My Life as an Immigrant- First Time in the United States
I want to start by apologizing for not posting anything last week. I was going through a very rough time mentally, and I just could not find the strength in myself to sit down and write.
Having said that, this is the second part of a series of posts where I reflect on my experience as an immigrant.
In my introduction to the topic, which you can find here, I wrote about my brief trips to Germany and Spain as a language student, recounted an unpleasant and traumatic experience I had in Barcelona, and reflected on the idea of “privilege” through the perspective of someone who experiences the world as an immigrant.
This time, I want to take you back to the first time I went to the United States as a college student.
Without any further delay, let me dive right in!
I left Istanbul on 22 August 2004. No one from my family accompanied me, so I was by myself. I had a huge suitcase that I struggled with throughout the whole journey, which is not surprising since, back then, I was skinny as a twig.
Leaving was hard. Harder than I had expected it to be. Even though I always wanted to go to the U.S. for college, when the time came, it was gut-wrenchingly difficult for me to leave behind my family and close friends, who came to see me off from the airport. I don’t think I ever fully got over it, to be honest. I say this because I can feel those emotions now, as I type these words nearly 20 years later, almost as strongly as I felt them back then.
My flight was to Washington, D.C. It was my first time in the United States, and I didn’t have to be at the University of Virginia (UVa) campus until three days later, so my plan was to visit D.C. first. I was supposed to arrive at Dulles Airport and thought I would just take a taxi (or cab as they say in the U.S) once I landed. At the time, I had no idea that Dulles Airport was quite far away from Washington, D.C. Until, that is, a family I met on the plane alerted me to the fact, arguing that my cab idea would not be too feasible, especially financially, while offering to give me a ride to the hotel.
I don’t know how, but I just said “yes.” Looking back, I kind of marvel at what I can only define as a combination of my naivete, stupidity, and courage. I mean, I’ve just decided to accept a ride from random strangers whom I have never seen before in my life and who could be a family of serial killers for all I know. Fortunately for me, that did not turn out to be the case, and they took me to my hotel in D.C (talk about being a good Samaritan).
As I was reflecting on this experience, though, I realized that what I did stemmed mainly from a desperate need to make a connection with someone at that moment. I was and felt utterly alone on that plane, having just left my family and friends behind, and I was going somewhere where I did not know anyone. Not a single soul. So when a random stranger showed some sort of kindness towards me, I instinctively clung to it, probably just to feel a little less lonely. Years later, on another plane to the U.S., I had a similar experience when I poured out my misery on another random person out of my strong need to simply connect with someone.
The first thing that shocked me about the United States was how big, how massive everything was. Wandering around D.C., doing all the touristy stuff, everything just seemed huge to me. The buildings, the streets. Pretty much everything. It felt like it took me ages to cross from one part of a street to another. I grew up in Istanbul and visited my fair share of European cities until that time, but this was nothing like I had experienced before.
Even the food portions were big. I went to a restaurant once and ordered a Coke along with my meal (this was way before I stopped drinking soda). When my order arrived, I could not believe my eyes. The Coke came in this huge glass, almost as big as a damn vase, and chock-full of ice. But this was not all. Halfway through my meal, the waitress came and asked if I wanted a refill. I probably looked at her with an uncomprehending expression on my face because she felt like she had to repeat her question. I declined, thinking to myself that I didn’t want to pay for another glass (using the term “glass” very loosely here, as you can imagine). It would take some time for me to fully come to grips with the fact that soda refills were free in restaurants in the U.S. (this was in 2004. I wonder if they are still free today).
Not everything was going to plan, however. The biggest problem I was facing was that I had no way of communicating with my family back home. I had a cell phone, which worked fine on my previous trips to Europe, but for one reason or another, the roaming was not working in the U.S. (this was the pre-smartphone era, kids!). I tried the payphones (remember those?) and, not surprisingly, they did not work either. Basically, since I said goodbye to them at the airport, my parents had no way of knowing where I was or whether I was dead or alive, which, understandably, drove them mad with worry.
The only thing I could think of was to email one of my friends (since my parents did not have email addresses at the time) and ask him to call my mom or something and tell her that I was okay. Which is exactly what I did. I went into a public library to use the Internet and emailed a close friend of mine, (yet another time a library came to my rescue. I wrote about my relationship with libraries in a previous post that you can find here). The funny thing was that my mom did not initially believe him and thought he was just trying to calm her down. She was only convinced when my friend started reading the actual email that I had sent him.
(Having written this, I went back and found those emails, which made me feel a mix of emotions. I think “nostalgia” captures it best, though).
I’ll wrap up this post by telling you about the first time I went to the University of Virginia campus in Charlottesville, which is worth recounting.
Still guided by my experiences in Europe, I decided to take a train from D.C. It was 25 August 2004. Dragging my suitcase along, I managed to get on the Amtrack that was going to take me to Charlottesville. I don’t remember much from the journey itself. How did I feel? Was I nervous? Excited? I honestly don’t know. I do, however, distinctly remember the moment I stepped off the train.
It was late afternoon, probably around 4 or 5 PM. Coming from a huge city like Istanbul and having just spent 3 days in D.C., I felt like I got off at the definition of “the middle of nowhere.” I remember thinking, “There is nothing around here. Where the hell did I come?” That was my first impression.
My initial plan was to take a cab to the “main gate” of the campus (we’ll get to this in a second). The only problem was there were no cabs around. No cab stand, either. There was another student-looking guy at the station who also looked lost, and unsurprisingly, we gravitated towards each other and started talking. He was an Italian graduate student who came to UVa for his Ph.D. While we were getting to know each other and trying to figure out what to do, an empty cab arrived. We decided to share the ride since cabs were obviously a rarity in the area.
Once we got in, the cab driver asked us where we wanted to go. The Italian guy knew where he was headed, but I just said,
“The main gate of the campus.”
And the driver responded,
“There is no main gate.”
In Istanbul, every university had a main gate, so I couldn’t quite understand. What the hell did he mean there was no “main gate?” Another thought of “What kind of place did I end up in?” flashed in my head. While I was trying to figure out what to do, the driver, who apparently had been doing this for a long while, said that he would take me to where the incoming students usually went.
And that’s what he did. He dropped me off at exactly where I was supposed to go and where I was greeted by the student volunteers, who directed me towards my dorm room. I was going to stay with a friend of mine from high school. When I arrived at the room, he was already there with his parents.
A part of my journey was completed. I was 10,000 km away from my family and friends, but I also felt slightly less alone.
Until next time!
I read this during my trip but was too sick to write a comment. I want to say how much I enjoyed reading your experience. It brought back memories of my first days at the vast university campus I arrived at, when I was just 18. I recognized the bewilderment and the relief when I got help to settle in. I also reemember how home sick I was. Back in the day (1990), there was no cell phone, no Internet, just the pay phone, and I had to find a way to call long distance. As soon as I got on the phone with my father, I could not stop crying! I look forward to reading more about your experience as an immigrant.