Personal Narrative: My Journey To Immigrants

January 29th, 2016. Today was the day. I woke up, put on a new dress, hopped in the car, and drove downtown to receive a new identity. Entering into the official state building, an officer searched me and sent me up a flight of stairs, where I was ushered into a large ceremonial room. I received a number and was assigned a seat; after two hours, I heard my name being called. Walking towards the front of the room, I sat down at a desk, signed a few papers, and returned to my seat. After another hour of waiting, the ceremony finally began. A speaker spoke, a slideshow played, and then the best part occurred: the calling of the countries. When I heard my country’s name, I stood up with pride, scanning the room and noticing that I was the sole person there from my country. It was now time to receive our documents. As I strode towards the front of the ceremony room, beaming with
Having immigrated sixteen years ago from southern Africa, the road to American citizenship had been undeniably extensive and difficult: from leaving our hometown and family, to obtaining green cards and work permits, nothing had come without a challenge. My mind wandered back to the innumerable hours spent completing detailed forms and the years spent saving enough money to afford citizenship. Nevertheless, as the line grew smaller and smaller and I came closer to receiving my citizenship certificate, I considered how this moment would change my life. Becoming an American citizen meant that the challenging journey had been worthwhile, and my new identity opened a plethora of opportunities. Thinking back on the reasons as to why my family moved half way across the world—the high crime rate, insufficient job openings, and no upward mobility-- I realized that my citizenship was the key to opening the door and making those dreams a reality; dreams of safety, opportunity, and