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with me.
    On the way back, we passed the bookstore where I had spent time with my father and had sought his advice about which book to read next. We also went by the bakery where Sahir and I had munched on countless lemon pastries and hundreds of cookies made of toasted coconut. I did not realize then that I would miss it all: the speed breakers that punctuated the road, the vendors selling fresh guavas accompanied by the traditional
masala
, the heavily decorated buses weaving through the chaotic traffic.
    After returning to my mother’s new house, I glanced at the painting that we had moved from our old house and remembered with fondness the comparison Papa had drawn to it with ourfamily. My father was the mountain that stood tall and protected us from the harshness of the world beyond, while cementing us together. My mother was the tree providing us with cool shade, shielding us from the scorching sun. My brother was the many flowers, bright and colorful, bringing life and spreading joy. I was the lake beneath, tranquil and content. Little had he known that I would become the lone bird flying away far into the distance.
    Ammi helped me pack my things with tears in her eyes; it seemed she did not quite know what to say. She insisted I take several sets of the traditional
shalwar kameez
, many of which she had asked the tailor to stitch for me in a hurry immediately after my plans had been finalized. She wanted to make sure I did not forget my roots. She also slipped in a
janamaz
, or prayer rug, and a book with some verses from the Quran and quotations of Prophet Muhammad.
    “Don’t forget how to speak Urdu,” she said. I was surprised she could even contemplate the thought of me forgetting my mother tongue. She had forgotten her loving husband so quickly and had made all traces of him disappear with such ease, yet she was worried about my severed ties with my country and my language. The way she was bidding me farewell made it seem as though I was going for good. That is what I had asked for, so why did her farewell advice make me so despondent? I realized now that a part of me had wanted her to stop me. I probably would have declined, but the heaviness in my heart may have been lightened a bit. I had had a dream a few nights before my flight that I was leaving and my mother stood at the door, begging me not to go. But it was just a dream, and this time it was a dream I did not ask to wake up from. After all, I was the weed that had to be plucked out, carefully and cautiously, or I would ruin the good around me in my mother’s new garden.
    I did not care about which clothes or shoes I would leave behind; I just asked for the “All-Star Dad” mug and the familyportrait, which was now devoid of the protective glass that had covered it but retained the bronze frame bordering it. It was a depiction of what my family had been, the embodiment of happiness and unsurpassable harmony, all of us fitting together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. All of us posing for a picture, under direction of a professional photographer, the smiles on celluloid a precise translation of the joy within.
    The portrait was now merely a glimpse of what my life had been, simply a memory I was packing in my suitcase next to all my other tangible belongings: my hairbrush, my books and my pair of faded blue jeans.

Chapter 4

    I arrived in Freemont after what seemed like an endless flight. I had tried not to think about the horror of my recent past, the unpredictability of my future, or whether or not I was making wise choices for myself. I drowned myself in
Jane Eyre
, which I had shoved at the last minute into my carry-on luggage. Within minutes of landing, I immediately sensed a warm welcome and felt reassured that I had made the right decision. Asma Phuppo and Phuppa beamed with delight as they saw me emerge from the crowd at San Francisco Airport.
    In their house, my room had been arranged with considerable care. One wall was lined with a wooden