It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there: An immigrant’s lament

My first week in Ohio, I went grocery shopping and bought a large watermelon, along with four bags of groceries, most of them frozen dinners. I was a sheltered kid from India who hadn’t learned how to cook, so those dinners and take-out meals kept me alive my first six months in America.

After I’d paid for the groceries I went to pick up those bags and couldn’t lift them. There was no way I could carry them across the huge parking lot to the bus stop. In desperation, I stopped a fellow shopper, a well-dressed older woman, pointed to my bags and asked for a ride home.



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