Unfamiliar World: Becoming an Immigrant for The American Dream

Unfamiliar Worlds

In the little camp of Pathri, trees hooded the empty road; with every step, the sky got clearer. Smells of fresh Acacia Catechu filled my soul as the wind blew my hair, bringing immediate serenity. Pathri is one of many Bhutanese Nepalese refugee resettlement towns. There, residing with 2,000 people in a close-knit community, I never felt incapable of expressing myself and thus, I fit in perfectly. However, in an attempt for a better life, my family moved here, to the states, to achieve the American Dream at my fragile age of 8. As exciting as moving to a different country sounded it was just as terrifying. Little did we know that this unfamiliar world had paramount struggles; the struggles of having a language barrier, lifestyle differences, and immigrant status that came with the constant reminder that I would never fit in which led to insecurity and the need to be all things American.

Consequently, the first day of school in America was surreal. I walked into my first day at an American school not knowing how to pronounce a single word. My first “hello” to my third-grade teacher was shaken, it was said with an accent so thick the whole class gawked. As the days went by, the realization of just how thick my accent came into my mind, it was then I decided I would try my hardest to soften my “Rs” and my “Ts”, all the while forcing my tongue to latch onto the American pronunciations. The constant request of my peers to repeat certain words because of how exotic it sounded coming from me, this bothered me to some extent. I was just a child like them - wanting to fit in, and trying to fit in - could they have overlooked my accent? Eventually, my accent became the attraction at school but at home, I practiced for my accent to be equivalent to all those surrounding me. This was yet another step in order to Americanize myself and it took effect. Within a few years, I didn’t have to try as hard for my accent to be perfect, but along with this perfection came the insecurity that followed the slip of my accent here and there.

Looking into the room all I noticed was polished clothes, perfectly tied hair, and amazing accents. Then I felt the weight of my muddy shoes from Walmart, my frizzy hair, and my illiterate self; this difference in lifestyle was all it took to feel excluded. I was a dark-skinned Nepalese girl at a school that lacked diversity. For students who probably had been around light-skinned, light-haired people their whole lives, my dark tan and black hair was cause for silent glares. I did not drink the various drinks offered at Dunkins’ nor was I familiarised with Disney stars. Usually, the first thing in the morning I would run to my mom for the chai she would make just for me. In an effort to become more American, I strayed away from the chai my mom made with spices and masalas at home. Instead, I ran to Dunkin’s’ for their Chai Latte or the Iced Coffee. In due course, those drinks became natural to my taste buds. Yet in another attempt, I surfed the web in search of the tv shows the kids would talk about at school. That was what I needed to do to be American, and so I did. The Wizards of Waverly Place and The Suite Life of Zack and Cody became what I looked forward to after school. Finally, a conversation I can have—Disney was never my childhood but everyone around me thought me otherwise. The familiarity I had with Disney now was apparent and I was getting closer to being the American I wanted.

In addition, the desire for wearing fancier clothes began. My parents, who barely spoke English only knew of Walmart; they could neither drive or afford anything besides Walmart. This was the biggest difference in lifestyle that I had to bear for years to come. This created a barrier between me and my friends, they always had better clothes than the ones I wore from Walmart. Eventually, a few years passed and I could now shop on my own. Once I started shopping on my own, I was what my friends considered “well dressed.” Although, my illiterate parents still could not drive me to the events at school or socialize with my friends, at least my accent was okay and I looked the part of an American.

Being an immigrant means spending tons of time to Americanize oneself in order to fit in which usually leads to a heightened sense of consciousness. However, the struggles of being an immigrant back then versus now greatly differ. Now in America, when it comes to the seemingly controversial topic of immigration, a rush of guilt almost consumes me. Compared to now, what I had to dig myself out of was nothing. My guilt is due to the fact I have settled and I fit in now, but what about the other immigrants that are still struggling? that Immigrants are on the lookout for a better life but they have become yet another political issue to discuss. Before they even embark on the path of finding a better life, they have to convince the people who would otherwise never know about the fight, that their lives are worth it. Considering that my first concern when I got to America was about fitting in, it is sad now that it has become much more intense. Fitting in and looking like Americans is the last thing immigrants will have to worry about. It is the stare along with the verbalization of the discrimination; illegal or not is the concern now. Suddenly, everybody understands the struggles of immigrants and their lives leading them to side with either the liberals or conservatives. The lives of immigrants have become a topic that decides your political stance. It is true that I have finally managed to be more American than ever, but what about the 18-year-old girl and her family in a camp in some third world country trying to escape into America? What are the labels that they would be attached to now? Illegals? Job stealers? Criminals? Or just a family looking for a better life?

Though there was a crowd surrounding me, I was alone in a blank, dark, and unfulfilled space. The story of various immigrants holds many similarities but by far, the fear of not belonging is the one that is etched on to all our hearts. Every new introduction began with where I was from and if continued, how I arrived to the US. To this day, I feel at unease to share the story of being a refugee turned immigrant because of the glares given back then. The feeling of being an outsider is one that never really gets away because it is attached to my identity. Even with all the attempts at being and looking like an American; being an immigrant is what identifies me. With the continuous rise of controversies, being an immigrant is even more difficult compared to what I had to go through, and the struggles are truly unfathomable, even for me.