Deep Down

A New York skyscraper could fill the space in between the helicopter I ride in, and the tree guarded shining white ground below me. The helicopter begins to descend, and I still don't know if this is what I really want. To become a refugee again, isn't something I would have thought to consider. But maybe instability is just what I'm destined for.

I step out of the helicopter and onto the snow, wearing the thickest jacket known to my body. A man and a woman, both in suits, walk towards me.

"Yasmeen?" asks the man. "My name is Tod, and this is my partner Maria. We'll be conducting the test today."

"Nice to meet you," I say with a forced smile.

I walk with them towards a herd of trees.

"How old are you?" asks Maria.

"I'm 19."

"Amazing. That's one of the youngest we've had," she says.

Once we arrive at the trees, I see a path that leads to a frozen pond. We walk down the path and, somehow, it gets colder and colder the more we progress. We get to the beginning of the pond, which stretches itself along a stadium's worth of space. In the middle of the pond, I spot a ladder disappearing into the ice.

"Alright, the rules are simple," says Tod. "Walk over there, go down the ladder, stay under for a minimum of ninety seconds, and then come out a citizen. We'll start the timer once your head is completely down."

I nod and begin to walk away.

"Oh Yasmeen," Maria calls for me. "You can't wear that jacket down there."

After almost slipping a few thousand times, I finally arrive at the metal ladder that leads into a giant hole of ice water. I take a deep breath, which in itself stabs at my lungs, and carefully step down the ladder. My feet touch the water first and immediately go numb. I stop before continuing in and take a second to wonder if I even want to participate anymore. The answer, I suppose, will reveal itself once I'm down there. Time to see how badly I want to stay in this country. I continue climbing down and stop right before the tip of my chin hits the water. God, I think I now understand what those who fell off the titanic felt like. I take one last breath and quickly dip my head into the water, keeping my right hand on the ladder so that I don't float away. My face feels like it’s getting paler, and my ears feel like they're stabbing themselves. All I can hear are my thoughts with a background of an occasional ice crack. My eyes, not wanting to face the blistering blue, remain shut. All I can keep thinking about now, is why am I here?

One year ago, I moved to this country as a refugee of war. I was told that my move was temporary but that if I spent my time here behaving accordingly, then a permanent citizenship would be granted. While I was excited to start a new life and see a new world, I always knew that I'd never get to experience my culture the same way again. My first couple of months here, however, were actually quite easy. I made some good friends, I had an apartment all to myself, I started college as a music major. Growing up, all I wanted was to be a world class musician, and I practiced day and night for years to acquire the appropriate skill set. The thing that excited me most about moving here, was the prospect of finally getting the platform I need to share my talent with everybody. And while I admired all types of music, my favourite was always the Arabic music of my culture, something that people here in the west aren't very familiar with. In fact, when I tried playing my favourite Arabic song on my oud for a class performance, I received slow claps made of confusion. I was seemingly praised by my teacher, but she had too many questions about the scales I used. With a class performance due every week, and keeping my experience in mind, I decided to lay off playing Arabic music for some time.

One day in the middle of my semester, the government announced that most recent refugees in the country were to be deported at the end of their originally promised stay period, with no chance of an extended visa, residency, or citizenship. It turned out that behaving accordingly wasn't going to lead to me getting a permanent home anymore. I had worked so hard just to get here, and within a day, my efforts were spat on and thrown in the bin. I was gutted for weeks, and that was beginning to be apparent in my grades. My friend Kelly, however, informed me of an opportunity that would save me the trip.

"Have you heard of the frozen pond contest?" asked Kelly.

"Nope," I replied.

"This organization just started a contest where if you hold your breath under a frozen pond for a certain amount of time, they'll grant you citizenship."

At the time, I didn't have to think twice about signing up. Despite some hiccups here and there, I was just starting to feel like I was building a home within me. That wasn't something I wanted to say goodbye to just yet.

After my application to the contest was accepted, I spent the next couple of months holding my breath underwater when I took a bath, swam in a pool, or that one time I dipped my head into a fish tank. It took me a while, but eventually, I was able to keep myself under water for two minutes straight.

Feeling like my time in this country could end soon, I decided I wanted to try performing some Arabic music for my classmates again. This time, however, I blended it with some modern pop and made a piece that perfectly balanced the two cultures. At the end of that performance, I again got mostly unenthusiastic claps, but I also got comments like, "It's different," and "It's quite interesting." I guess they were still confused, but at least they were somewhat more intrigued.

After class that day, Kelly, and a few other friends, surprised me by taking me to the school pool, which was now filled with ice.

"The pond water is going to be ice cold," Kelly said. "That'll be a lot harder than regular water."

While the pool wasn't going to be nearly as chilling as the pond, it was definitely good for practice, and I was glad to have friends who wanted to see me succeed. The first time I got into that pool, I climbed out immediately and walked away. The second time, I held my breath for three seconds before exiting. The problem wasn't holding my breath, it was bearing with the pain. Week after week, however, my friends would keep pulling the same stunt until one day, I finally decided to suffer through every scream I couldn't let out and remained under the freezing water for two minutes straight. It resulted in a two-week cold, but it gave me hope that I was on my way to gaining stability.

A week before the pond contest was set to happen, I had one last class performance. This time, I played a very western and dance driven piece on my keyboard, but I would sprinkle in just a little bit of Arabic music when the beat dropped. At the end of the performance, I was awarded with not just applause, but whistles and yells too. Everyone was genuinely pleased and went on about how they wanted to hear more Arabic music. I realized, however, that they had already heard Arabic music several times now. I was also getting comments like, "I loved the mystery that the Middle-Eastern music brought to the EDM," and "I would totally belly dance to that one part." Though I do think that my piece was very well made and performed, and I was initially ecstatic that everyone enjoyed their time listening to it, it sucked that I had to strip away so much of my culture from my music for it could be recognized. It was also only comprehended in a stereotypical manner. When I looked in the mirror that day, I noticed just how much I've changed since moving, and not for the worse, just not for the accurate. The way I dressed was different, the way I spoke was altered, and what I believed was forced on by myself. It was the first time in a very long time that I started to think about going back to the people that understood me for who I am. And even though I was grateful for the opportunities and friends I made here, and wouldn't want to let go of that, I had thought about cancelling my ticket to the frozen pond contest.

Here I am now, however, with skin burning from the cold and insides that beg for mercy. It's ironic that this is what I must do to stay in a place that I shouldn’t have had to come to in the first place. The only thing keeping me sane, is reminiscing about my journey up to this point, but I now realise that I haven't counted a single second from the moment my head went down. I know it's not quite time to go back up yet but having ten seconds left and having thirty seconds left is a difference of having a cold and having my body shut down. My lungs are starting to pound against my chest and the hand that holds on to the ladder feels like it's about to shatter into a million pieces. If I go up too late, I'll win my citizenship and be granted a safe home to build my career and future life in. If I go up too early, I'll be sent back to my country, but that means, at the very least, I'll get to experience my beautiful culture and see my friends and family again. I don't know which I want more, but my body knows that no matter my preference, and for the sake of my life, it is time to go up. I bring my other hand to the ladder and pull my feet in. I slowly climb up until my head finally exits the water from hell and I take the deepest breath of my life. I climb all the way out and lay down on the ice, like a fish out of water. I patiently wait for someone to come and inform me of where home is now.