On the 2nd of June, my interview preparation journey began. The clock was ticking, and I had just two days left before my visa interview on the 4th of June.
Suddenly, I found myself being pulled into the whirlwind of practice mocks. As I stepped into the virtual meeting room, I was greeted by faces mirroring my own anticipation and nervousness.
Then, out of nowhere, Priyonti thrust me onto the front lines. I was under the spotlight, and the barrel of questions pointed right at me. Riad, with his arsenal of queries, was going berserk, firing one question after another. I stumbled, faltered, and struggled to shield myself. My answers, unprepared and raw, were my only defense.
Fear crept in, whispering doubts and painting grim pictures. That day, I gave three mock interviews, each preparing me for the worst while hoping for the best.
The nights leading up to the interview were a whirlwind of anticipation and preparation. I imagined stern-faced officers, their eyes hidden behind thick glasses, firing off tricky questions like rapid-fire rounds.
Each night, I paced around in front of the mirror with a 3-page script in my hand. I was the actor, the audience, and the director, all rolled into one. I rehearsed my lines, each word carefully chosen. “Yes, I am planning to return after my studies.” “No, I don’t have any relatives in the USA.”
I must have looked like a mental patient, talking to myself, lost in my world. But it was just my way of preparing, of making sure I was ready for any question that came my way.
The morning of the interview, I woke up before the alarm. I put on my best shirt, looking like a penguin. I double-checked my documents, triple-checked my passport, and quadruple-checked the interview time. All the while, my father insists that I have breakfast. But the anxiety was a bit too much to stomach, quite literally.
I arrived at the embassy a whole hour before my interview. After an hour-long wait outside the embassy, they finally let me in. By then, my shirt had changed color and was soaked with sweat.
At the gate, they verified my passport and appointment confirmation letter before letting me in. I joined a queue that led to a waiting room. In there, two individuals were busy placing stickers on passports. When it was my turn, they asked for my name, fixed a sticker on the back of my passport, and scanned it with a barcode scanner. After that, they directed me to the interview waiting area.
The waiting area was a line of seats. After a 15-minute wait, I finally reached my interview room. The room was air-conditioned, which helped calm my nerves. The first thing they asked me to do was approach a counter. I thought this was my big moment. But it was just the first window. They asked me about my destination and scanned my passport. Then, they directed me to the fingerprint counter.
At the fingerprint counter, there was an Asian lady who was making an earnest attempt to speak Bangla. However, her pronunciation was a bit off, and her sentences, like “Dottangul exatte," were hard to understand. Her hand gestures were my only guide through the process. She asked for my passport at the beginning and returned it to me afterwards.
Next, I was directed to join a long line of benches that accommodated about 70 people. The line gradually moved forward, and I got my first glimpse of a visa officer. He was stationed at counter 6 and was asking the visa questions that I had practiced. Each interview lasted between 3 and 5 minutes. Interestingly, all the other counters were vacant. I assumed they were on a lunch break. I carefully observed the officer as he asked each question, trying to discern what exactly he was looking for.
The white gentleman with brown curly hair was rejecting most visas after probing finance-related questions. I was quietly rehearsing my answers, watching as only about 20 out of the 70 people in line received their visas. Each rejection was a blow; some people broke down in tears, others crumpled their rejection slips in frustration. By then, my mind had started to wander towards backup plans, preparing for the possibility of my visa being rejected.
Just before my visa interview, a black lady with braids and glasses arrived at counter 10. When my turn came, I was directed to the same counter. Here’s how the conversation unfolded:
Visa Officer: How much of this scholarship is the loan vs. how much is the grant? Me: $3500 are loans, and $70,000 are grants.
Visa Officer: Why did you choose Reed? Me: Officer, I was looking for colleges that offered a strong mathematics program. Reed stood out to me for several reasons. They have a discussion-based class experience and a senior thesis requirement, which promote active learning and in-depth understanding of the class materials. They also have a Paideia Week program where students get to teach any course of their choice for a week to their peers and learn from them. Finally, Reed practices blind grading. Here, exams and papers are returned not with a labeled grade but with descriptive feedback from professors, improving the quality of the work.
Visa Officer: What do your parents do? Me: My father is a businessman who imports **** from various countries. My mother is the principal at a local government high school.
Visa Officer: Do you have any siblings? Me: Yes, I have a younger sister.
Visa Officer: Congratulations! I’m approving your visa. I’ll be keeping your passport. Here’s your I-20. Me: Thank you so much! Have a nice day, Officer!
My father waited patiently outside the embassy. At 3 p.m., I emerged from the building, waving a leaflet. Its blue hue stood out against the backdrop of the maroon building. When it caught my father’s eye, his face broke into a wide grin. His voice echoed through the streets, a symphony of joyous exclamations and cheers. It was a spectacle of pure, unadulterated happiness, a dance of victory that painted an unforgettable picture on the canvas of that day.
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