The cost of being a millennial in Bangladesh

As a millennial, we are promised that, by the time we grow up, the world will be at our feet. We grew up with a false assurance that we were on the fastest and best possible track to reach the highest peak. Our goals were set for us. Our expectations of the world were built in such a way that, by the time reality hit us, it was already fragile. We grew up in a developing nation watching Hollywood movies, where the protagonist goes to work on a fine sunny day with gourmet coffee in his hand, waving smiles at his beautiful neighbours, waits for a minute at the subway, hops on a fast train, and reaches his posh office in a high-rise in downtown Manhattan. We grew up reading Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, alongside a home economics textbook that taught us that a woman’s most important job is to do household work. At the same time, we were being spoon-fed glimpses of a better, beautiful life, while having shoved down our throats the setbacks of our poorly built, primitive system. When we stepped onto the “real world,” the only thing we got to see was how we were adorned with fake promises.

We want our policy-makers to think of of us first, not their respective political party. We want universities that will teach us, not train us. A decent public transport system that will take us to work on time. Decent traffic laws enforced in the streets

Did we really get a choice when we were forced into living this dual life? Is it really our fault that we want to get away seeking a better life? Is it our fault that the country fails to provide the minimum facilities to nurture its young talents? Why wouldn’t we go for a better lifestyle in a foreign land where we may feel valued, our talent acknowledged? Make no mistake, we are patriots. We love our country as much as the next person. Our Liberation War is a glorious chapter of our history to us as well, and we too try our best to uphold the image of our country in the most positive ways possible. But it gets tougher every day when the government won’t play its part. What do I tell my friend from Serbia when she asks why there is so much crowding on the streets, dancing and singing and blocking the roads unnecessarily, eyeing girls in the most inappropriate ways possible? How do I tell her that, no, it’s not a national festive holiday, it’s a “celebration” because our country has finally become eligible to graduate to a developing nation from a least developed one? One look at that day’s happenings and she’ll start to doubt the legitimacy of that graduation. Was it really necessary? Our reality has already hit us hard, and, no, we don’t really want the “world will be at your feet” promise anymore. We only want a decent lifestyle in a decent city. We want to get out everyday and not die coughing from all the construction debris lying everywhere. We want our girls to be able to move freely and without fear in the streets, occupied to the brim with our own countrymen. We want our policy-makers to think of of us first, not their respective political party. We want universities that will teach us, not train us. A decent public transport system that will take us to work on time. Decent traffic laws enforced in the streets. We want justice, rights, and the platform to think and speak freely. We have all the manpower, all the potential, all the resources. Throw a little goodwill and vision in that mix and we are all set. We are transits. Us, millennials. From one generation to another. From one age to another. The cost of this transit is a lot to bear. But is it too much to ask for the bare minimum?Zarif Faiaz is a freelance contributor.