Memoirs of my life in the USA: Time to be an adult!

When I graduated college, it was time to “adult”! Once I had accepted the fact that the USA was my new home, it was time to hustle.  A few visas later (and a lot of money in lawyer fees) I was already a permanent resident and was free to live my life as a quasi-American. My first job paid me a whooping $25K per year, not exactly what I had envisioned and I learned rather quickly that the lack of guidance in my pre-college years had led me to the wrong career. But I honestly didn’t have time to dwell on it and I really tried to make the best of it. I worked in the mental health field for a while and one day I got the weird itch to move out of my parents’ house and try my own luck. 

In a spur of the moment decision, I broke up with my boyfriend of 3 years, got a job in Tampa, rented an apartment, packed up all my stuff and left. When I look back on it, I think moving to Tampa was probably a crazy decision but at the time I felt right; it was something that was part of my process, something I needed to do. Even though most Hispanic families don’t see their children leave home until they get married, I was unknowingly raised as an American, with "American" thoughts and I was starting to realize that it just seemed “normal” to me that someone at 22 would leave home to live on their own. I often wonder how much longer I would have lived at home had we not come to the United States; I’m sure it would have been at least until marriage, maybe even beyond.  

Emotionally speaking, my life in Tampa was a hot mess; I felt so lonely all the time and sadness always overtook whatever I was doing.  My life was monotonous and the job I had was mediocre at best. Yes, I was working in corporate America, meeting new people and performing well, but this lonely, corporate-like life was not what I wanted for myself. And while I didn’t love it, the idea of feeling like a failure and going back to my parents’ house was even less appealing because I had already come out from under their wing and flying back to the nest didn’t exactly spell “success” so I stuck it out for a couple of months.

With my friend (and co-worker) Jen in 2004

My friend Eva and I in Tampa

By the 2nd month in Tampa, I was ready to throw in the towel; living alone was definitely not for me. I know it sounds extreme, but I literally used to cry myself to sleep 5 out of 7 days of the week; there was something about my “pretend” life dream that was making me borderline depressed. I view my time in Tampa as an out of body experience because now that I’m almost 40 I can’t really see myself living alone in another town. I made some good friends and experienced a lot of growth in my time away from home but in the end it just wasn’t enough to keep me where I was. I often wonder if I should have given the Tampa life a little more time, but if I had, I wouldn't be who I am today so I really have no regrets.

A Tampa night with some friends

And just like I had decided to move out of my parents’ home, I decided it was time to go back, time to swallow my pride and save myself from making even more mistakes and living in perpetual depression and agony. A couple of weeks before I made the choice to scrap the “I’m ready to live alone” idea, I was hospitalized for some sort of severe food poisoning and found myself lonely in a local hospital; no one to call, no shoulder to cry on, no one to help me pack my things in a patient bag; I missed my mom and dad, I missed my sister and my cats and everything that had to do with a warm and caring family and stable home life. That hospital stay was probably a turning point for me and I’m glad I followed my heart and decided to go back home.

But before I moved back, I took a girls’ trip to NYC with my cousin Carolina and my good friend Eva. It was supposed to be a cathartic experience for me and it certainly was, the trip served as a time for me to reflect on regrets, changes, future decisions, growth, etc.

As we were walking around NYC one day, a strange looking lady grabbed my hand and said she wanted to read my palm. Me, being the  skeptic I am, quickly shook my hand away and said “no, no, no!” and she kept insisting that I let her tell me about my future.  I kept brushing her off and she followed me around for a bit until I finally agreed to let her tell me ONE thing. She said it was something that had to be said because she had a strong feeling about it.  It was November 18th, 2004 and her exact words were “in exactly ONE year from today, you will be marrying a man you haven’t met yet and he will make you very happy, continue to follow your heart”.  Of course I thought she was crazy, I was 22 years old and I wouldn’t call myself a romantic; marriage was definitely not on my mind…

This is a picture from our NYC trip in November 2004

(To be continued…)

Memoirs of my life in the USA: Moving on...

Losing my sister during my junior year of high school definitely put a damper on the experience. There I was, navigating life in a foreign country, in a brand new high school with a newly shattered family. While I did try for tragedy not to define who I was, seeing my parents (particularly my mom) go through such a terrible loss was definitely a challenge. I felt lost in high school; while other kids were starting to shop around for colleges, write exceptional essays and plan out their potential careers, I was trying to figure out how I was going to move forward with a broken heart and an uncertain legal status.  I was a good student, a great one actually; grades were never an issue for me but I definitely did not find the support and guidance I needed to catapult me into a stellar college experience. My parents had no clue about what was required and they weren’t involved in the process; on top of that, my sister dying showed us that our immigration challenges were just starting, and having a non-resident visa not only meant that I wouldn’t be eligible for any scholarships I’d earned but also that my parents would have to pay top dollar at any college. 

My high school graduation

And that’s exactly what happened, my grades afforded me any scholarship a highschooler could dream of (I was at the top 5% of my class, out of 1200+ students) but I could not take any of them because I was, well, a foreigner; one that didn’t qualify for the “perks” America had to offer, the very things my parents had moved here for, but such was life and we couldn't dwell on it. I ended up attending FIU and finished my Bachelor’s degree in Psychology in 2.5 years; I will be forever grateful for the financial sacrifices my parents made so I could graduate college.  They paid upwards of $7K per semester and I can only hope I made them a little proud with my efforts because I know how difficult it was for them at the time. 

Even though my college experience wasn’t what I once envisioned (I was a commuter student, never attended football games, or college parties, didn’t join a sorority, didn’t have a college sweetheart, and had very few friends) it was the experience I got and for that I am grateful.  Would I have moved away from home had my situation been different? Would I have left Florida to settle elsewhere? Would I have chosen FIU had that not only been one of my few choices? I honestly don’t know but at the time I was happy to play the cards I had been dealt and I decided to make the best of it and I got a degree out of it, so it was definitely a win!

I learned a lot in my college years. I learned that dreams can change and our ability to adjust and make lemonade out of life’s lemons only improves if we really want. I learned that nobody could live life for me and even though settling might seem easier at times, sometimes the road less traveled is the one that brings the most happiness. My parents' dedication to us was once again proven and their resilience is truly admirable; their example is one of the best lessons life has given me. 

I realize as I write, that this particular part of the story may sound a bit gloomy, but college was a really good time in my life; even though there was a lot to be sad about, I loved every minute of it.  I grew so much as a person, I learned empathy, I made friends, I learned balance and prioritizing. It was during college that I had my first real relationship, my first conversations about conviction and so much more.  And many people may argue that’s exactly what college is for but in my case, it was special because it was the time I came out of my shell and realized that I was here to stay, that the United States was my new home for real and it was time to love it as my own because it would be here that I would likely grow a family and pursue my dreams with them….and that I did!

(To be continued)

Memoirs of my life in the USA: Things were looking up...until they weren't

This post is a continuation of my last one (in case you're interested)

About 2 years into our new life, things were starting to look up. I had made some friends (some of which would become my lifelong best friends), my dad was already working in architecture, we had moved to a nicer area and were enrolled in a better school and I even had my first ever job, everything was definitely better.

Working as a teenager is not something I would have done had we stayed in Venezuela but I absolutely loved the fact that I could do it here; making my own money from the time I was 15 really taught me to be a hard worker and to value the effort that comes with it. I learned responsibility, work ethic, discipline, and many other skills that would prove useful in my adult life as well. I also bought my first car with my hard-earned money, so that was definitely a highlight of my first job!

See, coming to the United States was a CHOICE, there wasn’t a pressing financial or political reason to leave Venezuela at the time we did, we were just another family moving to a new country; I think my parents saw it more as a way for their children to grow up in a country with better opportunities all around, but the change did come at a price and I’d be lying if I said that even though things were better, it wasn’t a tough road. Choice aside, I am sure my sister Erika was a big motivator for that choice; she had been born in Texas in the late ’70s while my parents were in college and due to a case of medical malpractice, she ended up with mental retardation. Life in Venezuela wasn’t easy for her as a disabled person and I can imagine that it was very difficult for my parents to see her grow up in a place where there were no special considerations for anyone with her condition. In coming to the United States, my parents saw an opportunity for Erika to have a better life, to live in a place where she’d be treated humanely, somewhere she would be seen as a “handicapable” person and not some burden to society.  And that is exactly what we found here; great special ed programs, incredible doctors, the right medications, the right approach. And because Erika was an American citizen all of the immigration paperwork would be made easier for the rest of the family, there was a clear path for us to become legal permanent residents and subsequent citizens once Erika turned 21; meanwhile, my dad held a professional visa (we were his dependents) while we waited for her to reach the age where she could petition the whole family. 

But that day never came because Erika passed away unexpectedly on December 23rd, 1998, a month before her 21st birthday; our life was changing again, our family was crushed.  Erika’s death is the single most shattering event we have gone through as a family; a part of us died with her and it took a long time for the devastation to set in and even longer for us to come out of it (not like it has ever been possible to feel completely normal again!).   

With Erika’s passing came a lot of sadness, tears, setbacks, and a whole lot of reconfiguring of our plans and our lives in general. Our family was broken, our hearts were shattered and to add insult to injury, we had no place to go back to now because Venezuela was just starting its own nightmare with Hugo Chavez ascending to the presidency (if you know, you know!) and while I am sure my parents briefly considered the possibility of going back, the newly installed government quickly persuaded them to stay...and so we did.

I’d like to think that God used Erika for the very important purpose of bringing us here; it is no coincidence that her life inspired our move and the timing of her death cemented our stay.  I am thankful every single day for having had the blessing of Erika in my life; there isn’t a day that I don’t think of her and I know everything that happened was part of the plan... and broken heart and all we needed to start over…

(To be continued)

Memoirs of my life in the USA: How it started

Let's start with some high school pictures...

I was 14 years old when my mom propped an empty suitcase in front of me and said “whatever fits in here, that’s what you can take with you”...

Just a few months prior my parents had decided we were leaving Venezuela and permanently relocating to the United States, so while the suitcase scene didn’t shock me, it did feel like a turning point in my teenage mind...we were leaving.. I had been asked to pack...the move was real!

I saw my childhood home come apart when my mom decided that the easiest way to get ready for the move was to sell everything in the house and start anew. I remember very clearly when strangers would walk into our home and make offers on furniture, picture frames, kitchen appliances, even our Christmas tree ornaments were for sale. I spent the last few nights sleeping on the floor because my bed had been sold and celebrated my 15th birthday in an empty house blowing candles on a cake that sat on a kitchen stool, no bells or whistles, there was no time for a “quince” party, we were leaving the country within the next week!

On December 31st, 1996 we boarded a plane and said goodbye to our native country. I can still hear my sister Claudia sobbing at the airport and screaming “please don’t take me, I don’t want to leave!”, that moment will remain a jarring memory for me. It was the first day of our new lives and at the time it sounded odd that my parents had picked that day to move to a new country but 25 years later I can see why it was the perfect date; it meant closing a chapter and starting a new one along with ending a year and ringing in a new one, the meaning is deeper than I ever thought 25 years ago. 

The first few months were rough as I navigated the American high school experience as a newly arrived international freshman. Leaving my all-girl Catholic school to be “dumped” in a less than desirable public American high school wasn’t my cup of tea and I felt really lost for most of that first year.  I was no longer wearing a preppy uniform every day, there were no praying nuns with cheerful attitudes or people willing to be friendly just because that was the right thing to do.  Instead, I was faced with unwelcoming mean kids that made fun of me for not speaking English and for not understanding their sexual jokes, teachers that were mostly disconnected from the students’ needs, and a high school campus that looked more like a jail than it did a school. I often wondered what I had done to deserve this and so badly wanted to go back to the bubble I had lived in for the past 15 years. 

Things at home weren’t great either because we had gone from living a comfortable life in a big house to being crammed in a two-bedroom rental apartment. My dad was no longer Dean of Architecture in a prestigious university; he was now a pizza delivery driver trying to make ends meet and saving every penny so we could have a decent life as immigrants. My mom was no longer the always available stay-at-home mom, she was now another breadwinner and my sisters and I were spending more time alone than we ever had. Those first few months felt lonely and ominous, they brought so much anxiety and disruption to our perfect family but they also taught me the first lessons I learned in my new life as an immigrant, as the foreigner that I had become and the one I would always be. I learned that letting go of what was would be the only way to move forward, I learned that home is where your family is and that it is in difficult times that we truly understand the value of love, resilience, and sacrifice. 

Our life in the United States was just getting started…(to be continued!)

Sweet 16!

I love my husband unconditionally every day of the year but there is something about our anniversary that makes me sappy and overly giddy. 

 When I look at the life we have built in the past 16 years I can't help but think "gosh, how did I get so lucky!?".  And the "luck" I think about isn't about feeling a mushy kind of love every day, or never arguing about anything, or traveling together, or having healthy kids, or being able to afford a comfortable life. My "luck" is about having that one special person next to me when things don't go right, it's about knowing that even on the worst days we share a kind of love that we both guard more than anything else we have, it's about arguing and always finding a way back to each other, it's about being confident that no matter what, we'll always trust each other enough to see through whatever obstacle is thrown at us. 

I am "lucky" to love a partner who loves me back just as intensely, passionately, and unconditionally as I love him. We are lucky to have each other to go through good and bad times; to celebrate the happiness and share the sadness, someone to be vulnerable around, always knowing that there will be no judgment, and having no doubts that God put us together for a reason, being certain that we have a purpose as a couple, as a family.

That's what our anniversary means to me, a reminder that the love we share is bigger than ourselves and that our marriage will always be worth fighting for!

I love you forever, my Iggy. Thanks for making me the luckiest girl alive! 

Happy sweet 16!
 

He turned 6!

When I look at Oliver, it's hard to imagine my life without him. To think that he wasn't part of our plans makes me seriously doubt my planning abilities because he's certainly one of the best things that have happened to our family so I am glad God always has THE best plans for us and that He entrusted us with such a wonderful child. 

Oliver is the sweetest little boy I ever did see; so caring and loving, always coming up with different ways to bring happiness to whoever he meets. He loves superheroes, Math, art, and all things dessert! He enjoys sports, particularly tennis, is learning to play the piano, and has gotten quite good at reading too!

He is currently loving Kindergarten and has made lots and lots of new friends. I love to see him thriving in school and I am so proud of him.  He truly is a ray of sunshine in my life and I feel so blessed to be his mom. 

Oliver celebrated his birthday this past Saturday with an Avengers-themed party; he invited all of his friends and had an absolute blast. At the end of the party, he said to me "thank you, mom, for the best party!" I could truly see the light in his eye. 

I love Oliver's personality and I am always in awe of how mature he is.  He is incredibly self-aware and communicates his needs so well; I can definitely see the effects of having two older sisters and growing up in a "go-go-go" kind of family.  He enjoys the action but also loves relaxing at home.  I love that he adjusts so easily to our crazy dynamics and I can always count on him to make me laugh or lift my spirits at any given point. What a special kid!

Thank you, everyone, for the wonderful birthday wishes for Oliver. We are truly grateful for the blessing of his life. 

Happy 6th birthday, buddy! We love you so much!

Does it ever get easier?

 

A few months back I wrote this post about a perpetual state of sadness in the world, a collective "downness" that most people have experienced in the past year and a half (consider yourself lucky if you haven't). 

I, like many other people, have suffered the effects of the world shift that we have absolutely no control over.  A pandemic, a tense political climate, and an overall hostile environment are some of the things that have touched our lives in recent times, and in my personal life, I have also struggled with my kids experiencing anxiety and some form of "sadness" that is hard to define. 

But pandemic et. al aside, the world is just "different" now, and I am not referring to acceptable societal definitions of gender, family, norms, etc (that's a whole different topic); I am referring to the way in which we see ourselves and others. Somewhere along the way we all lost respect for humankind, we lost grip of the concept of common decency, we learned to be hateful, we embraced the possibility of running people over with our beliefs and minimizing what others think or ignoring what they have to say. I am having to teach my children basic values, things that at some point seemed obvious, I find myself having to say things like "a teacher shouldn't go through your backpack without your permission" or "you don't have to say yes if you don't agree", or "it's ok if you want to be super girly", or "it's ok to believe in God and say it proudly". When did this happen? When did the world become a place where people have to be afraid to stand up for themselves?  

In an attempt to be more "accepting", we have become "blind".  Blind to the fact that the world is a diverse place where people still have a mind of their own and it's ok if they don't go with the flow.  As a conservative, I have often felt harassed because of my beliefs; I am often "boxed" by people who don't even know me. When I got the vaccine, I had someone ask "why would you get vaccinated? aren't you a Republican?"...what does that even mean?.  On the flip side, I've also had people tell me "I'm disappointed in you for getting a vaccine, I thought you were smarter"...what does THAT even mean?

Do I really have to constantly defend who I am? Do I really have to explain why I think the way I do? Why do we live in such a judgy place and does it ever get easier? Why do the ones that preach "respect" are usually the least accepting?

The truth is, I am exhausted... I have a very hard time being the "happy mom". I'm tired of living in a world of passive-aggressiveness, a world where I have to measure my words even among "friends", a place where I have to always wonder if I'm offending anyone by simply being me. I'm tired of having to question people's true motives, of not knowing who to trust, of having to read into memes because people simply don't have the backbone to just be real!

And this has nothing to do with the pandemic, this is all on US and the constant need to outdo each other, the complacency with the idea of living in a "toxic" world and not taking responsibility for it. I know we can do better! I want a better tomorrow for my kids!

Does it ever get easier?