I think about the events in my life that will begin to unravel soon. It hits me that I’m growing up sooner than I can comprehend mentally. I’m 20 years old. I’m in love. I’m in pain.


In July, I’m going to leave for India for five years. My parents have arranged for me to study medicine in one of the colleges there. I’m going to become a doctor.


I have never been to India.


When my mother first mentioned the idea a few months ago, I had my mind dead-set against it. I cried. I called my boyfriend and had to fight to breathe to get these words out.


I’m going to go away. Don’t forget me. Don’t leave me.


I’m going to be separated from my brothers, who are my right and left arms. I’m going to be separated from him, who is my centre- my heart.


I don’t know when I’ll see them again. Ontario is known to be the most difficult place in the world, along with California, to gain residency in. The plan is that I finish medical school in India and go straight to the states. Possibly live the rest of my life there, somewhere.


If I could tell you how my heart breaks every time I think about it, I would be unable to type all this right now. I am somehow managing to keep my composure, keep sane. When asked about how I feel, I smile and remark on excitement. I feel beads of regret forming on my forehead like a spotlight shining against me. I become dizzy and unable to constrain thoughts.


I don’t know when I’ll see you ever again. My life will be switched upside-down.

I’m going to go away. Don’t forget me. Don’t leave me.



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