As I made my way towards the room, the wooden boards creaked under my feet and something in the room began to move. It sounded like clinking chains dragging across the floor. Finally someone asked, “Nabila?” I instantly recognized my aunt’s voice. I asked her what happened to her, but she simply responded by telling me to go away. This was the last interaction I had with my aunt before I left from Bangladesh to New York at age four.
Prior to this moment, every time my mother had to leave for college and my father had to teach at his university, my parents left their little shaitan (“devil” in Bengali) with my aunt. We sat on my grandfather’s old front porch, sheltered from the scorching summer heat but it was still sweltering- which is actually normal weather for a day in Bangladesh. Despite the heat and the chores she had yet to complete, my aunt’s decision to stay with me helped to strengthen our bond. We played “Luddo” (the Bengali version of “Trouble”) together. She would always give me a prize - even if I lost, and we did not focus on my loss even though we were both aware of it. Her unshakable faith in me had been one of the greatest constants in my life.
When my aunt fell ill, my parents were hesitant about letting me get near her. Two years later my parents shattered my world by telling me that my aunt passed away. I was not allowed to ask about her after her death. When I did my dad said, “Let the dead stay dead.” I was enraged that my family members locked her away and did not get her treated. I became a difficult child once I saw how reluctant everyone was to speak about my aunt. I stayed outside for hours and refused to eat on several occasions as my aunt had. I asked, “If I do not listen, will you lock me up too?” I hoped they would notice this drastic change in my behavior, but they never did. Because of my family’s neglect towards my aunt, I still have a hard time confronting my family.
As a child I was incapable of helping my aunt; however, now I am able to help others. My experience with my family showed me how not to be towards others when they need help. So I volunteer at Lenox Hill Hospital, attending to the patients and getting them anything they need. I met a woman who worked in the hospital for twenty five years, but was now a patient. She was lost in the chaos of in the hospital - the sounds of pagers beeping, patients crying out for medication, and the arrival of a new face every fifteen minutes - because the overworked doctors could not get to every patient. She seemed very lonely and I saw that she did not have any family members to offer her any support or assurance. I decided to approach the woman who was lost amongst the bustling environment of the hospital. I told the woman I was a volunteer and asked her if I could get her some pillows to make her stay more comfortable. After I got some pillows for the woman, she thanked me profusely. This moment made me feel very content because I knew that my aunt would be proud of me for helping that woman. I continued to help as many people as I could during my time at the hospital: bringing food, getting pillows, and finding nurses for patients.
I knew I was missing out on being with my friends by volunteering at the hospital, but I just loved reaching out to others. My aunt’s experience made me appreciate the power of helping others. And now her influence directs my life’s pursuits: to aid others. And from here my story continues.