Memoirs Of An Immigrant
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Memoirs Of An Immigrant

From a tiny village in Adana, Turkey to a 6,323 mile-long trek into the United States, my mother talks about her perspective as an immigrant.

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Memoirs Of An Immigrant
Didem Arslanoglu

Nothing but the art of the starry sky and the moon of midnight, my mother said, could make her giddy as a little kid. Tucked behind the Aladağ mountains in Adana, Turkey, sits a minuscule village, quite isolated and hidden from the rest of the world. My mother said her childhood in the village, with her parents and 6 siblings, was an escapade of all things beautiful: running through vast sunflower fields with her arms thrust out to the sky, climbing up walnut trees, and gathering under the sound of the ezan melting into the fissures of the mountains. I ask her why she left. Through the eyes of a yearning traveler, a paradise like this is the dream. Yet, the reality of their lives was different than the preconceived notion that living naturally is always beautiful.

There is a folk belief in that in order to ‘save yourself’, you must leave. My mother’s side of the family grew up impoverished, ravaged by financial turmoil and the pressure to send 7 kids to school. Being able to afford their schooling, let alone sturdy shoes on their feet, was an impossible feat. My mother, and then eventually my four uncles, would make the lonely trek to the States, in which they knew nothing about, simply that it was 6,323 miles away, and there was a possibility to 'save themselves'.

Leaving the nest, was the hardest thing for a 20-year-old girl to do, my mother said. She only had an image of what the United States would be like. Would look like. “But I didn’t care. I wanted to become a nurse. And so I wanted to go to school there. Learning English was incredibly hard. Working two jobs to afford an education was even harder”.

And the reality of it all sunk in when she landed headfirst on the streets of Long Island, New York. A sanctuary for new immigrants, the streets reeked of dreams and despair. My mother wasn’t the lone wolf. Amongst her attempted immersion, she met others going through the same motions as her. To pursue an education, to escape from autocracy and poverty, and to carry out hopes and dreams, people were flocking to the States in any possible way. My mother immediately found a job as a waitress in a local diner and picked up graveyard shifts as a cashier in a grimy Gas Station.

Her co-workers told her that she needed to go back to her country, that her foreign look and broken English was unsuitable and would ward off customers. One co-worker told her that she would do everything in her power to ensure she would get fired. She stole the tip money my mother made when she wasn’t looking. At the gas station she worked at, she had a gun pointed to her head by a robber. Though physically unscathed from the event, she lived through at least a dozen more incidents of barbarity in the workplace. “My hands lost their durability. Coming in with an illusion of a perfect life, ended up with me living in constant, growing fear and uncertainty”.

Working tirelessly as a young adult and trying to get a good education, learning a new language and meeting new people was “One of the most grueling things I’ve had to do. I missed my mom, I missed my people and the kindness in the air and I didn’t know where I was going.” My mother said.

She eventually left those jobs, and with the money she raised and the education she received, she moved to Ohio and became a manager.

“I’m just glad I didn’t give up. But working tirelessly just to get rent and food on my table took the life out of me. I missed my parents and was confused about the life I was living. It felt like I was going nowhere. But I never gave up, I had no time to surrender”.

And so I can say several things, after listening to my mother’s immigration story, after visiting the village she grew up and seeing the contrast between poverty in a third-world country and the way we live in the States... be kind to everybody. Be kind to immigrants, documented or undocumented, this is their home as much as it is yours. You don’t know what everybody is coping with, and the extreme difficulties they face, if an immigrant, regarding secure housing, secure jobs, proper education and getting access to utilities. Everybody has a story. Everybody is trying. Stand with dreamers.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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