A Short Migration Story
My migration story is short. My whole family including me was born in Guang Dong, China. Back in the old days, both my parents were unemployed but sometimes my dad would get part time jobs to earn an income. Getting a job in China was difficult, especially when we did not have college degrees and had to compete with 1.3 billion other people. This typical reason of immigration became my family’s explanation too. My dad moved to New York in 2004, and I followed him three years later in July.
The common understanding of America to our family was a country filled with opportunities and money. My mom’s uncle’s family was the first generation to settle in New York. Her uncle introduced a young, but not very handsome guy to my aunt, wishing that she could obtain citizenship from the United States by marriage. The guy fell in love with my aunt by the first sight at her picture and he proposed to her. My aunt had little freedom and therefore she followed her uncle’s instruction. Our relatives became the primary reason for our choice of destination. Since 1997, my family started applying to immigrate. Finally in 2004, my dad became the first person in our family to go. Before I moved to America, I remembered that my dad used to complain a lot. Not about the poor working condition or the quality of the food, but mainly about the boredom he was experiencing. He was trying to adapt to a new country and facing a language barrier without friends and family. He has been working as a physical therapist assistant in clinics for ten years. And even now, he still wanted to move back to China. That soon became my situation when I moved to the United States. Before I came to New York, I was looking forward to a new life. I failed some of my major classes in school and I wished I can avoid pressure from my mom by escaping. But adapting to a new country was harder than my expectation.
The first neighborhood I had moved in was Avenue U in downtown Brooklyn. It consisted of several types of people. Up past Nostrand Avenue, there were mainly the African Americans. Where I lived, 26th Street was a mixture of Chinese and Russians. Ten blocks down near the train station was a blend of the Middle East and Chinese culture. I liked the fact that the neighborhood was mostly Asians, it aided my settling and also allowed me to become familiar with the people around despite my language barrier. However, the environment was not what I was accustomed to. In China, I mostly lived with my mom in my grandfather’s district for school. In an apartment house with one bedroom, four people crowded inside — me, my mother, my uncle, and my grandfather. It was a noisy and prosperous area. I used to only wake up fifteen minutes earlier, because my school was just ten meters away. On the other side of the street, two rows of stores were facing each other, selling variety of daily use articles and clothing. Further down, there were several supermarkets and my friends’ houses. At anytime, I can call them out and hang out. China was never a tiresome place for me. Neon lights from stores were seldom turned off, which reminded me of a mini 42st Street. But in Brooklyn, when I walked out to the street, rows of houses were facing each other. Everyone kept their door shut, the neighborhood was quiet. Further down in Avenue U, there were more people and stores, but it was incomparable with my hometown. Consequently, I stayed home and played computer for most of the time.
The emigration from one country to another, the transformation from childhood to adolescence, and the adaptation of a new environment; none of these were easy for anybody, especially me. After staying in America for a month, my apprehension finally arrived, and it was the first day of my fifth grade class. That gloomy morning, my classmates stared at me and probably figured out that I was a transfer student just by looking at my unfamiliar face. The most embarrassing moment came when my homeroom teacher asked me to introduce myself. I stood in the front solemnly without knowing what to say. Minutes later, my teacher finally gave up. Ever since then, I decided that I hate school.
As days passed, I sat in the corner of my classroom quietly, repetitively reading the same kindergarten level books that my teacher told me to read while she was teaching lessons to the class. The books were at first hard to me, but then they became easy and eventually turned boring as I read them over and over again. My teacher was satisfied with my gradual improvement. My favorite class used to be my ESL class. I met many friends there. We all came from foreign countries, and we all understood each other’s feeling. We loved to joke around and make plans to hang out during our free time. I never considered my language barrier as a horrible thing. Thanks to it, I was always excused from doing something wrong. Though life was dull at first, but I enjoyed the relaxation very much.
Just like my father, the idea of moving back to china sometimes flashed in my mind. I thought I still wanted to immigrate back until I went back for vacation recently. I spent my entire winter break in China, but I did almost nothing. I lost contact with my friends and classmates, and I had nowhere to go besides visiting my relatives. I started to miss the days in New York. I finally understood that, my happiness did not come from the region I live, but rather the people I have.
Eight years is quite long to me, but I learned a lot. I learned to take responsibility of myself and I learned to be a cheerful person. Recently, I also learned that I enjoy living in America. In this country, I get free education and many opportunities. I enjoy the freedom I am experiencing too. My dad wished that he can go back to reunite with his friends and family after I graduated from college. But I guess I changed my mind since the last trip, I wish to stay in America for the rest of my life.
