Documentary Review: International Students’ First 48 hours & Life After Graduation
- Alaina Zhang
- 6 hours ago
- 5 min read
by Alaina Zhang for The 44 North, Newsletter & Reviews Editor
“I don’t know how airlines expect us to put 25 or 24 years of our [lives] into two suitcases and just move across the globe.” —Pahul Sond, From“International Students: First 48 Hours”
As a Canadian student studying in the U.S., seeing a documentary following the experiences of international students in Canada—a place I’ve called home for many years—brings forth an array of feelings. It makes me wonder what it would have been like to stay in Vancouver and study at the University of British Columbia, which is so close to my home. What could I have gained, and what might I have lost?
The documentaries International Students: First 48 Hours and International Students: Life After Graduation address some of these questions. Filmed and produced by Cal Campos, a Media Producer and Inclusivity Public Speaker from Toronto, together with the University of Toronto’s Centre for International Experience as well as the Innovation Hub, the documentaries follow the journey of 12 students, 6 of whom have just arrived in Canada and 6 of whom are living different lives post-graduation, respectively.
The international student experience is shaped by an immersion in the unknown. One scene which particularly struck me was Josefa Antonia Sepulveda Guzman, after she had spent some time in Canada, saying, “I kind of want to cry. This all means that I’m doing the right thing.” For her, studying at a foreign university is a dream come true—one that comes with the cost of not spending as much time with her mom (with whom she’s lived her entire life). Yet Guzman continues, ready to call Canada her new home, ready for its challenges and love, ready, as I believe many international students are, to be vulnerable to change.
Like Guzman, I spent almost my entire life living with my mom, and leaving both my home and my family felt daunting. At the same time, attending college in the U.S. exposed me to my own inadequacies and insecurities. I quickly realized I didn’t know much about American pop culture and I’d never had friends who were a different race from me; the public school I attended was 90% Asian. I felt I wasn’t extroverted or sociable compared to my American peers. I intentionally practiced my small talk, built up knowledge of specific slang, and worked to find people I connected with. As a Canadian, I was aware of my luck and privilege—that the culture shock was less forceful. I was, perhaps, the “least international” an international student could be. Yet, at the same time, I found myself maturing at a rate that I’d never experienced before. I began to examine my own biases, realizing I could be friends with people who held very different backgrounds and values from me. I found myself thinking, all the time, about relationships, gender, academics, and the future in ways I’d never explored before. I was experiencing a type of ‘growing up’ that would’ve been much slower had I chosen to stay inside the comfortable bubble of my home and family. I wasn’t sad amid these changes, but proud of how much I’d grown each time I saw my family again.
Sudene, another student who has decided to pursue a research analyst role at The Centre for Addiction and Mental Health (CAMH) post-graduation, captures the bittersweet sentiment beautifully: “I’ll be missing out on something. I’m going to miss a lot of family moments, but at the same time, I’m excited about the opportunities that travelling abroad offers to me.” We also get to know students like Mary-Rebekah Reyes, who returns to her home country and starts her own art business while continuing to explore the beauty of Trinidad and Tobago, carrying her study-abroad experience with her.
As someone in their third year of undergraduate studies, I’m also thinking about what it might mean to stay in the U.S. and what it might mean to return to Canada or even China, where most of my family now lives. Being an international student might not be an experience familiar to many, but we’ve all had the experience of navigating a new place, leaving our family and friends behind, even if just for a few hours. Our current age has made travel easier, enabling many to live in different places. But it also means that part of you will always be tied to each city you’ve been to. My identity has already become a mosaic; part of me will forever remain in Wuxi, where I was born, and parts of me are scattered across Vancouver and Stanford. As life goes on, I know that I’ll leave more pieces of myself behind around the world and carry more of the world, engraved into me.
When we think about the future, how do we choose where to go? As we transition from students to adults, and the future’s possibilities spread out before us, we’re confronted with the question of who we want to be. For international students especially, there’s often a tough decision about whether to return home, stay in a new country, or perhaps even travel to another new place. As the world becomes increasingly uncertain, we find ourselves caught between different loyalties, family ties, and even political tensions. I, for one, always try to remember what my parents told me: Choose a path that places you on higher ground, so that when you look far into the horizon, you can see futures that you couldn’t have even imagined previously.
All of this is to say that while people around us might try to convince us that one choice is better than another, just remember that any choice is valid. I try to imagine all the different futures I could be living, and pick based on the fact that this is my one chance to live a life of my choosing.
Back in high school, as I thought about where I would attend college, I contemplated staying in Canada, studying in the U.S., or even returning to China. Each held different opportunities and sacrifices. Some would bring me closer to my family, while others led me further away. Some would challenge me socially and academically. Yet, one thing didn’t change amongst those choices. I was determined to study English no matter where I went. Now, as I think about my post-graduation plans, I can once again imagine the various futures before me. I can see myself in the office buildings of New York, watching the sun set from tall glass windows. I can see myself working in a publishing house in Vancouver, writing the next chapter of my novel. I can see myself with my family back in Wuxi, teaching English literature at a local international school. What hasn’t changed is that each option will lead me to higher ground in different ways, and that’s why, whatever my decision is, I believe that each of us can and will choose well.
Despite our vast differences as international students, these choices are what tether us—what we can only do together. And when we forget that sense of community or feel overwhelmed amid change, rewatching International Students: First 48 Hours and International Students: Life After Graduation is a welcome reminder.
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