I was four at the time I moved to America, and somehow the journey remains fresh in my memory. Before moving to New York, we made stops from the east coast to the west coast, visiting major cities and states in order to apprehend the area that was most affordable, beneficial, and easy to acculturate to for our family. Unfortunately, I cannot recollect our visits to Los Angeles, Houston, Orlando, or Atlanta, but I do faintly remember Missouri and of course, New York.
Missouri seems like a boring mid-west state with a focus on agriculture and country music. However, this location has a special place in my heart. Lee’s Summit, Missouri is where my sister was born, and also the place where I first met the Italian side of my family. I often reminisce the serene, clean, and rural countryside. I miss cruising down the highway with the roof of the car open, feeling that fresh and warm breeze against my face and the wind blowing through my hair. Besides the wonderful physical sensations, I had family in Missouri.
Meeting my Italian family was strange because of the major contrast in culture, religion, and language. My family did not speak English, so basic communication was rather difficult. However, the language barrier was not as difficult to overcome as expected. Traveling, touring, and visiting different areas of Missouri, such as the famous Gateway Arch in St. Louis, coffee shops, and Italian restaurants, enabled us all as a collective group to enjoy our stay. We ended up with an incredibly strong bond with our Italian relatives, so much so that we now visit them every summer. That same year, my younger sister Maria was born. It may seem that I loathe and detest her, but deep down I am glad I had someone as young as me experience this new American world. The state of Missouri possesses a large part of my confused childhood, that is, the enigmatic chapter of my life full of questions on the perplexity of American society.
America seems so foreign to a child born and raised in a strict community with an intense focus on education and order. Immigrants who move to America usually experience a culture shock, where they leave a culture they partially understood to experience another exotic culture. In Thailand, I would usually spend countless hours completing homework and competing to “get first in class,” which is a phrase I would hear often from my parents. America seemed like a laid-back country, and kindergarten consisted more of coloring and recess time than mathematics and science. The food here, albeit delicious and satisfying, is greasy and unhealthy. As a child, our preschool focused in depth on nutrition and health, the two important aspects on living a long and joyous lifestyle. Asian cultures incorporate vegetables and tea as part of a daily diet, and America focuses on protein and carbohydrates, or so it seemed to a five-year-old Minhal.
Moving to New York was not strange because moving from state to state became a normal lifestyle for our family. However, the environment outside our Brooklyn home was yet another foreign land. Brooklyn seemed like a dirty, filthy, rodent-infested, and loud area, especially since we lived near the train tracks. I had to retake kindergarten class due to my young age, and found it unappealing due to the lack of focus on grades and learning a topic other than numbers and the alphabet. Regardless, Brooklyn, specifically Coney Island Avenue, is a street of familiarity, even to us foreigners. The street is lined with shops, such as Bazaars and halal meat stores, which consisted of people who spoke Urdu and Hindi. The area was concentrated with Pakistanis, enabling us to keep a close tie and communicate effectively with the community around us. I remember walking down the sidewalk with my cousin, and waving at the shop owners in every store we pass by. The pungent aroma of South Asian dishes brought my family and me comfort. The people on Coney Island Avenue were also recent immigrants, so they understood the trouble we had in settling in and becoming accustomed to American culture. There was always a helping hand when our family needed one, and that is what I loved most about the Brooklyn area I lived in thirteen years ago.
In elementary school I somehow formed two personalities. I formed one personality at home, where my parents were extremely strict and prohibited many activities from my life, such as sleeping over, hanging out with friends outside of school, or saying anything disrespectful or crude. At school, I was shocked to see the lack of restrictions in speech towards any topic. Children spoke without care or consequence, and curse words were used in practically every sentence. I was put into ESL classes for my inability to comprehend and speak English fluently. I felt like an outsider for my necessity of special education courses in order to understand the relatively simple concepts we learned in class. At times, I felt underprivileged and disadvantaged because other students had parents who were educated in America, and therefore had easy access to help when needed. If I had a question about my homework, I had to figure it out myself. Additionally, once I understood the intricate and complex English language, my parents brought me along with them as a translator for basic communication with others, such as the doctor.
I asked my mother about her feelings and experience in moving to America. Her focus was on the economy, jobs, and American citizens. My mom expected America to be full of Caucasians with blonde hair and blue eyes; however, it turns out that America is extremely diverse! The job market, which is a pull factor for all immigrants, is not as effortless as expected to acquire a job. Obtaining and maintaining a job is hard work and labor, especially when one only earns minimum wage. Also, America seems less interactive as a community. In Pakistani and Arab and Thai culture, one must always be friendly and altruistic to neighbors. As my mom says, “Your neighbors always end up becoming your best friends.” New York is a busy world, and living next to each other yet remaining distant in each other’s lives is a strange concept.
Whether you’re an adult or a child, experiencing a new culture and environment can be stressful and confusing. We set our expectations too high, only to be faced by the harsh reality of the world. The expectations my mom set for America are the goals I have set for myself, i.e., earn a living, start a family, and live the American dream. The dream we live today, and the dream I hope to live tomorrow.
