Thirteen years ago, almost to the day, we arrived crankily in SFO. Confused, disoriented, we sank into the shaggy carpet of our new apartment set up for us by our relatives. Shaky on this new lavish ground, we set ourselves up, found jobs, schools, and set out on a new life.
It's thirteen years later, and some relatives gather around a Thanksgiving table. Thanksgiving, the second most American holiday there is. Heh. We raise our glasses and toast how thankful we are for America...
But two days later, when I remind my mother that it's our thirteen year anniversary of coming here, she crinkles her nose... she hates it here, doesn't she? I look her in the eyes and I don't know what to tell her. I don't know how I feel.
What the hell is America? Everyone has their answer, I suppose. I have my thoughts as well. But that's not what I'm writing about, I don't think... What I think this is about, is how America has shaped me as a person, how I've fought against it all my life, and whether or not I was successful.
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2 comments:
I dont have an answer and Ive lived here all my life
It's an interesting question, when I realize myself how America shaped me..and what does it mean.
ANyway, look forward to hearing your analysis :)
I know my parents are really happy in America.
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