Okay so essentially, I got imported from my homeland [Dominican Republic] across the great big blue sea, to the Ol’ US of A. Around the calm age of 9, on a serene windy evening, my mother calmly approached me at the dinner table. She softly tapped my shoulder to get my attention. I’m slightly perturbed as I was laser focused on my homework, whilst the loud TV blast in the background. She says to me “Mijo, tengo algo que decirte ”(My son, I have something to tell you.) I responded as I realized who it was, “Hola Ma, que paso? Estaba haciendo mi tarea. ”(Hi Mom, What ‘s up? I was doing my homework.) She said, “Lo veo mi amor, tengo unas buenas noticias.” (I see my love, I got some good news, ) I then realized what she about to tell me, and feel a bit disappointed, “Nos approvaron las visas?”(Did they approve our green cards?) My mom looks at me worried, “Si Mijo, al fin nos approvaron. Dime que paso? Tienes la cara larga.” (Yes my son, we finally got approved. Tell me what happened? You’ve got a long face.) I then proceed to talk about how I’m then going to have to leave everything behind. I have to leave my friends, my family, my neighbors, my community, and everything that I cherished at that time.

I was a well composed child, so my mother partially understood that I was processing what was about to occur. I was already aware it was going to happen some time or another. My brother had left a few months ago shortly after finishing his first semester of 2nd grade. I felt oddly about him leaving at first, but then got used to it, then came June of 2010. The day I had to leave everything behind, and start anew in another land that I was not mentally conscious of.

So here comes the big day, my flight was at 6 AM, mind you I haven’t been on the big flying metal bird in well over half a decade. Now we arrive at departing immigration (I have zero clue as to why we have this to be honest), so we get there and for some odd reason there has to bed a fee of $1,400 Dominican Pesos (a calm $24.69 USD), which back then that was a lot of $$$. We have to borrow some breesh (NYC slang for cash) to pay some of the fee. Once we move on from here………..[To be continued]