Immersion

Most people, when they move to another country, experienced “culture shock.” A term I had never heard of until I moved to America back in 2006.

The term is self-explanatory, but in a nutshell is the disorientation you experience when you are subjected to a foreign culture, way of life, attitude or even the extreme differences in weather.

I did not experience that.

Since I grasp the reality that I was going to be migrating to America I was very excited.

Since I was a little kid, I believed that dreams, somehow, envisage future events.

On a morning in May 2005, I woke up and I could recall my entire dream.

In my dream, I was arriving home from my last day of middle school. And my grandmother in company of my closest cousins were waiting for me to surprise me with a party. We danced and jumped together with faces radiating happiness.

When I woke up, I knew this dream meant something and I usually tell my grandma to see if she can tell me what it meant. However, I was running late for school and didn’t have time to tell her.

I went to school and the whole day there I couldn’t stop thinking about the dream I had. If my math, physics and history teachers taught my class something new, I didn’t catch anything.

As I walked back home, my mind kept wandering. Sometimes dreams are not what you think. Happy dreams could mean sad times in real life.

Unlike in my dream, no one was waiting for me as I approached home from school, but my grandma on her rocking chair. She didn’t look very happy. She looked dejected. As I walked up the block, I could see her saddened gaze. Something was wrong. And I got worried.

I finally made it to her, sweating rivers from top to bottom. “Hey grandma, everything ok?”

“It depends,” she said and stopped rocking her chair.

‘What d-d-do you mean?”

“Well, I got a call from your mother?”

I panicked for a bit. “Is she okay? D-d-did something happen to her?”

“Everything is okay with her. In fact, she called me very happy.” One tear ran down her cheek. She seemed to be holding a lot more. She was an extraordinarily strong woman.

‘But you don’t… seem very happy.” I said.

“Honestly, I’m not sure how to feel.” She stood up and looked at the horizon. “Ever since you were born, I have taken care of you. I changed your diapers, fed you, clothed you, took you to school and you are more than my

grandson, you are my son. You have lived in this house for almost seventeen years…

A big pause made a deafening silence.

My grandma turned around and met my gaze with her puffy eyes. “Your mother called to tell me, excitedly, that you and your sisters paperwork went through.”

I didn’t know how to feel. At the moment, I felt as if I shouldn’t have been happy. I felt guilty.

This was a pivotal moment in my life, and I was worried about hurting two people. Hurting the two I love the most with my reaction to this rather wonderful news.

My grandma didn’t deserve to see me jump in excitement like I did in my dream. My mother didn’t deserve for me to show sadness. I simply didn’t know how to feel. But I knew how I was feeling.

For my grandma’s nightmare, I felt the need to shout out my excitement. I had the opportunity of a lifetime. So many desperate people try to cross the border illegally and I had the opportunity, pardon the cliché, to come to the land of opportunity flying over the border without any worries of being caught and deported by I.C.E. My grandma wouldn’t understand this. I knew she would accept it because she loved me. But, understanding all the doors that just had open for me, never.

I bottled up and pushed down my emotions and hugged my grandma. She wrapped me with her arms, and I felt her tears finally drizzle on me. She had contained them for a long time. Probably since she first heard the news.

The inevitable was imminent.

My dream became clear. And I understood that my grandma would be better off without that knowledge.

I had to make some changes to prepare for my departure. I wasn’t sure when I was going to be able to come back to visit so I decided to end things with my first girlfriend. I didn’t shed a tear when I broke up with her and explained the reasons. I was never one of those that cry in front of people. I just did what most men do, and I just bottled things down until it hurt so badly, I cried by myself. The relief of pressure in the chest after a cry is so immense and satisfying.

My influenced destiny brought me to the Mexican American border on a bus trip that took twenty-four hours. It was one of the longest days of my life.

My head wouldn’t stop whirling ideas. So many positive thoughts trafficked my brain that I couldn’t recall most of the trip. I was a day dreamer. And my dreams never stopped generating.

My dad and my mom flew from Minnesota to Denver. In Denver, they got a rental car and drove to Ciudad Juarez from there.

When we arrived at Ciudad Juarez, they already had the hotel that we would stay at for a couple of days for the interview and different physical tests we had to go through.

After a successful questioning and an embarrassing physical in which they even checked my anus with a curious gaze, my sister and I had our Green Cards and my grandma her B-2 visitor’s visa.

So many new opportunities were forging in my near future. So many new faces were being aligned in my path. So many new experiences were waiting patiently for me, and I knew all I had to do was to keep being myself. And I would never let that change under any circumstances.

There were many challenges ahead, starting with the different language. I prefer the word challenges rather than obstacles. For me obstacle has a negative connotation. And challenges a positive one. According to the dictionary, an obstacle is “a thing that blocks one’s way or hinders progress,” and challenge is “a call to take part on a contest or competition,” and that is exactly how I see any new event that present itself in my life. There is no obstacles that will block my way, just challenges that are meant to be destroyed and conquered.

I did not think about what the others would think of my English, I was just focused on learning it to the best of my ability. I never got bothered by the plethora of laughs I created in high school because of my pronunciation or accent. Not even from my own friends that were supposed to help me improve. I just kept focused on learning and improving and now I am writing books in English.

The second challenge was the cold. I moved to America in the summer of 2006, and according to my father I had never experienced cold until I did in February 2007. The fall came to Minnesota and the temperature started dropping, I didn’t think it was too bad. And then, the biggest event I was waiting for, happened. I experience my first snow fall. I still remember the first time I saw snow. I was in class, paying attention like the “A” kid that I always was. However, I turned my head to the windows and saw snowflakes encrusting on them. One by one, they were swinging in the air, being blown by the gentle wind. A few moments later, there were so many snowflakes falling down that it blurred the neighborhood landscape. A white blanket cladded the city and for a minute I believed in heaven. A white heaven. It was beautiful. I was in a dream, living it and my heart was palpitating passionately.

I was meant to be born here. I never felt so much at home than every single day I woke up in Minnesota.

If there was a God, he made a huge mistake. But He had managed to fix it.

“Angel…Angel,” I heard a faraway echo calling my name, but my brain disregarded it and kept me daydreaming.

The girl next to me, Mara, hit my shoulder and it snapped me out of it.

Mara had such a natural beauty. She never wore any make up. Her long, straight, brown hair touched her hips. She dressed very casually, almost too comfortable.

“Glad to have you back, Angel.” Mrs. Martin said.

I shook my head. “I’m sorry. This is the first time I have seen snow. And I have dreamt of it for a long time.”

“Beautiful isn’t it.” Mara said.

I nod. “Yes.”

Mrs. Martin kept talking about the Civil War, while I, desperately, wanted to run outside and feel for the first time the snow in my face and on my hands.

“Ring Ring Ring!” The bell goes off at 3 p.m. sharp.

My backpack was already set.

I was ready to jump off my seat, flee the classroom and run the hallways flooded with people. I jolted all my way to the main door and stepped outside.

Even though I forgot to grab my jacket from my locker, my muscles didn’t clench before I dashed outside. I didn’t even notice the cold. As my internal heat erupted with excitement I felt as I was a part of a movie. I was Macaulay Calkin when he realized his bully family wasn’t home.

But I was Home.

A few months later, the cold my father was talking about showed its most ruthless side and negative numbers took a whole new meaning for me, but I put some more clothes on, embraced it and went to step on a frozen lake for the first time.

Life isn’t hard, we just must change our mindset. From seeing an “obstacle” as a challenge, to perceiving the sun when is gloomy for 7 months.

It was this excitement and hunger for a better future that helped me mentally extinguish any signs of culture shock. Some people struggle against it and prevail, others, like myself, Immerse in it and thrive.

P.S. Most of this blog is a passage from my book, "The Child That Never Was." If you would like to read the whole story, visit: https://www.amazon.com/author/angel_solo_3 and get it!