<p>The plane was huge, but felt small as we landed in the country of my birth.&nbsp;It was a place that I had left fourteen years earlier, just days short of my second birthday, obviously not able to make the decision whether to stay or leave.&nbsp;That decision was made for me by my Indian birthmother and my American parents.&nbsp;Now I was returning to India as an American teen. &nbsp;I was excited to be seeing my brother, who had been studying abroad in the city of my birth, Madras, and city of my orphanage, Madurai. &nbsp;However, what was different about me from other American teens was that I was finally going to look like other people on the street.&nbsp;I was thinking about the differences that I would experience in the culture of my birth from the culture I grew up in.&nbsp;The questions swirled:&nbsp;&nbsp;Would I remember anything?&nbsp;Would I decide I missed India?&nbsp;Would I want to stay?&nbsp;&nbsp;</p> <p>As we got off the plane I was anxious to see Joey.&nbsp;I wanted to sneak and blend, for the first time in my life, into a group of Indians just so I could go quickly through their fast-moving line. &nbsp;&nbsp;I couldn&rsquo;t think about anything except seeing Joey and being the first one to give him a hug. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</p> <p>Then, there in a doorway, was my six-foot-tall brother, towering behind all of the shorter Indian men!&nbsp;&nbsp;He came up to us wearing a skirt (lungi) and carrying a green, patterned bag!&nbsp; My brother had gone to a third-world country where he didn&rsquo;t speak anything close to English, didn&rsquo;t use toilet paper, ate with his hands, and wore a &quot;skirt &quot;and &quot;purse&quot;!--nextpage--</p> <p>The next day, on the way to pick fabric for our saris, I saw beggars lying on the street. &nbsp;I could pick any beautiful fabric I wanted for only eight dollars.&nbsp;It was such a small sum, but I knew it was too much for the poor on the streets, and I felt spoiled.</p> <p>While the saris were being made we went for lunch and Joey taught me that I needed to eat without a fork, using my right hand only.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Since I am left-handed, this was a challenge for me, but I wanted to blend in.&nbsp;We picked up our saris and my next challenge was to learn how to tie 6 meters of fabric around my body and still be able to walk!</p> <p>Before we went to visit the slum school where Joey was teaching, he told me I couldn&rsquo;t wear my new silk sari.&nbsp;He said that this neighborhood was very, very poor and it would be more polite to wear my cotton salwar.&nbsp;When we got there, I understood.&nbsp;I thought about how perhaps that is how I would be living, had I stayed in India.</p> <p>As the days went on and we toured the city, orphanage, and ate delicious meals in simple hotels, my earlier concerns vanished.&nbsp;&nbsp; The longer I was in India, the more I appreciated the culture of my birth, but I also realized that who I was and where I belonged did not depend on a culture or a spot in the world. &nbsp;I am not just Indian or American, but Indian-American, proud of both of my cultures, and happy to be exactly who I am, exactly where I am.&nbsp;The longer I was in India, the more I thought about leaving Joey when we went home. &nbsp;&nbsp;Because, in the end, the family you belong to is the one you miss when they are not with you.</p> Julia Nejedlo 2008-09-21T19:42:27Z F 2006-12-26 6719 1085 Scholarship active Honorable Mention 2008 FTF Teen Travel Writing Scholarship 2010-02-09T15:40:41Z 17435