The Real Reason for my Immigration
When my girlfriend suggested that we should get engaged and move to her homeland, I agreed immediately. I told her that I would do anything to be by her side but that was a lie. The truth rests deep inside my heart. The real reason I agreed to move to the United States in the first place is Bagels!
My now fiancée talks about them all the time. My head hurts. I can’t live anymore without trying bagels. She describes them so vividly. They are round and filled with cream cheese and salmon. They have a hole in the middle for some weird reason that I still don’t understand. “It’s not about the hole!” She says; “that’s not what makes them special.” After looking at bagel picture number 156, I still think they look exactly like sandwiches with holes. But apparently, there’s more to them. There’s something about the cream cheese, the salmon, the other ingredients, or maybe the combination. It’s a mystery!
I still don’t know how I’m going to confront my fiancée. After three years of being together, she is unaware of her being the second reason I might be leaving Morocco this year. Bagels, what a fun name! I also never told her that I used to pronounce them Bagelles like Baguettes. If she knew about this, she might try to murder me, and it won’t matter if I tell her that my mispronunciation is only due to the French I was forced to learn at school when I was a child. She worships them.
Sometimes I wonder whether she loves them more than she loves me because I might if I tried them. Her detailed descriptions make me obsessed. I have a visa interview in a few months. I wish I lived in a world where I could just say the truth, “I am applying for this visa because I want to try bagels.” But our world is too cruel for that. I will have to skip the real reason and jump to describe my love and dedication to my fiancée. It’s unfair! Sometimes I feel like my life has been wasted without bagels. Once I try them, if they aren’t as good as my fiancée describes, I might lose my mind. My whole life depends on them. Right after the first bite, I will know if I’m in good hands. I will be able to judge whether our relationship is worth this lengthy and tiring immigration process. Obviously, bagels can easily top our 8-cent tortilla sandwiches with tuna, fries, and salad in the north of Morocco, but who knows? If they’re not as good as she claims, I will have to put on my Djellaba and take the closest flight back to where I belong.
