Everything changed so suddenly – one morning, as with many before it, I woke up to the warm, tropical air of Puerto Rico. Later on that night, I was tucking myself into a new bed, breathing in the foreign scents of New York. It was November, and the air was much cooler here than it was back in Guayanilla. I deliberately slowed my breathing, tasting the air on the back of my tongue, becoming more and more conscious of my breath with every inhale. Simultaneously, I became more conscious of my thoughts.

There had been so many of them scrambling in my mind the entire day. All of them competed for my individual attention, but instead their frequency and intrusiveness just threw me into a haze. My day felt like an endless blur, filled with excitement and nervousness. Distinctly, I recalled the lumps in the back of my throat as I kissed my mother and each of my siblings goodbye, eyesight blurry as I fought back the tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks. Yet there was still a reason to smile. Most of my family was going to stay behind in Guayanilla, but as I boarded the plane and took one last look at the country I called home for the past 19 years, I felt excitement gather in my heart. I was finally going to the best place on Earth – Nueva York!

I sighed deeply and rolled over, allowing my body to sink into the bed as the day’s events caught up with me. My eyelids, finally heavy with sleep, gratefully shut and in only a short time I felt myself drifting off. Half of me wondered if it was real, if I was truly in the place I had wished to be since I was a little girl. The other half of me dared to think hopefully of the future – the people I would meet, the opportunities I would be given, how perfectly I would speak English, how easily I would become a true New Yorker. I pulled the sheets around me a little tighter, and fell asleep thinking about the job I would start in just a day.

Back home, my father and I worked in a shoe factory. We decided to stick with our trade when we made the big move to New York, so just two days after my arrival in the city I started work at 8AM sharp at Palizio Shoes. My father was always on time, if not early, and so we planned to leave at 6:45 AM. I had woken up at 5:30 AM, body rested, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling. I rose before the sun and began a routine I would go through for years to come. After a fresh shower, I put on dress pants, a blouse, heels, makeup, and jewelry. While I had worn all of these things before, today they felt new. My elevated mood made everything feel exciting, and I could feel the energy in my movements as I put on my coat and wrapped a scarf around my neck.

We took the 6 train from 116^th street and rode down the spine of Lexington Avenue. Past 110^th, past 86^th, past Hunter College on 68^th, and through Grand Central! Mentally I counted how many streets we passed between each stop of the train, and came to a total of 93 streets by the time we reached our destination – 23^rd street. My father and I ascended the stairs, side by side, and walked half a block to Palizio Shoes. It took about 7 minutes, and within those 7 minutes, I was nearly overwhelmed with everything I was experiencing. I heard the sound of cars passing, sirens honking, people talking, and yet the click of my heels against the concrete managed to stick out to my own ears. I studied the people that filled my environment in the fleeting moments before they walked past me, melting into the same anonymous sea from which they appeared. All of them looked busy and confident, as though they had a special place to be, to talk with important people about serious matters. I straightened my back and walked taller, realizing that in a city where no one knew your name or your background, I was just as important as them. I had a place to be, at a certain time, to do a particular task for very important reasons.

The position I occupied at Palizio was not a fancy one by any means, but I worked with pride. My job as a laborer required that I organize the shoes made at the factory. Working in a group of 3 to 4 people, I checked to make sure the shoes had no stains, no threads sticking out, and were paired together with another shoe of the same size and style. At around 11:30 I would break for lunch. It felt good to breathe in the outside air and experience the movement of the city as I walked down the block to a nearby deli. There, I would order a coffee to go with a sandwich, a granola bar, or a piece of cake brought from home. At around 12:30 I would return to my job, which, after a week or so, I performed with confidence.

While I frequently spoke Spanish, I took every chance to speak English – if someone was willing to listen to me, then I would be willing to try. It started off simple – I greeted my co-workers with “Good morning!” and bid them goodbye with “I’ll see you tomorrow!” I would say “please” and “thank you” when I ordered coffee at the deli, “excuse me” if I accidentally collided with someone on the street, “Bless you!” if someone sneezed. Every day I learned new words or phrases, repeating them over and over to make sure I wouldn’t forget. As the years went on, I spoke, wrote, and thought in equal parts Spanish and English.

My mother and my younger siblings arrived in New York a few months later in January. We quickly relocated to Coney Island in Brooklyn, and my commute was extended. I took the D, got off at Atlantic, and transferred to the 6, now riding in the opposite direction to get to work. In the few months that it was only my father and I working in New York, I felt that I had really grown. Other people in my position may have had their hopes dulled by the faithful routine of my job, the search to find their place in a huge city, and the struggle to bridge the language gap. But my personal progress served as the motivation to get me out of bed each morning. I became more skilled at my job, able to work faster and able to form personal relationships with my coworkers.  I could see a difference in my English now compared to when I first arrived on that chilly evening in November. And though I hadn’t been here for long, I had felt at home on the first day. My name is Sonia Gutierrez, and I was born to be a New Yorker.