I’ve been working on my personal narrative, trying to make it as good as possible. I have only written half of it so far. Let me know if it needs changes. Thanks.
Amidst the bustle on the Hong Kong Airport, I walked to my next terminal gate. In the glass window to my right, above the horizon of airplane tails, I gazed at the congested metropolitan, full of high-rise towers. The shimmer on the bay water and clear blue sky hoaxed calmness and ease. Walking the long mile in the sea of people, I couldn’t help but think of the events that had surpassed fourteen hours ago. Somehow the garrulous teenager and stories of her erratic life in Australia had swayed my mind for the past nine hours. But now, I walked alone.
“Got everything you need? … Passport? I-20? Kuch reh tou nahin giya? (Anything left?)” said my dad, as we walked out the front door. “No, I think we have everything. Let’s go before I miss the flight,” I replied. My mom was already in the front seat. The weather was a little better than it was yesterday, less humid. But the scorching August sun in the clear sky made the air hot. It was a usual Pakistani day. I squeezed in the middle of the back seat, my siblings on either side.
“Remember; call me as soon as you get to Karachi. Phuppa Jaan would be there to pick you up, ok? Tell him if you need something to eat, alright? You would be hungry by then, I should have made you sandwich. Do you want a sandwich? It will only take a minute … buy something from the airport then. Is your cell phone charged? Call me before you board the plane…” my mother continued talking while I nodded my head. I knew that she was the one most concerned. I can never forget how hard it was to convince her to let me go to college in the states. None of her siblings, or her children had attended college outside Pakistan.
No one mentioned when I’ll be seeing them again, but of course, the question still loomed in the back of our heads. The usual conversation continued till we pulled up in the parking spot close to the departure terminal. My brother and I took out the suitcase trolleys from the trunk. “Bang!” the trunk’s lid closed.
You have developed a scene—helped us see your parents through details. Now what is your central message?
I loved all the descriptions that you gave about your parents. I'm getting the sense that your central message has to do with coming to the States and going to college in Utah which is completely different from Pakistan. Is there a change in you as a person? Is that the central message?
I like where this is going. Maybe a little more description of Pakistan.