It is a very rare occurrence that I cry in movies. If and when that happens it almost never happens in public, or I will never admit it. I have no shame in crying during a movie, I just don’t want to go through the trouble of explaining to whomever is sitting next to me why I am crying. So, I was shocked the other day when a movie trailer (not even the actual movie) made me tear up at the movie theater. It came out of nowhere. There I was munching on stale popcorn and waiting for the movie to start when the trailer came on. A few seconds later I was sniffling and quickly wiping a tear from my eye and pretending it did not just happen.
Of course, the sheer horror of crying because of a movie trailer was compounded by the nature of the trailer itself. It was a Ben Affleck, Kevin Costner, Tommy Lee Jones movie for (insert preferred deity here)’s sake! The movie is called The Company Men, and Affleck plays a “corporate hotshot who loses everything after he's fired. Costner plays his brother-in-law, an ordinary guy who installs drywall, and gives his brother a construction job.” (http://moviesblog.mtv.com/) So, far it looks like another annoying Ben Affleck movie that will most probably flop in theaters because he sucks as an actor and is never believable in anything he is involved in. It was the tag line at the end of the trailer that got me though:
“In America, we give our lives to our jobs…it’s time to take them back.”
Yes, I know, it is completely super cheesy, you can almost see the Velveeta dripping off of it, but it definitely rang a bell for me.
Thinking about this tag line made me reflect back on the almost ten year that have passed since I packed up my bags and moved across the pond. I am 31 years old now and eons away from the almost 22 year old that had no plans and no clue what he wants to do with his life when he moved here. All I cared about back then was to safely get away from the campaign of persecution and intolerance the Egyptian government was raging against gay men. Some of my friends were arrested, and lots more had their lives ruined in a senseless crusade of hate. I packed up my bags and moved here on June 11, 2001 (the day Timothy McVeigh was executed). I had no plans, and only $500 to my name. I made this money by selling some of my belongings the month before. If it weren’t for the grace and love of my American family (the family that hosted me when I was an exchange student five years earlier) I would not have been able to be here today.
In American we give our lives to our jobs...
I spent the first two years here changing my residency status and getting a work permit. Nothing beats down a man’s soul than the feeling of a lack of purpose and inability to be productive. I felt like a waste of space during that time of my life. I could not work, and I could not make money. I had the fortune of having a roof over my head and food on the table. I spent my days helping around the house, and dating a guy who had “mistake” written all over him (that’s a story for another day).
My life changed when in 2003 I finally landed my very first job. I was a 23 year old university graduate, with a degree in political science from Egypt’s most prestigious and expensive university. But, 8000 miles away that doesn’t mean diddlysquat. I started my job as a night clerk at a White Hen Pantry about half a mile away from my (host) family’s house in the Chicago suburbs. It was a convenient job because I did not have a car and could just walk to and from work.
I needed the money, and it was a job! There is nothing wrong with any job as long as it is legal and it makes a man feel like he is worth something—anything! I made big bucks back then too. For someone who made nothing for two years, $7 an hour made a big difference. I took over the cash register at 10pm, learned to stock the fridge, mop the floor, clean the slicer, and of course make coffee and stock the donuts. I racked up experience talking to stoned and drunk people at 2 AM, and turning down underage patrons trying to buy booze and cigarettes. But, most of all, I learned to appreciate my life, appreciate the people I worked with, and count my blessings. I even made it up to $7.50 after just a couple of months.
There are so many stories I could recount about my coworkers. There was Annie (or as I called her Snaggle Tooth Annie because she didn’t have a single tooth that wasn’t rotted and pointy like stalactites). Snaggle Tooth Annie was a nice simple woman who was more or less uneducated and had no idea what a mammogram was. She thought I had a crush on her too, which is both funny, and revolting at the same time. There was also Mary who had thin but BIG 80s hair, heavy eyeliner, and mascara that clumped her eyelashes together and made them look like daggers protruding out of her eyeballs. Mary loved hairspray and would hit the hairspray bottles on the shelves to reinforce her bleached out mane when the owner wasn’t around. Good times!
In American we give our lives to our jobs...
Things changed for the better when Matthew came into my life. Meeting him, and falling in love with him, gave me just the boost and motivation I needed. I sent out resumes and hit the temp agencies until I landed a couple of temp positions. I also applied for grad school, bought my first car, and actually started to built some credit. After all, I don’t exist here if I don’t have credit.
It was less than I year later when both Matthew and I moved in together in Chicago. We both said goodbye to the suburbs and living with family, and started on the path of independence and building our careers; he as a teacher, and I as a graduate student at DePaul. We bought our own non-hand-me-down furniture, bought a new (well, newer) car, and carved out a life for ourselves. I went to class, worked part time, and started thinking about the career I wanted to have. I had grand ideas about getting a PhD and teaching, but two years in grad school lessened my resolve of more studying and living on grants and ramen noodles for 10 years.
I got a job in cultural exchange in an international non-profit and started making more money. A year later we actually bought our first place together and life couldn’t be better. I had succeeded in attaining the American Dream. Hard work had paid off and now I was on top of the world. All in all, it was a fairytale come true. Poor immigrant works hard, becomes successful, finds love, buys a house, a dog (3 dogs actually), and lives happily ever after.
Yes, I am incredibly lucky; I could even be the poster child for the American Dream. Around four years ago my boss at the time asked me if I thought the American Dream was dead. It was a discussion we were having during our department retreat while having lunch at Millennium Park. I remember being horrified at the thought. For, there I was proof that one can pull themselves up by their bootstraps and make something of themselves. The American Dream was alive and kicking.
In American we give our lives to our jobs...
It is the end of 2010, I am 31, and just became a United States citizen six month ago. I have truly entered a new chapter in my life, and I am constantly freaked out about it. I have been contemplating so many questions over the past few months and I am nowhere near an answer than I was earlier this year.
When I took that oath of citizenship I swore off allegiance to any foreign sovereignty (or potentate). I basically swore off my past and took on a new identity. Yes, of course, one can never really “swear off” their past since it is part of my history, and my character. But, in a way, I was swearing off the past, and looking towards a brighter, more promising future in a new home that holds endless potential and promises for those strong and resilient enough to work for it. Since then, I have found myself contemplating such existential questions as: who am I really? What have I accomplished so far? Am I on the right path? Have I made the right decisions? My career clock is ticking and I need to find answers right now!!
Over the past year I have seen more gray sprouting all over my head and beard. Other than vanity, I find this very troubling since it serves as a reminder that I am getting older and I need to start figuring this shit out soon. I am struggling to find fulfillment in my life. I have concentrated on nothing over the past 10 years than doing what people expect me to do…get a job, a career, and build that tidy white picket fence around my life for all to admire and covet.
Now, as another year is approaching, I am pondering my accomplishments and second guessing my decisions. I am questioning my career choices and wondering if I have made the right decisions all this time. I have always said that I want a career that would allow me to make a positive difference in the world—this non-profit, international education, cultural exchange, peace, love and all that jazz. But, did I really mean, a career that makes a difference in the world, or a career that makes a difference for me? This whole idea of a career and making something out of myself has been embedded in my head all my life, because this is what we do where I come from. You are born, you go to school, you get excellent grades, you go to more school, you graduate, you get a job in some fancy shmancy something or other, or you take over the family business, get married, pop out boat load of kids, send them to school…etc. Your life is designed for you; it is what you are expected to do, and it is what most people do. There is no plan for gay immigrants turned citizens who don’t want kids, and do not want to follow in their father’s footsteps and take over the family business.
In the absence of a grand design, I have made it up as I go along. I have given the past few years of my life to my job that I don’t know what I would do without it. I don’t have a hobby, I don’t have many friends that are near and dear to me, and I spend eight hours of my day wondering to myself “is this it?”
I don’t want this to be it! But I don’t have a plan “B” either. I still don’t know what I want to do when I grow up; and when I grow up, I don’t know if I will like the answer either. But come hell or high water, I better figure it out.
…it’s time to take[my life] back.”
