The wind howled through the empty streets as I stood at the bus stop, my fingers numb despite being buried deep inside my jacket pockets. The sky was a dull shade of grey, mirroring the weight I carried within me. It was one of those mornings where I questioned everything—why I left Bangladesh, why I came to Canada, and whether I even belonged here.
Then, just a few steps away, I saw a child playing in the snow, her laughter piercing through the silence of the frozen morning. She twirled, carefree, until her tiny boots slipped on the black ice. In an instant, she fell. Within seconds, her parents rushed from behind and picked her up.
I lifted my gaze to the vast Saskatchewan sky, and as a gust of cold wind hit my face, a sharp realization washed over me—I was on my own now. No matter how hard I fell, there would be no one to pick me up and put me back on track.
Akib, center, had always been taken care of by his mother, Nasima Begum, and father, MD Shahidul Islam, when he lived in Bangladesh. But a desire for independence and the opportunity to experience life in a developed nation led him to study in Canada.
Born into a privileged household in Bangladesh, I never had to struggle. I woke up at 10 a.m. to a healthy breakfast served to me on a silver platter, without worrying about washing dishes. A fancy seven-seater car waited at my doorstep to take me to school. I was shielded from hardships, living under the protective shadow of my parents.
Yet, something inside me yearned for more—not just a Canadian degree but the chance to grow independently. I wanted to step beyond my privileges and experience life in a developed country where safety was not a daily concern and where I could raise my voice for social justice.
In 2021, I packed 19 years of my life into two suitcases. I didn’t know what to bring besides a few winter jackets and a heart full of hope that I would find a new home in Canada. Instead, I found myself in a strange in-between.
The same me who never worried about transportation now ran after buses through blizzards to reach university. Instead of breakfast waiting on the counter, I stood in grocery store aisles, converting Canadian dollars to Bangladeshi taka to budget my student expenses.
I took a minimum-wage job as a student advocate with the students’ union, balancing 10-hour workweeks with academics. I never told my parents about my struggles—I didn’t want them to worry. They had already sacrificed so much to support my education abroad.
The uniform of discomfort was one I could never take off.
That frigid morning at the bus stop, watching the child fall and be picked up, I realized if no one was there to lift me, I had to rise on my own. And so, I did.
I started pushing myself out of my comfort zone, embracing opportunities and connecting with others who shared my journey. I began volunteering, and through meeting people from diverse backgrounds, I found a sense of purpose.
Last year, I helped the University of Regina host its fall orientation for over 1,000 international students. Six months later, a South Asian girl approached me at the university and said, “Thank you for the work you do.” She told me I had made her feel at home on orientation day, and she hoped to do the same for others.
I didn’t even remember interacting with her before, yet I had somehow left an impact.
On my way home that night, tears of joy rolled down my cheeks. My work had paid off—I was helping create a world where newcomers felt welcomed and included, regardless of background.
The same person who arrived in Canada always being taken care of had now become someone who takes care of others.
The feeling of living in-between still lingers, but I would go through it all over again. Stepping out of my comfort zone has shaped me into who I am today—a student, a volunteer, and someone who now manages to balance academics, work, and even grocery shopping.
I am proud to call Regina my home because of the community I built—one where people feel welcomed, recognized, and at home.
Source: Swifteradio.com
