Chapters from an Immigrant's life, part III. The wrong path

Like most of arab students who study abroad, the first thing in their mind is school. However, the problem also is that the next thing on their mind is women, let’s face it. I was young, full of energy, and looked at Michael Jackson and George Michael as the inspirational sources. So I dressed funky, with those shirts, and unzipped few buttons on the top, even though I lacked the muscles or the chest hair. But it was the norm back then, and wanted to look cool. The race has begun for me against time and the goal was….with all sadness..it was to sleep with as much women as I could. What the hell was I thinking?

Having a girlfriend was the last thing on my mind. I didn’t need commitment as it will slow me down. So I started going to the nightclubs with the guys. Stay till 4 am drinking, or trying to get some girl drunk . I wasn’t paying good attention to my school work at all. I was pretty smart on few topics that I was passing easily, and others, I would flunk, again easily. My Gpa was still surviving, and my advisors were all trying harder with me. I always told myself…There will be time for school, let’s have fun now. What the hell was I thinking?

Then I started hanging around a group of leftist Arabs. I started attending their gathering, and parties. There was drinking, and there were women, plenty of women, so I found something to grab my attention to their side. The one better thing is now, and for the first time…I mean the second time, I could sleep with arab girls. This was a no for me as I always had the Arabic honor of screw any woman in the world, but never arab women. Silly you say? I know. I was still growing up and far from the maturity level any young man would want to be. What the hell was I thinking?

So I did what I did while hanging around this group. Only now I started to wake up. Now I am a part of a revolutionary young men and women, who seek justice for all, and suddenly communism was looking pretty good for me. And now..for the first time, I am starting to believe that Palestinians are not bad people, unlike what my father (who is Palestinian) was telling me all those years. Now I am attending demonstrations, and participating in intellectual debates to convince the public, and convey the message of love and equality to the rest of arab men and women in the community. I knew if my father knew about this, which would seriously send a hit man to kill me. I could remember his advice. He did advice me against drugs and women or drinking, but the majority of his lecture was “don’t drag yourself along side Palestinians for they will sway you off the right path”. I know why his hatred toward the Palestinian revolutionaries, for they tried to assassinate him back in 1971. What the hell was I thinking?

I started paying more attention to school. Now I changed my mind about dentistry. I started to like engineering. 3 years so far in America, and I am still in first year chemical engineering college. That’s ok..I’ll manage from now on. Dad wasn’t too happy about my progress. He decided to stop the flow of money. I felt angry. Not at this time dad. I am almost there, and I am awakening. He just didn’t send any money. I decided to never call family again. Months go by, and it’s almost a year and a half, and still, I didn’t call. I changed my phone number too. I flunked school, and decided to start working just like the rest of arabs. I have hated myself for so many were calling me a part of the “borjwazy” people. I wanted to be from the workers people. I wanted to be just like those who raised the red flag in Russia whole building their country from ruins. I wanted to be just like Che Guevara. The hell with the fancy life I was brought up in. What the hell was I thinking?

I got a job in a gas station. I worked there for about 4 years. I’ll talk in details in another part about that period of my life, but in short, those 4 years have changed my life forever. But for now, I am still in the wrong path. Drinking and women are still part of my life. School was missing from my life. I’ve been in the states for about 4 years now. It’s 1993, and I’m still disoriented. Every decision I made was wrong…very wrong. My life was not a life. As if I was simply killing time awaiting my death. My normal day routine was work from 9 am to 8 pm everyday, while getting paid cash money that is the equivalent of one half the minimum wages. I would go home then, and start drinking. By 10 pm, I would have pulled my phone book, and started to call any woman who wanted a piece of the action tonight. If I was lucky, I would be still not drunk when doing so, because few times I would call 2 women at the same time, only to cause problems, and lose both on the spot. I know I know…what the hell was I doing?

Sometimes I would love to view my life in the first 4 years in America as some movie, where I can pull the plug and cut out any unwanted scenes or memories. I do believe that our past is what made us who we are today..but I would’ve loved it if those 4 years were never part of me, regardless of who could I have become if they were not part of my life.