America: My Fantasy Land, My Benefactress

 

On that fateful day, my family left our poverty stricken home and arrived at America. My father had only $200 in his pocket, but we were filled with hope to achieve our American Dream. We were ready to overcome all the challenges and confront hardships that were waiting for us. With the help of altruistic benefactors and hard work of my parents, I now receive an excellent education and we could afford hot food on our dinner table.

 

A typical immigrant story which Americans love to hear.

 

My story is a little different. First of all, my family was not poverty stricken, but led comfortable, middle-class life. Additionally, coming to America was not determined by my own will but by those who didn’t even know my name. They were my father’s superiors who resolved to send him to work for three years at one of the bank’s branches in the United States. I was only ten years old. Unable to bear the thought of being separated for such a long time, he inquired to take his whole family, and the company consented. It even offered to pay our rent.

Even though this was a complete surprise to me, I was nevertheless filled with excitement along with a little bit of fear, dreaming of what my new home would be like. I asked over and over again to my father, “Are we really flying over the Pacific ocean right now? Am I going to see the tall people I saw in the movies?" All I knew about America was that it was a gigantic country, hundreds of times bigger than my native land, and that Americans were rich people living in houses like palaces, immersed in the peak of high-tech civilization built with the genius of the human brain.

Due to all the wonderful things I heard about this wealthiest and most powerful nation on earth (and also my ignorance and immature innocence), I came to invent my own fantasy land called America. This was the world filled with opulent wealth, areas of perpetual spring and some with eternal Christmas decorations, as well as the mountains and mountains of McDonald cheeseburgers. These farfetched fantasies ceased to exist around the same time I found out that there was no such person called Santa Clause. Still, I expected to live in a mansion with huge gates and agonized over what I will do with all the leaves that will fall on my yard in autumn from the great poplar trees. I even thought that American toilets would automatically flush themselves. Sadly, my shallow knowledge and grand imagination derived from Hollywood movies soon proved to be too idealistic. When I stepped out of the JFK airport, my first impression was...that America was very grey. Black asphalt and grey sky were colorless, plus the ragged newspaper that was rolling on the streets which I expected to be impeccably spotless.

Of course, that impression transformed to an utter admiration when I saw New York City at night. I never knew there was such a great city that existed, and my mouth dropped open at its endless panoply of lights and forest of magnificent buildings. I saw people of all different races in contrast to the monotonous black haired and brown eyes I grew up with in my hometown. On the first day of American school, I did not know what I was eating, and being accustomed to wearing a formal, grey-and-navy uniform provoked me to ask a girl wearing a tank-top, “that, a underwear?" (Alas, my English was far from perfect at that time). All I received in return was a fierce glare and a brisk scoff. I confess that adjusting to a new culture was difficult. Even though it happens only rarely, I still find myself owing to adults instead of waving my hand.

The idea that I would eventually go back to Korea always coerced me to learn Korean materials and master the English language simultaneously. Reluctance to stand out as a foreigner deterred my desire for actively participating in non-academic activities. When my parents decided to settle here rather than go back to our home country mainly for educational purposes, the typical immigrant story almost came to reality. They had to give up their jobs, and I realized I was a plant raised in a green house. Now, I was really living in a foreign country and was left with no choice but to become a pioneer in order to carve out a place for myself. I was on my own Odyssey, the journey of serious introspection and solemn reflection. I take nothing for granted, and I am aware that I was always shielded from life's hardships.

Coming to America did not create a mere ripple affect, but the series of titanic waves that swallowed me whole and molded my character, belief, and basically everything in me. I often ponder over what my life would have been like if I had stayed in Korea. Then, I conclude, this country truly provided me with opportunities and events that I would never have had chance to experience if I did remain. Instead of being confined to limited cultural aspects, I witness the diversity and vigor of American society every single day. I am the product of two completely divergent cultures, the synthesis of the east and the west, the genuine 1.5 generation individual with Korean heart and American belief.