Abroad
When I was 18, I went to university to study physics. I was young, lonely, and searching for salvation. After a year of frustration, I came across an opportunity to attend a development program abroad. It ended up being the best decision of my entire life.
In Nepal, I had two little sisters. The older one, Anna, mischievous and brilliant at only 10 years old, would help me with my language translation homework and then steal and hide my phone when I wasn’t looking.
I studied social change from the most renowned changemakers in the country. We meditated in temples, roamed amongst elephants, trekked the Himalayas, and learned how big the world really was.
When I returned, I knew there was nothing that mattered to me more than this. So, I kept going.
In South Africa, I had another sister, Zoe, who was closer to my age this time. She would always tell me about her dreams of adventure to East Asia, and living abroad herself, alone and fearless.
I continued to study development: my new teachers took me to the most remote townships to understand how grassroots advocacy worked, while my new friends took me around the country to surf African waters, climb steep mountains, and feed wild ostriches.
After South Africa came India. Then Morocco, Canada, France, Italy, Turkey, the UK, Sri Lanka, Singapore, Japan, and so on. The more I saw of the world, the more I realized how salvation was never about fame or fortune, but, in the simplest yet most radical of terms, about love, for myself and the diversity of people and places around me that helped me understand it.
I wouldn’t be who I am today if it weren’t for being able to study abroad:
As a Muslim brought up during the more severe Islamophobia of the early 2000s, I grew up spiteful of religion and my community. After living with Hindus in Nepal, Catholics in South Africa, and Buddhists in Sri Lanka, I find myself back with my old Muslim community, reconciling with my faith not necessarily in a higher being, but with people and their commitment to service.
All throughout high school, I dreamed of leaving a legacy — ignoring friendships and relationships in pursuit of aspirations of fame and fortune. After camping in the desert in Morocco, cooking fondue with musicians in France, and watching horror movies in the rainforest in Sri Lanka, I know now that the only legacy I care to leave is one of companionship and curiosity.
The friends I cherish, the family I love, and the growth I’ve gone through are all because I had the privilege of being an international student. And not once did anyone ever deny me from their country. When I sat alone in a cathedral in Rome, a local artist named Rita sat next to me and taught me how to sketch the intricate pillars. When I lost money in an unfortunate accident in Istanbul, a young waiter named Hasan comforted me and treated me to the best hummus and stew I’ve ever had.
The current U.S. administration has made it clear that they understand none of this. By associating foreign students with crime and danger and preventing them from attending Harvard, Donald Trump has crossed yet another line. When someone at that age is brave enough to leave their families and homes behind to travel to a country they have no familiarity with, they deserve open arms, not accusations of theft and violence.
Anna, that 10 year old sister from Nepal who always stole my phone, is now studying international relations at a university in Germany. Zoe, the carefree exploring sister from South Africa, has now been a teacher in both Hong Kong and Tokyo for the last three years.
There may not be as much humanity in the world as we’d like to see. But does anyone gain, in America or elsewhere, if we keep trying to prevent the best of us from learning from one another?
