Bubbles are meant to break. The tip of a ballpoint pen can puncture their film, releasing never-ending possibilities.
My mom and I had a nightly ritual: every evening, I’d hop onto my neatly made bed with water dripping down my wet, silky black hair. In a room filled with the fresh scent of vanilla diffusers and tenderness, my mom would read me bedtime stories. Every syllable of her enchanting voice circled in my mind like lyrics to a familiar song. They joined together in a string of joy. My favorite character from these stories was Elsa from Frozen. Her fantasy world of magic and powdery snow allowed her to create her own winter wonderland using her fairy-like magical abilities. Her winter wonderland sparkled infinite possibilities through the sheer snowy essence it took on as a mini-world of her own.
From the windows of my top-floor apartment, the blinking red lights and bustling noise of constant traffic added to the liveliness of my busy world. The hectic traffic, surges of people, and opulent temples overwhelmed me with warmth, passion, and security. I lived inside a bullet-proof bubble I never once considered escaping. The nostalgic smell of my mom’s homemade butter bread permeated our living room. Its warm and soft texture, resembling a baby’s cheek, reaffirmed to me home is where my mother is. In her snowy reality, Elsa was the golden girl. The unfamiliarity of her foreign world tickled my curiosity. I began to wonder what the world really looks like outside of my impenetrable shield.
My decision to travel 7,000 miles to attend boarding school in America was not limited to my fairy world obsession. I wanted to get out of my comfortable bubble and see the world from a different perspective. Within its vast borders, I imagined myself as a piece of the puzzle adding to the diverse vision of this country.
On January 9th, 2021, my mom purchased me a one-way ticket to Singapore, a strange transit and prerequisite predestination for my American dream. As I marched toward security at the airport, my facial muscles tightened, but I refused to cry. I kept my head forward until my mother disappeared into the crowd, knowing I would burst if I saw her teary face.
Two weeks later, I arrived at the embassy at 27 Napier Road. I broke into a sweat. The scary-looking guard guided me to a worn-down stool. I sat down miserably, almost tipping over the rusty piece of metal with my full body weight. My hands felt clammy against my shaking knees as my heart pounded heavily. I paced back and forth in the waiting area, tapping my feet impatiently. I made countless nervous circuits around the place. I saw my veins surfacing on the back of my hands, tumbling over the riverbed.
“Sorry, I can’t approve your Visa request,” the immigration officer revealed mercilessly to the guy in front of me after he casually said he was studying meat evolution in college. Meat evolution? I giggled a bit. As I approached the counter, the stern officer gave me a sharp stare. She snatched the thick stack of documents from my trembling hands and tossed it aside. I watched my American dream being thrown away.
After interrogating me with a few simple questions, she spoke sorrowfully. “I’m sorry. I can’t approve your Visa request, but come back in a week with more documents.” Tears rushed down my face. My eyes blurred a little. How could one stranger decide my fate? With dozens of eyes staring at me from afar, I stood in the middle of the embassy, unable to move. A wave of sadness and disbelief came over me. The next couple of days were long and grueling. It was as if God had closed a window on me. As the beaming light outside my hotel room began to fade, the remaining hope within me slowly extinguished.
Over the next couple of days, I wrestled with a million possibilities. What if I get rejected? What if I had to return home? What would I say to my family? I began to think attempting to realize this far-fetched dream was a terrible mistake. I lied in a fetal position, with my fingers gripping the edges of the wrinkled sheets. Molten anger stirred within me like an accelerating fireball. I felt a dark cloud hovering above, deserting me in this alienated land. The cold splendor of Elsa’s world opposed my sullen reality. A phoenix born within me stirred up my fiery anger.
A week later, I stepped foot into the colossal gate of the embassy. The gray tiles added to the gloominess of the sky. With additional paperwork tightly held in my arms, I clutched at some last hope. The guards guided me through a light grayish-blue hallway into a private room. The glass walls trapped the space in a perfect square, and the floors were made of wooden tiles puzzled together in regular patterns. The tip of the officer’s head signaled she was scrolling through a stack of documents.
“067!” she yelled. I quickly gathered my papers and rushed to the counter. Her wrinkly eyes radiated uncompromising energy. I carefully slid my documents to her, handing over my fate. After a while, she abruptly reached for a pen and started scribbling. As the tip of her pen danced across the yellow piece of paper, my heart beat faster and faster, attempting to escape my body. The freedom of air swelled within me as her pen popped my bubble, releasing me into the infinite possibilities of the world beyond my apartment.
