As an aspiring author, seeing my name on a book cover has always been a dream. I call it a dream because as a full time engineer, I never thought I would write a book, let alone have a book cover with my name on it. After years of people urging me to write a book, I finally decided to give it a shot. Writing the book has been a fascinating journey. I never thought I would enjoy interviewing people and converting those talks into stories as much as I did. Every story fascinated me. Every person poured their heart out to us which in turn became America Deconstructed.
In the past few months so much has happened to us. We began querying our book to agents and publishers since 2015. For almost two years we were stuck in a maze that included amazing feedback and no “real” contract. I say real because we had publishers who offered to publish our book if we paid them, agents who almost gave us a contract until they realized we queried one of their publishers – the list is almost endless. We have wondered if seeing our name on a book cover was even reasonable. Every person reaches a point when you have had enough. Early this year, Shaima, my coauthor and I decided to crowdfund our book through the Publishizer platform. Publishizer was a crowdfunding site for authors. They are the publishing market version of Tinder where they match authors with publishers. Through Publishizer, we did not get 250 pre-orders but ended up getting a traditional contract. In July, we signed our first publishing contract with Motivational Press.
We were yet to see our names on a book cover. That momentous occasion happened last week when we finally saw our book cover with our names on it. This journey is far from over. But every little milestone is celebrated because we realize every small victory is a celebration of immigrant power. Our book releases in Spring 2018 and we cannot wait.
To follow our journey, please follow us on our social media.
As the world was going through major changes- Donald Trump becoming the President of the United States of America and immigrants and refugees were being cornered, America Deconstructed has been trying to get published. When we began this little project our motive was simple- we were not trying to change the world, we were hoping to show a glimpse into the immigrant world- our world. We wanted people to know the intricate details of being an immigrant beyond visa stamps, the sacrifice, the humor, trials and ultimately tribulations. Did we want you to sympathize with them? Absolutely not! We just wanted you to join us on this little ride called immigrant life.
The last few months changed the focus of our book. We went from writing a book for entertainment to realizing this book had to be published now. We realized America Deconstructed could show immigrants in a positive light beyond the laws and policies. We started a crowdfunding campaign to gather pre-orders so publishers can be interested in our little project. We have been told to self publish and we could use Amazon to do it easily. We want this book to be published and receive the attention it deserves. Please click on the link below and pre-order this book.
It was my first semester at San Jose State University, California and my sixth month on the American soil. I was meeting one of my classmates at the library to help her with her Math. I walked into the library and saw her stand at the elevator. She greeted me with a hug. As we hugged I hear her make kissing sounds. I clearly did not feel the kisses on my cheek. I looked back wondering who those kisses were intended for. I did not see anyone behind me. I pretended to know exactly what transpired but I was confused.
I met her few days later again and the kissing happened again. It was around the time when Paris Hilton was all over the television with her “It’s Hot” line. As I was watching Entertainment Network, I saw Paris Hilton “air kiss” another celebrity. I had my Ah-ha moment at that instant. I had been air kissed! Did I blush…absolutely not! In fact I spent hours pondering why anyone who had no associations with Hollywood decided to air kiss.
As the holidays are upon us, we are especially thankful to our followers for joining us and supporting us through this journey.
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I often catch myself referring to India as home in spite of living in America for over fifteen years. In the fifteen years I have lived in America, I have visited India twice which in total amounts for probably a little over a month of the entire duration. As immigrants in a foreign country, beyond the legalities and the paperwork the hardest aspect is feeling at home in the place you immigrant to. Home is often a security blanket for most people on good days and especially bad days. It’s knowing you have family who will hold you and see you through the bad. I was fortunate to have immigrated to America with family. I have encountered several 20-21 year olds in college who immigrated alone and often miss the comforts of that security blanket. As immigrants, forging a sense of being home in a new country is often the hardest task. In spite of having family with me, India has continued to be my home. It is the inexplicable that makes India home for me. It is friends who don’t need words to sense how you feel, family and sense of belonging that makes India home for me.
As the holidays are upon us and we celebrate it with friends and family, I am especially thankful for the family and friends I made in America who make it almost home.
I have gray hair on my head. The wrinkles on my face show the years I have on me. I have been called several things in my life, wife, mother, daughter, sister, teacher and bitch. I was in my early 50’s and had been in America for few years at this point. I was living in Oakland, California with my four daughters. I did not drive a car so the only way I could go anywhere was by taking the bus. I took the bus every time I had to go somewhere. I was getting off the bus with several other people when I saw a child coming close to our bus. I had four children of my own. I touched the child’s head to steer her in the other direction. I was a mother and I would hope someone would steer my child if they were coming close to the bus. The child’s mother did not see it that way. She charged at me and started yelling at me, “Bitch, stop touching my child”. I was shocked because back in Afghanistan and Pakistan every child was like your child and you tried to protect them or guide them. You felt a sense of responsibility for a child, period. I tried to explain to her that I was trying to steer her child away from the bus and did not intend any harm. The mother eventually calmed down and apologized to me. I was in a state of shock for few days after that episode. I never thought at 50+ that I would be called a bitch and would be seen as a threat to a child.