Fifteen Pounds

Mahin knelt in front of the suitcase carefully organizing his essentials. The suitcase rested on a weight scale with the dial measuring just over three pounds. He continued packing clothes into the suitcase, carefully shifting the shirts, pants, and socks into neat corners to optimize space. His mother, Nasrin, pulled out shirts from his closet to assist him. She handed him another button-down shirt:

“Did you pack your socks? What about a suit? You’ll need it for your presentations, I hear Ph.D students do a lot of those.”

“Yes , Amma, I have two of those and the blazer. I just want to make sure I have space for everything,” Mahin insisted.

“And I want to make sure you have enough. Can you buy more white shirts from over there? Do they sell them in the Netherlands? I’ve never heard of this place before you applied for that program,” Nasrin admitted.

“Well,” Mahin revealed the collar label from one of his shirts, “they’re all made in Bangladesh, so I think I’ll be okay,” he said sarcastically.

Mahin continued packing his suitcase. He was strictly informed that he was only allowed one luggage and that it must be below fifteen pounds. In order to maximize this space, he prioritized the bare essentials. He carefully folded his shirts & pants, left a small pocket for the pairs of socks, and slid a folder containing his passport and documents into a zippered pouch beneath the hem of the suitcase. Underneath the clothes were a binder full of his old Pokemon cards that he carefully slipped underneath. Nasrin caught eye of this:

“What’s that? Are those your old Pokemon cards?”

Mahin knew his mother wouldn’t understand how these holographic pieces of cardboard merited bringing along on his trip thousands of miles away or how it would benefit his strenuous Ph.D program over the next five years. He nodded in acknowledgement and continued packing the suitcase.

Nasrin observed the scattered items around his suitcase. She hadn’t seen him play with those Pokemon cards since college- but neither had he ridden the old rustic rollerblades since he was a teenager, nor the ukulele that he picked up during his high school heartbreak phase.

“Baba, you’re not trying to take all these with you- are you?” she asked.

“Ah- yes, Amma. Of course, I can make it fit,” he answered self-assuredly.

Nasrin nodded and started inspecting the items scattered around the suitcase. From old videogames to diaries he’s kept since high school, she wondered why these warranted being stuffed into his suitcase. She inspected one of his rollerblades:

“Mahin- is this wheel not supposed to move?”

“Oh, well no. I never had a chance to fix them, I think a little WD-40 should get the wheel moving again.”

Surprised at his aloofness, she then picked up his ukulele and strummed one of the strings.

“Mahin, does this sound kind of off?”

“Uh, I think it needs to be tuned. Let me see that actually.”

He took the ukulele and started lining up the length of it with the suitcase, assessing if it would fit better horizontally or diagonally. The weight scale slowly started rising.

“Mahin, were you planning on bringing all of these with you?”

“Well- yes, Amma. I know they’re old but they still work,” he said confidently.

“You haven’t touched them in years,” she muttered under her breath.

Nasrin continued watching her son struggle to squeeze his old memorabilia into the lone suitcase. She wondered what merited these items. However, as a twenty-seven year old man who will be beginning his Ph.D program in the Netherlands next week, she decided he had earned his right to pack as he wished. After all, at twenty-seven, Nasrin had just left for the states. Her Master’s degree from Dhaka University didn’t translate well after arrival, leaving her to start from the ground up as a linecook as a local burger shop. She wondered where her old diaries, pashminas, and bangles were left behind after she left Dhaka.

Mahin continued packing for the next few hours alone. He finally managed to cram his rollerblades, ukulele, diaries, and old videogames into the suitcase- inside, around, under, and over the other bare essentials. He gave one last look at his luggage- an intimate, chaotic mosaic of his life. Closing the lid and pressing his weight down, he struggled to finally zip it closed. He leaned back and took a sigh of relief after shutting it. The jam-packed suitcase was stuffed, the outline of his rollerblades and ukulele protruded from the inside.

He leaned over and checked the weight scale:

Oh shit.

The weight was at twenty-two pounds, seven over the airline limit. He reluctantly pulled open the zipper, almost as tight as shutting it closed. It finally opened, exhaling a sigh of relief. He lifted the rollerblades out to measure the weight displacement- cutting down three pounds. He stuffed it back and then removed the ukulele- two pounds. The old videogames- remaining two pounds. He stuffed everything back and recounted the weight scale to ensure it wasn’t lying- it wasn’t.

Over the next hour, he tried different combinations of removing clothes, reorganizing them, and even assessing whether he can remove his clothes all together. Nothing worked.

He continued sitting in front of the suitcase- gaze fixated at his old memorabilia taking up space.

Mahin grabbed one of the rollerblades and inspected it closely, examining the chipped paint and stuck wheel. He recalled putting on his skates for the first time as a teenager, trying them out for the first time inside the narrow hallways within the apartment complex. He eventually graduated to skating outdoors with his friends, with wild dreams that he’d skate forever professionally even though his wildest stunts capped at jumping over trash cans.

“I’m never going to stop skating, man,” his friend told him back then.

“And I’m never tossing these! I’ll pass them down to my kids if I have to,” Mahin said gleefully.

He smiled fondly at the rollerblade and squeezed it back inside the suitcase, and then picked up his ukulele. The strings were out of tune and loose, not tightened or maintained in years. The Guitar Center near his alma mater had since shut down, but he swears he still has the muscle memory to play Somewhere Over the Rainbow and La Vie en Rose. He recalled purchasing this a week after breaking up with his high school sweetheart, and the hours on end afterwards spent studying YouTube tutorials. Mahin placed the ukulele snugly back inside the suitcase. He then uncovered the trove of old videogames organized underneath his shirts and pants. An old Playstation, gameboy, and a collection of old games sitting flat, side-by-side. Endless hours spent with his cousins playing these games at large family parties, many of whom he doesn’t see anymore.

He squeezed everything back together inside the suitcase and checked the weight again: back at twenty-two pounds. Mahin continued reminiscing, staring back at the stuffed suitcase.

There’s no way I’m letting go of any of these, he thought to himself.

A brochure was buried next to the other items scattered around the suitcase- the same one that introduced him to the Ph.D program he’s currently enrolled in.

Build your career in the Netherlands! Enroll by August 18th for the Fall semester!

Mahin kept this brochure for years throughout college. Leaving home for school felt out of reach, while staying in the city at the local university was considered realistic and at the very least, affordable. He never spent a semester abroad, let alone travel for Spring Break. He also rarely left the neighborhood, traveling only for school and sticking to the same friends from the neighborhood he grew up in. He built a box for himself, but enjoyed peeking outside and peering into the distance. Whether it was graduating from skating inside the hallways to the streets, or finally filling in his application to study abroad for his Ph.D- he was curious of the outside world.

However, his fears of what’s beyond kept him at bay. He kept his rollerblades, ukulele, and video games safe, collecting dust in his closet for years.

Stepping away from his suitcase, he sat at his desk and read his acceptance letter.

Dear Mahin Rana,

We are pleased to accept your application for the Ph.D in Data Science & Statistics in the Netherlands Research University. We trust that your strong background and work experience will be a valuable asset to the program and the student body.

Please find the link below to confirm your acceptance and seat in our program. We are excited to have you onboard our program.

He re-read the email multiple times, as he had the first time he received this letter. He already knew the programs he enrolled in, the sites he planned to visit, and the professors by name. While going through his online student portal, he realized: he never placed his deposit.

What would’ve normally made him anxious and potentially jeopardized his enrollment, gave him some relief. This loophole felt like a backdoor exit, an escape from having to let go of what seemed to be his life in the states. He thought to himself: if he were to drop everything right now, at least he wouldn’t lose out on the two-thousand dollar deposit. Mahin glanced back at his overly stuffed suitcase and wondered if he needed to go at all.

He leaned back in his chair and swiveled away from the computer and suitcase, scrolling mindlessly on his phone. A few memes came up.

A ridiculous video of someone landing a basketball shot from a rooftop with the top comment: Your unemployed friend on a random Tuesday.

The next one: an influencer reporting on his legendary semester off- with quick edits of his trip to Japan.

Finally- a targeted ad enticing him to travel to the Netherlands. He scrolled past it quickly, but it festered in his mind. The idea of dropping everything quietly became more favorable.

“Maybe I don’t need to go,” he thought to himself.

“Ph.D’s are so long. Most take five to seven years, why bother?” his mind rattled.

“The market is bad anyway, imagine being an unemployed Ph.D student” he debated with himself.

Nasrin returned to check on Mahin’s progress with the suitcase. It laid open with everything squeezed inside, but Mahin was scrolling away on his phone. She was astonished– he was somehow able to squeeze together clothes, papers, books, games, a ukulele, and a pair of rollerblades in his suitcase.

“Looks like you have everything in place, huh?” she asked.

He nodded lazily, not looking up. She continued:

“Excited for your trip, baba? This is your first time leaving…”

Mahin shut his phone and looked down. He paused until he finally looked up at her:

“Amma,” he said pointedly, “I was thinking, maybe, I can start with a late semester.”

“Keno?” she asked, wondering what changed his mind.

“I mean- I heard it was nice to take some time off. Ph.D’s take a long time, you know?” he skirted around her question.

Nasrin looked longingly at her son.

“Mahin, what’s this about?” she asked forwardly, “You wanted this for a long time. You always wanted to travel.”

“Yes, but you know how it is– money, travel costs. I’m going to miss your food. You’ll feel better having me closer to home, no?”

Nasrin listened but her eyes wandered to the suitcase. She slowly walked across her rooms and examined it, seeing the scale weigh beyond fifteen pounds.

“Is this it?” she asked, pointing at the suitcase.

Mahin looked away.Nasrin exhaled and sat down next to him.

“It’s not about the rollerblades, is it?” she said looking at him.

Mahin nodded reluctantly.

“It’s not the ukulele. It’s not the video games,” she continued.

“I don’t think I’m ready for this right now,” he muttered with his croaked voice.

She lets him continue.

“Amma- I’m not ready to let everything go. This is all me. The broken skates, untuned ukulele, old games. I know it’s childish, but where will they go without me? Now I’m supposed to go away to the Netherlands. I know I wanted to do this, but, who am I over there? I don’t speak Dutch, nor do I have any friends there. I have nothing and I’ll be nobody there.”

Nasrin sat with her son in silence. She glanced back at his suitcase and pined over old memories. When he first started learning how to rollerblade on his own in those narrow hallways, to when he first came home with that ukulele. What bengali boy is playing the ukulele- she wondered at first. Is this just a tiny guitar? At least it sounds cute, she’d settle with. The videogames he’d play with his cousins during their family parties that were once so festive and lively.

“Mahin,” she said while looking down at his suitcase, “Did you know I used to have a scooter?”

“You did?” his curiosity piqued.

“Yup- it was a little pedal pusher, but it was better than the rough traffic in Dhaka. Got me to and from school everyday, barely broke a sweat,” she commended herself.

“I never thought you’d be scootering with those bad knees,” he joked.

“Oh yeah,” she continued, “I used to have a journal just like yours. I’d collect leaves and press them between the pages. It was enough to preserve them, I thought I’d keep them forever.”

“You don’t have it anymore? Where is it?”

“Who knows,” she followed up nonchalantly, “I wonder where they are too. When your father and I eloped, we didn’t have much time to secretly pack all our belongings. So we just took what we could and left. I miss my old journals, all my thoughts growing up- gone. I sometimes wonder where they’ve gone.”

“Amma- maybe we can find it. Can we call auntie and see if she can find it?”

“No baba, that’s long gone now. I was scared of coming to the states too- they didn’t care about the degree I had, where I came from, and I didn’t know a lick of English.”

“Amma,” his voice lowered.

“No baba,” she continued, “you’re worried about leaving yourself here, but your roots will stay with you. You can plant your feet wherever you go, and your heart is a collection of everyone you love.”

Mahin looked up at his mother. She continued:

“Us Bengali people, we’re nomads. You’ll find us building skyscrapers in Dubai, in the kitchen of the Indian restaurant up north, even the delicatessen on that shoddy corner. We didn’t have a country barely fifty years ago, but that never stopped us.”

She leaned in closely and gave her son a kiss on his cheek.

“I love you baba, you’ll still be you wherever you go. There’s history in your eyes and poetry on your tongue.”

After Nasrin exited, Mahin rose from his seat. He peered over at his suitcase and slowly removed his rollerblades. The weight scale dipped to nineteen pounds. He put them in an empty box, and then removed his videogames. Seventeen pounds. The ukulele joined the others in the box.

Mahin exhaled a sigh of relief, feeling lighter. He taped the cardboard box down and zipped the suitcase shut- much easier than last time. He peered over one last time at the weight scale.

Fifteen pounds.