“In the depth of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer” – Albert Camus.
I have lived two lives: one in post-Communist Albania and the other here in the United States. I was born in 1992, a year after Communism fell in Albania. Ideologies hardly die in the memory and even after twenty years of transition Albania still remains an underdeveloped country strongly dependent on income from emigrants. Thus, with hopes for a better education and with suitcases of dreams my brother and I would decide to come to New York City nearly three years ago.
Sometimes I doubt if I am really going crazy because as I walk through this strange city I feel the taste of home. I look beyond the carriage window of New York subway 2 Train. I gaze at the signs printed in foreign languages and the diverse people. The bolts, the iron wheels, and the rusty facades no longer have their harshness. I discover that the scenes in the subway have become ordinary even though once they seemed strange. American trees once looked like plastic. Even New York skies had a different light. Before I thought that every corner had the same Starbucks cafe, same Gap stores, same churches, same buildings, same people who cleaned windows, and same ladies with yellow hair and shopping bags. Everything became normal and nowadays in the belly of the city I live, work, study, love and try to achieve my impossible dreams.
Most immigrants come to America with the hope that one-day they will return to their homeland. This opinion, however shrouded in secrecy, gives them the courage to leave the home country. I thought that one-day, with the money I would earn I would go back to my birthplace to have a great job and build a mansion. My children would grow up, get married, have children and we all would live together in that big house of my dreams. Like my grandpa, I would work the garden; grandchildren will come around filling the house with joy. Ah, finally all the sacrifices of expatriotism would be compensated! “Sacrifice” is the holiest word for an immigrant. This word occupies his entire being. It is read in eyes even when he is laughing, even when things are going well.
I learned quickly that money was not to be found in the street in New York. I needed a job to cover all expenses, and to have a good job I needed education. To have education required money. To have money, I needed a job. Caught in this vicious circle, I cursed the heavens, cursed this foreign country and cursed my own country. But to whom should I complain? And I smiled. I tried to be sweet. In this country, I found time to be alone with myself, to listen to those internal concerned voices. Soon I understood that I was the one that needed to adapt; America accepted thousands of emigrants like me each year. However, an endless absence accompanied me, a metaphysical nostalgia, one that I couldn’t escape; it hurt. Time had begun to dry the roots. I could only irrigate them with my tears.
The sidewalk along New York City are dirty, but after living here for a while I have discovered that a tempting veil covers them. The reflection of lights on the streets, wet from pinpoint rain, causes the city to smile. I have also found out that there is something in all the magnificence of the city that makes one put the membrane of anonymity. In camouflage all New Yorkers, and I after them, try to achieve the dreams. On the streets of this city the homeless and the Wall Street investors walk side-by-side. This is where harlequins become indistinguishable from the masters. It gives me the chance to aim to be a dancer and an engineer at the same time.
Almost three years have passed. Now I live in the Bronx where I meet a lot of Albanians and feel more complete. CCNY has offered all that I had hoped for: the strong academics, a 
focus on Engineering and students with whom I could exchange experiences. I became the soloist and assistant choreographer of the Albanian Dance Ensemble of New York, which reminds me of my heritage. Ajkun Ballet Theatre with an Albanian choreographer continues to develop my dancing skills. I came to understanding that volunteer work is meaningful, and as part of South Asian Youth Action, I get to help young immigrants integrate in American society.
I go on vacation to my homeland. How long I wait for those day to tell others of my new life! But those people I saw in my dream images do not exist anymore. With most of them it is difficult to communicate. Sometimes I feel a stranger in my own country, in my own hearth, dreaming: the big house where I would work the garden and grandchildren will come around. I do not have roots anymore, but I have created invisible links from contact with the every day life in New York. They keep pushing me to build a new base here.
Being a resident of two worlds does not constitute a full identity, but two halves, which lie next to one another, but never blend into a whole. I am an Albanian emigrant in the United States trying to take the next step in life toward completing my education and my dancing dream. In the end I try to convince myself that this city smells of fresh flowers, with a bit of lemon and mint because mixed conversations about success, money and prestige take place.
Please listen to Roberto Cacciapaglia – Atlantico
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