My Visit A Home: It Is Not My Home

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I live in the United States, but it is not my home. My home is Bangladesh, where I was born and raised. My family moved to the United States in August of 2009. I was eleven years at that time. I was terrified to live a completely different life in America. The new food, new school, new language; it was very daunting at first but It was not as hard as I thought it to be. This essay is not about my experience when I first moved to United States; it’s more about the time when I went back to my home. Bangladesh is not at all like the United States. It’s a small country but very populated. To put into perspective, the population of Bangladesh is almost half of the population of the United States but the size of the whole country is almost half…show more content…
Bangladesh is dirty compared to United States. There is garbage piled up everywhere. There are waste drains everywhere. But it is not all dirty. In Bangladesh, there are big vast green rice fields, which take the breath away, when any one take a look at it. Bangladesh is home to one of the biggest beaches in the world called Cox’s Bazar. I do not care whether it is dirty or clean or poor or rich, I love my home country no matter what. After four years, in December of 2013, my family and I went back to my home town in Bangladesh. It was like I came to whole different country. I had the same feeling that I had when I first came to America. The environment completely changed. But the people haven’t. I saw my old childhood friends and all the memory came back. The nostalgia was too real. Talking in English and being associated with the American culture for so long, I had trouble speaking in my native language.…show more content…
In Comilla people talk in a totally different dialect from the one that I used to, so it was even harder to communicate. They would say “kellai” and where I would say “keno”, but they both mean “why” in English. I had really hard times talking to my relatives there, who lived in the village since they were born. Sometimes my grandma would say totally different words from the one that I am accustomed too. She would ask if I want to eat chicken. She would say “koora”, where I would say “moorgi”, but they both mean “chicken” but the words are totally different. I used to know the dialect back when I used to visit there regularly. But since, I went there after so long, I totally forgot the dialect from there. In Bangladesh, people from different regions speak Bengali in different dialects. One of my sisters-in-law grew up speaking Chittagongi, which to me feels like totally different language, because the dialect that they speak in is that different from the way I speak Bengali. She does speak the dialect that I speak in normally. It is because that’s the “normal” and “proper” way to speak the language. But she does speak the Chittagongi dialect with her
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