I walk the chilly morning under the tree covered park. My toes freezing, my fingers numb in my pocket. My mind is singing to whatever song on the automatic playlist in my brain. I am a migrant – a struggling one. My body is tired and my mind almost, but my spirit still up.
The temperature often drops to minus ten degrees in the morning and it is still the start of winter. I have been excitedly expecting snow, looking out the main road on the window from my room every morning. “Is there snow yet?”
No, just frost, thick frost like the one you scrape in the freezer. The mountains are already covered with snow. Each day, the white apparition keeps getting closer. I am a migrant in one of the alpine villages in New Zealand. Back in my country there is no snow. That is why I am excited for one.
That’s my daily routine five or six days a week.
At work, I scrub toilets, bath tubs, and showers. I wash soiled dishes, empty rubbish and clean kitchen. I’d be lucky if the kitchen is clean if not, it takes me more than ten minutes wiping dry dishes, cleaning the fridge and freezer and scrubbing stubborn grease on ovens.
What is happening? Why am I doing this? I don’t know.
I am a migrant and I am starting my life from zero. I also work with similar migrants. Most of us are professionals back in our own countries. Some from the engineering profession, others in health and medicine but here no, we start from scratch.
In my previous job when I was still a student in Auckland and working in the same industry. I work with an archaeologist and a stuntman/actor. The latter often plays the role of an assassin because he looks like one, no offense meant. He is a good martial artist as well. No, they are not migrants and yes we all clean because there are no jobs available, yet.
I feel the pain of a migrant. I feel the pain of being a stranger and away from my own land. I feel the pain of being alienated from my potential. I feel the pain of being deluded by a good marketing scheme to study and work here.
I sing my pain and frustration away – scrubbing hard, singing in my head, wishing I will own my own hotel chain one day.
I go home exhausted. We all go home exhausted. Literally and figuratively.
At night, I fight my body pains and sore feet with a hot shower. I thought that my work which does not require me a lot of thinking will give me a good opportunity to blog at night, but no. Or maybe, I am just adjusting physically and mentally. I am giving myself time.
I have always wanted to write about my misadventures in New Zealand. I have already received a good number of e-mails. Most of them wanting to come here are optimistic, others are calculated. But my goal which is to inform at least, is achieved.
My mind is drifting away. I wish to write more but my warm bed is welcoming. Tomorrow is my day off but I’m called to work. I could not say no. I want to earn and save and put up my hotel chain.
“Dreams do come true for without that possibility nature would not incite us to have them.” – John Updike