This is a continuation of my hypothetical autobiography.

Continued Development

At this point, the option was to:

1. Go back home and start over

2. Stay here and start over

Remember how I mentioned the societal pressure that my family was always aware of? That societal pressure made them realize that it would be a lot better trying to make a living in the States than going back and restarting in Bangladesh. Instead of one person being expelled, it was the whole family, it seemed like, and we couldn't go back.

So, we stayed. And to protect ourselves, we lied. We didn't tell any of our friends, relatives, or neighbors about our status. We told people that our residency visa was approved and that we were working here.

The pressure was a lot, and as a kid, I started coming up with other lies to blend in. Being a Muslim, undocumented immigrant from a country that not too many people were familiar with, I didn't see any other way to make friends than by being someone different than who I was. So, I came up with a cover, or lots of it.

I knew that I could speak English, albeit with an accent. I knew that I went to an English medium school growing up, and therefore, spoke and wrote in the British English. I took that concept and ran with it. I started telling people that I lived in England. At first, that was enough. But, as more and more people started asking me questions, my one lie became more and more elaborate. Most people knew about London, so I couldn't say that I lived there, because then, I might get found out. So, I remembered one of the teams I would play with in FIFA. They were in Blackpool. Seemed unfamiliar enough, so I started using that as my hometown. I started adding other pieces, like that I lived in Australia (another British Commonwealth country), and because I lived in so many places, I couldn't make friends. I came up with more lies to cover my previous lies, in order to keep my appearance up. I wanted to be liked, and it was a lot easier to be liked when you're a strange kid from England and Australia than when you're an undocumented kid with a funny accent from Bangladesh.

Realization

I kept on like this, for years. And years. That one white lie that I said to feel safe and included became a lot more over the years. I turned it into a really well-memorized, grandiose story about my life and upbringing. I used it to get girls, to break the ice at parties, and anytime I needed an out of my ordinary life.

A couple of years ago, as I was thinking back on my life, I realized that I couldn't fully recall my childhood. Not childhood as in the time when I was a baby, but even during my pre-teen years, a time that I should be able to recall. I had built up my imaginary life so strongly that I was visualizing growing up in the streets of England and Australia, countries I've never visited, more vividly than my real life. At that point, it hit me that I was replacing my own memories. This whole process was internal, so I kept on with the story, but I started being more aware of its impact on me.

The impact fully dawned on me when I met my girlfriend when I was traveling through Kaua'i. We had an instant connection and I wanted her to meet my parents back in LA. The problem that I had was that she was British, and I knew that if she were to speak with my family, my story would come out as false. So, to circumvent that, I had my dream girl not meet my parents. I was planning on moving to Canada with her soon enough anyways, and my hope was that once we did that, her interaction with them wouldn't be long enough for me to be found out.

But, I knew. I knew inside that this was wrong. I was preventing life to be enjoyed because of a protection of a lie.

Atonement

After I moved to Victoria, BC with my then girlfriend (now wife), my story didn't stop. At that point, I connected with that more than my reality. I still question if somehow, some way, it would've been alright to keep going with the story, especially since I connected with that more...hell, I lived most of life at this time telling myself that's the life I lived. But, I knew that I needed to come clean.

One night, I took a few mushrooms. Over the course of the evening, I couldn't think of anything else but this story that all of my close friends know me through. I tried going to sleep next to my wife, but I couldn't. I ended up staying awake all night.

When Jasmine got up early to get a cup of tea, she saw me sitting, facing the outdoors. She knew something was up...she always does. She sat down in front of me. I finally released. I told her everything. I cried. She cried. She held me as I told her how this started, and it evolved, and how it made me feel. She could understand.

And then, I told one of my close friends. And another. And it has continued since then.

Epilogue

I'm still working through coming clean with everyone in my life. To be honest, there's so many people that I've started to lose track of who knows my truth and who doesn't. I've had instances where I've told someone, just to hear from them that I already shared this before. I suppose if this is the only consequence of my story, I've come out winning on the other side.

Also, I haven't gotten the release that I thought I would. I figured that once I shared, I'd feel lighter, calmer, and happier. And while I do feel lighter and calmer on some days, I don't get the jubilation that I thought I would from coming clean. But, maybe that's the true life. All hard things don't always necessarily have to output an equal amount of euphoria.