Читать книгу I Found Mine - Mohammed R. Zawad - Страница 7

“We all have life-defining moments. They are like open-book tests, but we don’t know we have been examined until it is over.” - John Bevere

March 31, 2003, was the date that determined whether I would stay in the United States or return to Saudi Arabia. I first travelled to the U.S. on March 11, 2001, to study English and pursue my Master’s and PhD degrees in Economics. My ultimate goal was to receive my PhD by the age of 28.

That particular date was important, as I was to write the all-important TOEFL (Test Of English as a Foreign Language) exam in Atlanta, Georgia. I woke up at 4:30 a.m., and armed with a map downloaded from Yahoo, was on the road by 6:00 a.m.

I managed to reach the test site by about 6:30, but despite knowing the building number, I lost my sense of direction. I started looking for the number of the building where the exam was to be written, and kept driving around looking at the numbers on the signs…865….866…. 867, and then all of a sudden the number jumped to 930. I had missed the building! I started to panic and was frantically looking for the location. The time kept getting closer…. 7:00 a.m…. 7:30 a.m…. 8:00 a.m. Finally, I realized I had to go into a plaza to find the missing numbers, and there it was – 868!

By the time, I entered the center I was nearly one hour late for the exam. I told my story to the young girl proctoring the exam and asked her to allow me in. But after calling her supervisor, she apologized and informed me they couldn’t permit me to write the test this late. I was too numb to argue, and simply went to my car and immediately called Saudi Arabia. My mother answered and I exploded. All the pain that I had bottled up inside for two years came pouring out. I felt like I had lost a loved one. I couldn’t fight it anymore. She asked me what was wrong and I told her that I hadn’t experienced a positive day in the U.S. for the past two years. I studied day and night for the TOEFL test, and still couldn’t pass it. She said, “Come home to Saudi Arabia. We need you here. We can’t tolerate your absence anymore. Come and God will give you everything you need here in Saudi Arabia. Listen to your mother and God will reward you.”

I just couldn’t believe that my dreams were vanishing so quickly. Going home was like jumping from the frying pan into the fire. Yet I couldn’t imagine staying any longer in the U.S. while my father kept borrowing money to sponsor my education; money that I felt should be going to my six brothers.

On May 6, 2003, I boarded a plane at the Atlanta airport and began my journey back to Saudi Arabia. As the houses grew smaller, I morbidly started wishing that something would go wrong and I would just die. I couldn’t accept the failure of going home with no certification, despite two years of my father’s sponsorship. I visualized relatives calling me a failure, and people ridiculing me. My heart felt like it was shattered into a million pieces, and it would take me years to gather up these pieces and discover why this had happened.