Source: http://www.wordtravels.com/images/map/Pakistan_map.jpg

My father always reminds me that he started his life in America with nothing but the clothes on his back and a suitcase.  He got off the plane, got on a train, and promptly started searching for a place to live and begin his new life in the United States.

My father and his brother came to New York City in 1987.  My uncle had come here a year before, in 1986, and went back to Pakistan to bring my father here.  My uncle went to medical school in Pakistan and had found a job as a medical resident in New York.  My father, on the other hand, went to business school and found a job as an auditor for the New York City Police Department.  After a couple of years, they both brought their wives and parents to America to join them.  Both my mother and my aunt went to medical school in Pakistan and they also found work as medical residents.  After a few years, my mother, aunt, and uncle finished their residency and found work as physicians.  My mother went back to Pakistan and gave birth to me there.  I later came to America when I was only two months old.  My father opened up many small businesses such as convenience stores and gas stations.  They all decided to stay in New York because they had secure jobs, there was a growing Pakistani-Indian community, and there was a very good public education system for their children.

It has been very easy for my family to get adjusted to life in America.  First of all, everyone was literate and they all could speak, read, and write in English.  However, at home we all still speak in Urdu, the native language of Pakistan.  Also, most of the children who came with them were very young at the time and could only speak Urdu.  We all had to go to ESL classes when we attended school, including me because I only spoke in Urdu at home and never learned English.  However, after we had learned English, it became very easy for us to adjust to life in America and do well in American schools.  In addition, the growing Pakistani-Indian community in New York allowed my parents and uncle to make friends that would help them start their lives in America.

Despite knowing English and having good jobs, there are a few difficulties that my family has faced as immigrants.  For example, they still do not fully understand American culture. They cannot understand why Americans send their children away to college.  Also, they do not understand many common expressions and idioms like “skeletons in the closet” or “jumping the shark.”  Lastly, they are not familiar with American pop culture because they don’t listen to music by American artists or watch popular television programs.

Despite these challenges my family tries as hard as they can to be good American citizens.  For example, all members of my family have acquired citizenship and vote in most of the major elections.  We are not involved in any civic organizations or labor unions.  However, we do pray at the local Islamic center, which we also donate money to.  The center then uses the donations to make improvements that benefit many people.

It is difficult for anyone to move to a new country and start a new life there.  It is difficult to leave the place where you were born and raised to go live in a foreign place.  It is even more difficult to support and raise a family when you have nothing.  In addition to these difficulties, immigrants also face the challenge of discrimination and assimilating into a new society with a culture much different than their own.  However, my family was able to face these challenges and overcome them so that they could have a better life for themselves and their children.  Today, we live comfortably in a nice home and I can say that my family has done a good job at integrating into American society.

It turns out I am a through and through American, and pretty deeply rooted at that.  My mother, born Jane Claire Phaup, is part of a family that has been here for centuries.  In 1756, Benjamin Phaup sailed from Scotland to the New World, more specifically Jamestown, Virginia.  He managed to catch this ride to America amid a huge influx of fellow Protestant-Scotch by becoming an indentured servant, and started his life in a very new world.  Since the country was so young, America was a country of immigrants.  It held the ideals and appeal that still linger today: a country filled with opportunity and void of religious persecution.

The McCarthys, from left to right: my father Joe, my grandmother Kitty, uncle Tim, aunt Maureen, and uncle Brian

On my father’s side, however, the immigration experience is much more recent.  My father’s parents, Catherine O’Shea and Timothy McCarthy, immigrated to America in 1950.  They had grown up a quarter-mile away from each other their whole lives, on a small rural island named Valentia, County Kerry, Ireland.  The island is no more than seven miles long and two miles wide, and is primarily a farming island.  Catherine was born in 1914 and Timothy in 1919.

In Valentia, jobs were scarce and opportunities even scarcer.  They sailed across the Atlantic and arrived in Hoboken, NJ, in 1950.  There, they were separated; my grandfather was taken to Long Island to live and work for his brother Michael, and my grandmother was taken to Bridgeport, CT, to live with her two sisters Mary and Hanoriah.  Within a year, my grandparents were married and they moved to Brooklyn.  They had five children, one of which is the reason I am here today.  My father is shown in the picture above.  He’s the one on the far left.

My father has always told me, or rather bragged to me, that he had come to America with nothing but twenty dollars in his pockets.  I never took this saying literally, but I always knew that the difficulties and hardships he faced upon arriving in America were almost the same as having only twenty dollars to live off of in New York City.  I am a first generation American, so while I have not experienced these difficulties first-hand, I can still understand the courage and motivation it took for my parents to make it over here and create a new life for themselves and our family.

Guangzhou, China: the place where my family is from Map Source: www.oclc.org

My paternal grandparents moved from Guangzhou, China, to New York City in 1985 when quotas and visas were allowed for the first time since the Communist regime.  My grandparents, who were both accountants, saw this opportunity to get a better life and decided that it must be done.  A year after they arrived, my dad came on an immediate family visa.  Two years after that, my dad went home to marry my mom and helped her immigrate here as well.  Despite having some relatives in San Francisco, my parents decided to start fresh and settled in New York City.

My family on vacation in 2010

All of my family members who came to America started off working in restaurants as waiters or in the garment factories scattered throughout Chinatown.  After about two years of working in restaurants, my dad and my grandfather were able to rent a store in Brooklyn and set up a tailor and cleaners shop.  Twenty years later, my mom and dad still work there today.  We are able to afford a bigger and nicer home, as well as take time out for ourselves and go on family vacations.

My family, however, still struggle with certain aspects of integration.  Despite living in America for so long and obtaining citizenship, all the adults in my family have difficulty communicating in English.  Because of this language barrier, they still cannot fully integrate themselves into American culture.  Yes, they talk about American politics and have an opinion on how matters should be taken care of, but they cannot express that well enough to the community around them.  That is why their hopes lie in me and my sister.  We are the reason why they came to America: we will be able to do what they couldn’t and achieve more than they can hope for themselves.  I do not have the same immigration and integration experience that other people may have, but I still carry the same burden.  I still carry the burden of utilizing the privilege given to me through my parent’s sacrifice of leaving their home country and settling here. My parents started the migration process and it is my job to make something of it.

Source: http://www.weeklyecho.com/blog/politics.php?itemid=160

My family’s immigration story is unique because we could be called double immigrants.  First, my family and I migrated to Russia from the Republic of Georgia in the year 1993 to escape war and poor economic conditions brought on by the fall of the Soviet Union.  Then, in 1999, my mother and I moved to the United States to reunite with my father, who had settled here years earlier.  We entered the United States as refugees, which was a common means of entry for immigrants from the former Soviet Union in the 1990s.

Source: http://www.infoplease.com/atlas/country/russia.html

The main reason my mother and I moved to the United States is a reason why many immigrants have come to the United States: to have prospects for a better life.  America was seen as a wealthy nation and a prestigious place to live by most people in Russia at that time, and we could not miss out on the opportunity to come here.

When we came to the United States, we settled in New York City, more specifically, in Brooklyn.  This is because my father and his parents (my grandparents) have already lived here for years before our arrival.  Brooklyn was and still is the most popular borough among Russian-speaking immigrants.  Thus it is not surprising that they decided to settle here.

Our integration was by no means an easy process.  I relied on the help of my parents and friends to do schoolwork for the entire first year of my American education as I did not speak any English.  My first year in school was second grade, since I was too old to go to first grade by American standards.  By third grade, I became more confident at speaking English, even though I still needed much improvement. Despite my less-than-perfect English, I managed to establish myself as a good student and ended up graduating at the top of my class in fifth grade.

Currently, my written English is quite strong and my conversational English is decent,  even though I still posses a Russian accent.  This is because I have spoken only Russian at home all these years.  Overall, I feel more or less integrated into American society, although I do not think of myself as entirely American.

My parents, I think, are overall less integrated than I am.  Their English skills are a still a bit lacking and they often watch Russian television.

Source: http://printable-maps.blogspot.com and http://www.digital-topo-maps.com

My family in Korea, summer 1999.

I am a 1.5-generation Korean.  I came to the United States with my parents and my little sister when I was just ten years old.  My family decided to move to America after a financial crisis that hit us in the year 2000.  Back in Korea, I have attended three pre-schools and four elementary schools due to frequent moving.  My parents’ search for better living conditions has ultimately led us to move to the United States, pursuing the “American Dream.”

My family’s immigration story began with my two aunts, Holly and Helen, when they came to the United States in the late 1970s.  Holly was in her late 20s and Helen had just graduated high school in Korea.  They came when Holly married my uncle, an American citizen.  My grandmother came to the United States in 1988 when Holly invited her to come legally after my grandfather passed away.  About four years later, my other aunt, Agatha, moved to the United States with her family.  My uncle came to the United States in 1999.  My grandmother, Agatha, and Helen settled in New York and Holly and my uncle settle in California.  We were the last of the five siblings to come to America.  My dad chose to live in New York because he wanted to take care of my grandmother.

As a ten-year-old who already was used to making new friends and meeting new teachers in different environments, I did not have difficulty in assimilating to the American culture.  It was much easier to learn English at an earlier age and I had many friends and family who helped me with my English.  Unlike me, however, my parents struggled with language for a long time.  My dad still cannot communicate fluently in English.  My mom’s English is good, but she is does not have the confidence to engage in English conversations.

My parents before I was born.

My parents had to change their whole lifestyle once we moved to America.  My dad, who was formerly a businessman and an entrepreneur in Korea, got a license as a sushi chef.  He worked in several restaurants and held jobs that paid low wages.  After about six years, he tried to run his own business, but failed and went back to working for weekly salary.  My mom got her esthetician license a year after she arrived in America and has worked in several spas in New York.  She obtained a license to do facial treatments and was thus able to earn more money, but she often complains how she has no choice but to do the lower paying jobs like manicure and pedicure at the spa.  As I grew older, I began to appreciate their hard work and understand their persistence for the “American Dream.”

My grandma Blanche’s lineage can be traced back to a Civil War drummer boy.  Her grandfather, Samuel Pesyer, served in the Union’s 93^rd New York National Guard Infantry.  Blanche Koski was born in the fall of 1910, at home in Brooklyn.  After graduating from Girls Commercial High School she worked as a secretary in commercial then educational settings.

Her husband to be, Joseph Greenberg, was born in May of the same year, in London.  His family immigrated to America shortly before he turned two.  Records of Joseph’s immigration through Ellis Island are available to this day.  Joe graduated from the newly constructed Thomas Jefferson High School and was accepted to Columbia University.  After a year at Columbia, however, downturns in his father’s business forced Joe to contribute to the family income by beginning to work during the day for the United States Postal Service, and attend night school.  My grandfather firmly believed in the dignity and societal value of practicing law, and eventually earned his degree.  By this time, however, the Great Depression plagued the American economy.  Instead of following his dream, Joe settled for the more practical and safe choice of remaining a Postal Service employee.

This is Ruth's passport photo from when she immigrated to America. Note the stamp in the upper left hand corner which has a Swastika in the center.

My mother’s mother, Ruth Vanderman whom I always called “Omama,” was born in Berlin in 1921.  Her father, Max, read Adolf Hitler’s “Mein Kampf” and determined that moving out of Germany was an immediate necessity for his Jewish family.  In 1937, he applied for visas for Palestine and America.  The American paperwork came through first.  Max left three weeks before his wife, Gertrud, and daughter.  Gertrud and Ruth left Berlin for France via train, and then sailed upon the Queen Mary to New York.  As Max had already taken care of their documentation, which changed their family name from Wandermann to Vanderman, they did not need to stop at Ellis Island and instead went straight to Hartford, Connecticut, and after six months moved to Manhattan, residing at 200 West 80^th Street.  Max rented a storefront a few blocks away where he reopened his jewelry business.  Gertrud and Ruth both spoke English and were therefore able to work in the shop.  Omama worked to earn her GED later in life.  She became a member of the Jeweler’s Circle and Workmen’s Benefit, an established German fraternal organization that provided medical services, insurance, and an opportunity to meet other German-speaking refugees.

This is an image of Charles (and his Jeep) during the time he served in the American army.

My grandfather (Opapa), Guenther Zehden, was born in December of 1919, in Berlin.  At the age of eighteen he was desperate to get out of Germany.  However, the German quota to come to America was filled.  A cousin of his, Alfred Oettinger, advised Guenther to sign himself up under the Russian quota, for Guenther’s mother had been born in Russia while her parents were travelling there.  In 1938, on Kristallnacht, my grandfather sat on a bus watching hell unravel before him.  At the time a woman behind him leaned over and said, “We’re not all like that, you know.”  He and his mother finally made it through under the Russian quota on the last boat out of Germany.  Opapa’s family did not want to leave Germany.  His father was thrown into a brutal detention facility, when he got out he fled for London and his fur store was confiscated.  Opapa was drafted soon after he came to New York.  He went through basic training in California, concurrently earning his GED from St. Ana High School, and citizenship.  Charles was supposed to be sent to Europe, but contracted Scarlet Fever right before he was to be deployed.  He recovered and spent the rest of the war stationed in Alaska’s Aleutian Islands.  His unit was primarily composed of soldiers from Kentucky.  They did not believe that Charles was Jewish because they had been taught that all Jews had horns.  They got along well, and my grandfather’s English was vastly improved.

My parents today.

All of my grandparents considered themselves to have lived and died as Americans.  In many ways my parents feel more closely connected to their European ancestry.  My mother, who speaks not only German and English but also French, made my brother and I attended German school when we were young children.  My father has a deep appreciation for British orators; he says his father spoke “excellent English” and I sometimes watch him struggle to reign in his Brooklynese accent in an attempt to speak carefully and eloquently.  My parents and their siblings were raised in households that expected them to excel academically, and both pursued careers that exemplified this value, my father as a physicist and a professor and my mother as a Montessori teacher and later a United Nations NGO representative.  My family history exemplifies a successful and respectable American assimilation process.

Toddler Elisabeth with Charles.

Opapa left explicit instructions upon his passing that insisted an American flag be draped over his coffin.  My grandparents were incredibly proud of the life and family they created in America.  A combination of chance and their extremely hard work allow me to call myself American today.

Map of Fuzhou, Fujian Province, China. Source: Chinatouristmaps

Both my mother and father were born in Fuzhou, China, and so was I.  My family’s immigration history starts from my mother’s side of the family and dates back to 1990.  My mother has three siblings: an older brother, an older sister, and a younger brother.   My grandparents, who were both teachers, placed high expectations on all of their children.  Even though teachers were highly respected by others in the community, they did not bring much revenue to the family.  Therefore, my mother’s family was considered poor, especially when my grandparents had to feed four children.

When my younger uncle, Steve, was 18, he fell in love with a girl in his school.  He wanted to become rich and win the girl’s heart using wealth.  However, there was no way that he could find a decent job with just a high school diploma.  At that time, many people from my mother’s hometown went to the United States to earn money.  They were successful and earned a lot of money.  Uncle Steve decided to quit school and go to the land of opportunity, the United States of America.  He voluntarily wanted to immigrate and its was his individual choice to leave China.  After seeing that uncle Steve was doing well in New York, uncle John and his wife decided to migrate to the land of opportunity to make money.  They left their children with my grandmother in 1994.  As uncle Steve had previously come, there was a network of people who could offer help to any other family members who came.  Thus, uncle John and his wife found a place to stay in New York City and started to make money.

In 2000, uncle John’s two children, my mother’s sister, and her child immigrated to New York.  This was mainly done for family reunification purposes, and it was made easier due to the established family network.  They all settled permanently in the United States, which became their second home.  However, my cousins’ immigration stimulated my desire to move as well.  I was jealous that they could speak and understand English.  Meanwhile, my mother had divorced from my father.  Therefore, my mother finally decided to immigrate to New York, as she wanted to reunite with her side of the family.  She wanted to give me a better education.  With a large family network already set up in New York, my transition into American life was made easier.  Before I even arrived in the United States, my aunt had already rented an apartment for us in Chinatown.  She also found a school for me to attend.  After all of this, I realized that our family network was really strong.  Nothing could stop a family from reuniting with each other.  In 2003, I finally reunited with my beloved cousins.

Through the efforts of my family to better themselves economically, my family immigrated here.  Thanks to them, the younger generation of my cousins and I are able to have an American education and have the chance to live in this land of opportunity.

My parents in China, before my dad left for the United States.

Immigration, like how the books portray the process, is not easy.  It is not just the physical move that challenges a person’s capability to adapt.  It is the fact that you are thrown into a new environment that really tests a person’s strength.  The move brought my family into a completely new world with a different language, culture, and lifestyle.  Gone were my mother’s family’s wealth and her status, and in place of them was her mundane and backbreaking job at a factory.  Gone was my freedom to do whatever I wanted, and instead I was given the huge responsibility for taking care of my family.

As the eldest child in the family, the language barrier meant that I got the most responsibility to make sure everything in the family is flowing smoothly.  Even in elementary school, I wrote checks and formal letters to agencies, translated for my relatives, and read the letters they get in the mail.  The need for a translator was the main reason why I’ve retained the native language despite my years of living here.  My siblings, on the other hand, have never had as much of a reason to retain Fuzhounese, and they have lost it little by little through the years.  Even now, I act as translator between my siblings and my parents because neither group is fluent enough in the other language to communicate well.

Not only is the belief system here different from that of China, the culture is different as well.  My mom, being more open-minded than my dad, has adapted some of the American ways and learned to accept the others.  Sleepovers, friends, curfews, and styles of dress are all topics of heated debate within my household because we have two very conflicting opinions on these “American” matters.  The little assimilation my parents have accomplished is also reflected on their political involvement.  Because of our permanent resident status, we have never been able to vote on matters that affect us.  My parents hear about the politics that the Chinese newspapers report about and the laws that my relatives in China talk about, which are their only two sources on the current events in China.

My mom and my siblings at my high school graduation.

Often times, I question why my parents made the move even though life was, in my opinion, good in China.  It was only after asking them why they migrated that I realized that they had so much more opportunities here in the States than they did in China.  Although he was leaving his wife and daughter behind, the promise of a better future for the family as a whole pushed my dad to make the move.  My mother, on the other hand, was from a fairly well off family, but mom wanted to reunify our family once more.

Immigration is a physical move, but it challenges and trains a person’s adaptability.  I am a mash of the two cultures that exist in my life and in my family.  I may speak English flawlessly and I may act like the typical American teenager, but I can never forget those first moments of stepping off the plane into a vast land of possibilities.  I will never forget that I am a true Chinese person and that I carry with me the experiences of an immigrant.  I cannot disregard the fact that I, like many immigrants before me, have learned to fuse the American culture with my native culture in order to survive and succeed in this new place I call home.

Source: http://www.pickatrail.com/jupiter/location/europe/italy/potenza.html

Being a fourth generation Italian-American, it is difficult to imagine the struggles that my great-grandparents had to overcome to become permanent residents in this country.  It seems ridiculous that my great-grandmother, Elizabeth Rotunno, could possibly think that the streets of America were paved with gold.  She immigrated to the United States on July 18, 1910, from Potenza, Italy with nothing more than the clothes she was wearing.  She wanted nothing more than to be an “American.”

My great-grandmother endured a long physical screening at Ellis Island to confirm that she was in good health and not carrying a contagious disease that could potentially harm the American population.  Once Elizabeth Rotunno was permitted to remain in the United States, along with many other Southern Italians, she made her permanent residence in downtown Manhattan and she lived a tenement house.  She immediately began her assimilation into American culture.  She was determined to learn English and become as Americanized as possible.  Elizabeth began to work in the domestic field, cleaning various homes throughout the city.  In less than three years, Elizabeth met her future husband, Joseph Manzo who was a second generation Italian-American and owned a barbershop.  They were very poor and soon moved into a one room flat to raise their four daughters.  They used the one coat that each of them owned to cover themselves while they slept.  Basic necessities such as toilet paper and shoes were scarce.  Her children only completed school up to the eighth grade.  Elizabeth forced her children to speak only English in an effort to be more American and she, too, only spoke English inside of her house.

Second generation grandmother, third generation mother, and fourth generation- me! celebrating Christmas in New York City.

Ultimately, my great-grandmother focused solely on surviving.  Her leisure time was minimal and her political participation did not extend beyond voting.  Because of their low levels of education, political struggles around the world were not something that my great-grandmother and her children could easily understand.  Even today, when I speak with my grandmother, it is easy to see the influence that her immigration history has had on her.  My grandmother recognizes the existence of only one country and one language, the United States of America and English.  When she watches the news and hears about the political struggles occurring around the world, she frequently comments things such as, “Who cares about what’s going on in Egypt?”  This Italian immigrant wanted more than anything to assimilate into American culture and pledged allegiance solely to America.

Different from many immigrants residing in the United States today, I am a descendant of an Italian immigrant, yet I do not speak the native language of my ancestors and have assimilated so much into American culture that I am not familiar with the customs and traditions of my great-grandmother’s home country.  Even though I have no memories, I am a fourth generation Italian-American.  Unlike my grandmother, I have no memories of how life as an immigrant was.  However, I am fortunate that my ancestors struggled through the long and rough immigration process and successfully assimilated into American society.  Elizabeth Rotunno’s descendants, like me, are now able to effortlessly enjoy the opportunities that America has to offer.

Source: Kaesung

My grandparents migrated from Ningbo, China, to America with their son, my father, and two daughters in 1983.  My family made a rational decision by weighing the benefits of migration to the costs.  In their case, the benefits outweighed the costs.  They had no heat and hardly enough food in China.  They wanted to migrate to America because of all of the opportunities the country was known to bring, most importantly well-paying jobs.  It was easy for them to migrate to America because my great-grandparents were already living in New York City.  The cost of coming to America was negligible.

In the late 1980s, my parents were living in Canarsie, Brooklyn, along with my grandparents on my father’s side and my older brother.  By the time I was born, my brother was already three years old.  Both my parents and both my grandparents were working to make ends meet and to save for a better future.  My grandmother worked less so that she could care for my brother.  My family did not have time to look after two kids, so my parents made the decision to send me back to China.  With me out of the picture in America, my parents and grandparents worked really hard in their jobs.  They wanted to take advantage of what America had to offer.

Me and My Parents in 2010.

At the age of five, I would have still been burdensome.  However, my parents made it their priority to get me an American education.  The brought me back to the United States just in time for the first day of kindergarten.  Even though I was born in America, I felt like an immigrant coming back.  I did not know the language or anyone.

By returning to America at an early age, I was able to integrate a lot easier than I would if I came when I was older.  My parents told me that each day I would speak more and more English.

Over the years, I feel that I have definitely integrated well into America.  Being able to migrate at a young age was advantageous.  I did not have to go into the real world and find a job.  Instead, I had time to integrate gradually under the protection of my parents.

Source: http://sistercities.lacity.org/images/map/guangzhou.jpg

In the early 1900s, Yee Bick Chan had finally saved up enough money and acquired the papers that would allow him to leave Canton’s (now Guangzhou) farmland and start a life in the United States with the hopes of bringing his wife and children at some point in the future.  The son of his father’s second wife, Yee Bick would have no inheritance to fall back on and finding steady work in China was difficult.  A member of Yee Bick’s village, Lee, had returned from the United States to stay in China, Yee Bick bought the documents that would allow him to go to America under his name (because Lee was legally permitted to enter the United States) and he left on a boat to San Francisco, leaving behind his wife and two children, and a life with little prospect.

Washington Bridge, 1932. Source: New York Public Library

Yee Bick Chan was my great-grandfather.  He worked odd-jobs in San Francisco until a friend offered him part ownership of a laundromat in New York City.  He arrived in Washington Heights to work at the laundromat (near the Washington Bridge) and eventually became the owner.  As he had done in San Francisco, he slept and lived at his place of work.  It was then around the 1940s, and Yee Bick feared deportation because of his fraudulent admissions papers.  He was afraid to try to bring his family to America, because he had not declared that he had any such relatives and he feared that he would be sent back to Communist China.

Around the late 1950s, Yee Bick Chan was granted amnesty due to his time in the United States.  After he saw others report themselves without repercussion, he applied for his family, which had moved to Hong Kong in the meantime, to come to the United States.  In 1964, Yee Bick’s son, his son’s wife, and three children including my mother arrived by plane to New York, benefiting from their status as family and as refugees.

The family (Yee Bick, his son, daughter-in law, and their three children) resided in Washington Heights.  Yee Bick’s son and his wife worked from dawn until dusk – he in a restaurant and she in a sewing factory – and the children went to school.  All three attended college on scholarship.  Eventually the family would move to Flushing, Queens.  Over time, their children got married and moved out.  My mother (one of the three children) met my father, who is also an immigrant, while in vocational school.  They married and soon raised two American-born Chinese children, me and my brother.

I am a first generation American, but not by much.  Interestingly enough, I was actually born just 10 short months after my parents immigrated to America from the former USSR.  My parents chose to immigrate because of the widespread discrimination and animosity towards Jewish people in Russia at the time.  Being Jewish in Russia hindered almost any opportunities for advancement.  So, in search of a better life, my parents decided to take a leap of faith and start a new life in America.  After applying and being approved for a refugee visa, in 1991, my parents, along with my grandparents and great-grandparents, touched down in New York City.  They chose New York because of the countless success stories they heard back home about immigrants just like themselves who moved to New York and achieved levels of success that were unheard of in Russia.

Before

However, with a lack of language skills, almost no money, and no family in New York to help them get on their feet, the first few years were difficult.  My family reached out to an organization called HIAS (Hewbrew Immigrant Aid Society), which offered them aid regarding citizenship applications, job placement, English language courses, and more.  For a while, my parents, the rest of my immediate family, and I all lived together in an apartment in Brooklyn.  My great-grandfather would stay home with me while both my parents and grandparents worked.  Finding a job was probably the most challenging obstacle for my parents during their initial integration.  Both my parents worked a number of low paying jobs before they were able to establish themselves in their careers.  Adjusting to life in America was also fairly difficult, as Russian and American culture vary significantly.  However, due to the large Russian population in New York, my parents were able to find people they could relate to, and outside of work have managed to socialize mostly with others who are part of the Russian community.

Now

Despite the obstacles faced in the beginning, my parents’ decision to come to America was one that has paid off.  Thanks to my parents, my little brother and I now have opportunities available to us, which we would have never received in Russia.  I know that my parents worked hard to get to where we are today, and I hope to one day make them proud of what I accomplish thanks to them.

I am a second generation immigrant.  I was born here after my parents migrated here from India.  My parents, however, were only able to come to America because of my dad’s sister, my aunt.  My aunt came here in 1974.  She chose to leave India because she had heard that nurses were in high demand in the United States.  At the time, professionals would go out of country, to places like Moscow or Bangalore, so that they could get a good job and help support their families back home.  The reason they chose leave India and go to the United States was because India did not offer many opportunities.

After coming to New York City, she found family members and with their help she was able to quickly stand on her own two feet.  My father, who heard about the success his sister was having in America, wanted to migrate as well.  He was tired of the simplicity and everyday routine of his life in India.  He wanted a change.  Through family reunification, my father came here in 1983.  He followed his sister to New York City.  However, he did not have an education past high school.  As a result, he did not have as much success as my aunt had.

Back in 1997.

In 1988, he finally got a very good and stable job with the Metropolitan Transport Authority.  With the newfound stability he had, he went back to India in 1989 to marry my mother and bring her over here.  At the time, she was still studying to be a nurse.  However, she soon completed her studies and became a registered nurse in 1990 and found a job with a nursing home.  By 1990, my older brother was born, and by 1992, I was born.  Throughout the entire time my parents were in America, they lived rent-free in an apartment with a relative.  However, by 1995, the apartment was getting too crowded, and my parents bought a house in Floral Park, Queens.

More recently in 2009.

Since then, life has just gone on.  My parents are working hard to make something of themselves so that they could provide my brother and I a pleasant life . Meanwhile, my brother and I are working hard to make our parents proud, by attaining an education, and doing all that we can to make something of ourselves.

Integrating into American society, however, has been challenging for my parents.  The Indian way of life is nothing like the American way of life, and it is something that my parents are still getting accustomed to. They found St. John’s Marthoma Church, whose members are families like ours. This church provides my parentws with a sense of community similar to what they had in India.  Also, their English has gotten significantly better, as my brother and I speak English around the house, and have them speak English back to us.  Both of my parents have been here for quite some time now.  And as time passes, they are learning more and more about American culture and norms, and they are integrating better into American society.

I am a third generation American.  Both of my parents were born here and there parents as well with the exception of my fathers father, who was born in Poland.  His decision to immigrate to America came after he survived the holocaust.

Source: http://www.polishwashington.com/images/map.jpg

My grandfather was liberated from the Buchenwald concentration camp by American soldiers on April 11, 1945.  It was on this day that he got his first taste of American generosity, which stayed with him for the rest of his life.  After being liberated, my grandfather went to Switzerland to a displaced persons camp, where he learned that his brother had also survived the holocaust and was residing in Belgium.  After recuperating, my grandfather traveled to Belgium and was reunited with his brother.  While there, he learned of the good news that his uncle had survived the war as well and was living in New York City at the time.  And so in his last move from Europe, my grandfather boarded a boat and arrived on Ellis Island in 1951.

Like many immigrants before him, my grandfather settled on the Lower East Side and enrolled in high school to complete his schooling.  It very important to him to learn English so he could get a job and ultimately successfully integrate into American society.  Once he received his diploma and was fluent in English, he began to work at a garment factory.  However, because he observed the Jewish sabbath, he was forced to quit his job every Friday and look for new work the following Sunday.  Even with this hardship, he was able to make a life for himself here.  He continued to practice his religious beliefs and began to attend a synagogue, a form of civic engagement.  Having survived the Holocaust, my grandfather could not fathom the fact that such religious freedom existed.  It was at that synagogue that he met my grandmother, whom he married a year later.

My grandfather has made every effort to integrate into American society.  He reads multiple newspapers daily and follows politics closely.  If there is a rally, you can bet he will be standing in the crowds, even at the age of 86, fighting for what he believes in.  He regards the United States as the most generous country that has ever existed, a country that gave him opportunities for a better life, when all had been taken away from him during the war.

Immigration is a huge leap of faith.  One of the greatest risks that my family has ever taken was coming to the United States.  America offers people new hope for the future and an opportunity to rebuild their lives. My family came to America from Moscow, Russia, on January 17, 1995. At the time of migration, I was three years old and my mother and father were 27 and 21 years old, respectively.  One of the major factors that pushed my family out of Russia was religious persecution.  My father is Jewish and my mother is Russian Orthodox.  While my religious beliefs have little impact on how my family and I are perceived as people in America, in Russia we faced severe discrimination and prejudice.  Both the Social Capital Theory of Immigration and the Neoclassical Economic Theory of Immigration that we learned about in class best explain why my family came to America.  The first factor that pulled my family to the United States was that my father’s uncle, his whole family, and some of my more distant relatives had come to America about a decade earlier and had already integrated into U.S. society.  My father’s uncle had a business, one of his children had a career and a family, and the other was in public school.  The second factor that pulled my family to America was that the U.S. economy was doing relatively well in 1995, and there were many opportunities to build successful careers and a secure lifestyle here.

Then

When we first arrived in New York City, we moved into an apartment that my father’s uncle had found for us in Flushing, Queens.  Flushing has become one of the most diverse neighborhoods in New York City.  When we moved there, there was a mix of Asians, Italians, Greeks, Jews, and Hispanics living in the area.  My parents met and became friends with two couples when we first arrived in New York City.  One couple lived in our building and the other my parents met at a Jewish help center for immigrants, which helped newcomers learn English, continue their education, and find jobs.  Both couples were Russian and had children that were approximately my age, and we are all still in touch today.

Maintaining tradition was very important in my home.  In my house or with my extended family we all spoke Russian, and when we got together for meals there would be Russian food served or we would go to Russian restaurants.  My mother taught me how to read and write in Russian and we have a huge collection of Russian movies and music.  Even today when I am at home, the television is usually tuned to the Russian channel and I try to stay informed about the current events and the pop culture in Russia.  My parents have involved themselves in several organizations in New York City.  My mother is part of the United Federation of Teachers (UFT) and she and I attend a Russian Orthodox Church.  I finished public school and received the Macaulay Honors scholarship to go to college at Baruch.  Throughout high school, I volunteered at a Jewish Community Center for the elderly and now I volunteer at my neighborhood public library.

Now

My parents and grandparents studied for the citizenship test with the help of the Jewish immigrant help center and they are now citizens and so am I.  My younger brother, who was born in Long Island, is a U.S. citizen by birth.  My grandmother on my mother’s side, who splits her time between New York City and Moscow, has obtained a green card.  My parents and I have still retained our Russian citizenship as well.  However, while we follow current events in Russia, we do not participate in political affairs back home.  In the United States, on the other hand, my parents read the newspapers on a regular basis and vote in presidential elections.  I like to follow currents events as well and I am a habitual New York Times, New York Post, and Wall Street Journal reader.  For me, America is a country that has provided me with the chance to do anything that my heart desires and it has given me the freedom of choice.  I believe that in America with an education and the strive to succeed and make a difference anything is possible.