Journal 2

Four sheets of plywood and galvanized made up my small hut where I sold my authentic dishes to help balance my income from a sewing machine operator job. I had just turn eighteen without a collage degree but needed to gain independency from my Fidel Castro parents. My hut was gaining momentum as my customers became my billboards. A visitor to my island who happen to have my neighbor as his driver and tour guide brought him to my hut so he can taste local cuisine. Turns out to be one of my biggest sale days. Josh the visitor was from America and asked me if I would like to cook on a bigger sale. We then exchange phone numbers as I tend to other customers. Months went by and suddenly my mom called saying,” there is a foreigner on the phone for you.” I had not idea who it might be, but third world country people hospitality get me moving to answer that call. It was Josh calling to notify me that my application is in process, and he needs additional personal information so it may complete. A few months went  and then I was on a flight heading to JFK international.

I was now in a huge kitchen preparing my same dishes while learning new ones. Although I would miss my friendly customers the idea of being in America where my hobby became my job was overjoyed but my joy did not last for long. After three years living in America, I received a letter of deportation from USCIS. Although the government agency procrastinates in my residency application, they accused me of working without documentation. Josh who was my sponsor quickly back off and I became an illegal immigrant at the mercy of the American Government. Alone, scared, and unemployed I got my first babysitter position. Fifty hours work week and twenty-four hours on weekend with a different family to help pay for legal representation. I walk in fear and trepidation every court appointment for I know not the verdict that could change my life. Four years later I was freed, broke, alone, and tired but I got to stay and follow my dreams.