, I want something that blends with my skin tone, hides all my flaws” I said turning my head away. I remember when I used to love colors. Red, yellow, blue, pink and sparkles were the center of my world but now anything colorful feels like a curse to look at. “Well I hope you get out of your neutral era and start enjoying the beauty of color” My mom replied with a sigh. Hope, for what it’s worth I onced hoped too. Hope didn’t get me anywhere though, I hoped I would never stop liking all the pretty colors in rainbow, I hoped I will never stop wearing all the pretty pink dresses with glitters and rhinestones and little bows, I hoped when I grow up I will become a fun adult who loves to play with dolls and color their hair pink but here we are.