I am someone who is hesitant to go outside in the middle of a thunderstorm despite having an umbrella, but my parents came to an unknown country with nothing but their identities. They didn’t have an umbrella—a safety net—to shield themselves from hardships. But they still came. They took a leap of faith into the land of freedom and opportunity, hoping to provide opportunities for their children that would not have been possible anywhere else.
The courage. The resilience. The drive. My parents left their safe haven—a land where they could wear traditional Indian attire in public without being gawked at, and my mother could wear a bindi without being questioned. A land that was considered home for the first 24 years of their life. They knew that the journey was going to last longer than a 16-hour plane ride. It was going to last beyond customs and baggage pick-up. The real journey began when they stepped onto American soil and realized they transitioned from Indian citizens to first generation American immigrants.
“Firsts” are always the hardest. From the moment we take our first steps as a baby to riding a bike for the first time, there is a sense of uneasiness. Whether it is the first day of school or starting a new job, a period of adjustment comes along with new experiences—and it may not always be comfortable. Some will let this discomfort and uncertainty confine them in a zone, whereas others will use it to venture out and face the unknown. I am proud to say I am the daughter of first generation immigrants who faced the unknown headstrong.
They worked two jobs while paying attention to the upbringing of two kids. As my brother and I started our education, they continued to strengthen their broken English so they could learn right along with us. Rather than completely assimilating to Western culture, my parents held on to their Indian heritage so I would never have to struggle with maintaining the delicate balance of both cultures.
I am not going to lie, it wasn’t easy, and at times I am still learning what it means to be the daughter of first generation immigrants. Would I say my first language is English, or Gujarati? Since I was born here, would that primarily make me Indian or should I identify as American?
Even as these thoughts would constantly wrack my mind, I realized the backbone of my identity is being Indian-American. I learned the value of opportunities, the weight of a sacrifice. I learned that life does not come with a safety net, but often times, the best experiences come when there is no guarantee.
So yes. I am the daughter of first generation immigrants—individuals who have created a life in an unknown world surrounded by unknown people. With courage in one hand and resilience in the other, they made the unknown known. They may have only come here with a $20 bill, but the opportunities and experiences they have given me are priceless.
