Yes, I am an Immigrant. 
An expat- which is just a nicer word for an immigrant who still retains the passport of her birth country.
‘An expatriate (often shortened to expat) is a person temporarily or permanently residing, as an immigrant, in a country other than that of their citizenship. The word comes from the Latin terms ex (“out of”) and patria (“country, fatherland”).’
The land of my mother and father.
Where I was born.
There are times, living here in America with a green card, as an immigrant, that I don’t feel that I belong here. I just want to go home. Such a child-like response to a fright.
Many immigrants feel this way. We all carry a sadness within us, almost a feeling of failure that we could not thrive in our own countries, we had to leave to grow.
We are in America trying to fit in, with our green cards clutched in our hot little hands and trying to keep our mouths shut. To look grateful and unthreatening.
To get a green card is a long, arduous and expensive process. It takes years, just the background checks, police checks, etc., took a solid eighteen months for me just to be cleared, then on to the next step. And I come from a country that is not at war so the records are easy to find and they are in English. And don’t forget that the person applying for the permanent residency pays good money every step of the way. This is not a poor mans lark.
I talked to a lady yesterday who was shocked that is was hard to get. Oh, she said, I thought that when you married an American you were automatically an American citizen. She did not mean to be rude she was just interested in whether I was a citizen or not. But no. Not at all. Where on earth did you get that idea from? I asked. Who told you it was easy? You have to apply and beg to be admitted and every expensive step underscores that no-one wants you here at all! Marrying helps though.
Ten years ago, I married John, an American citizen who I have known since I was seventeen, but marrying him did not guarantee residency, not at all, I was put through a series of harrowing interviews and a war of paper and applications and lawyers visits. Two years later I had my green card.
But I still hold a New Zealand passport.
It is the law that I must carry my green card on me at all times as proof that I am allowed to be out on the street in America.
Once approved, the green card only lasts for ten years.
It was easier for me though. I am an English speaking woman from a peaceful country and I have a long accessible paper trail of education and work history and I am married to an American. And we had the money to pay for me to apply for permanent residency. I am not the daughter of an undocumented Mexican woman or a Syrian doctor or a small Muslim girl in school or a young Algerian man with nothing but dreams or an Argentinian rugby player. How much harder is life for these people. The good honest ones – not the ones with bad intent – the ordinary immigrants like me.
So many people are being threatened with deportation now from the place they were born in or desperately want to work in, yet I am only here by chance. It seems all wrong to me. What is the word I am struggling for – guilt? I feel guilty. I feel guilty that I am a happy go lucky immigrant. I am not in America by choice – it is just where my husband lives. I don’t bring important knowledge or skills to this country, I seldom even leave the farm. I feel terrible sadness for the uncertain futures of those people who are not as lucky as I. Yet I feel a tide turning.
These last few days I am struggling with a feeling that I cannot quite put my finger on. I feel … see that? I pause again … if this were a real conversation and you were in the room with me, I have gone quiet and am looking out the window trying to form English words for how I feel. Groping for them. This text has taken almost two hours to write already. My coffee has gone quite cold. I must get back to the fencing but I am not sure how I feel. I need to find the words. Afraid? Sad? I feel out of step, isolated, foreign. I don’t understand anymore. I am confused. I don’t belong.
Every time I go out – EVERYTIME – someone will say “Oh, I love your accent. Where do you come from?.” Everytime it is kindly pointed out that I do not belong here – I come from elsewhere. From a tourist destination no less. My country is a postcard. Why are you here – is the next question. These are very personal questions yet not one person blushes as they ask them or says – do you mind my asking. I am a little pointy triangle sitting in a restaurant booth made for nice round americans.
The moment I speak several heads swivel towards me to listen. A foreigner is in their midst. Where? There. Is she safe? Where does she come from? Why is she here? They tuck their purses closer to their bodies and lower their voices again. And I am blonde and blue eyed.
But now the questions go a step further. It just got worse for us. For the immigrants. That is how I feel anyway.
On Wednesday two people I know reasonably well, asked me if I had voted – no, I cannot vote – I am not an American. “You’re not? Why not? You can’t vote? Aren’t you a citizen? Don’t you want to be an American citizen?”. Looking closer. “Oh, so you have a green card? How long does that last? We are not going to have to send you home are we – ha ha ha. Just joking”
Paraphrased but the same conversation – twice.
No-one has asked me if I was a citizen before, if I was documented.
I am sure they did not mean to be unkind but they have a duty now – to check, you see.
In two years my green card is up for renewal. My next logical step is to apply for citizenship. (Which is not a rubber stamp, this also needs lots of money, and exams and more checks, proof that I still live with John, that I am embedded, no threat, not out of the country too often, etc). But America confuses me now, I am a little afraid.
The atmosphere is changing.
Becoming a citizen is not the right step for me.
But I have a farm and a husband and his family here in the midwest and the farm harbours a number of souls in my care. I have a home here too. And no money to start again elsewhere even if I wanted to.
You see? 
And all yesterday and all last night and all this morning I was thinking about this. Trying to think my way past these words into how I was feeling about them. And when I went to write my blog this morning before sunrise like I usually do, these words would not get out of my way.
So I waited a while and now I give them to you.
celi
The Kitchen's Garden 
214 responses to “I am an immigrant”
And this too, shall pass.
Yes, so it shall.. c
This post puts a person in the faceless idea of an immigrant, that so many people rant on about. I do not understand all the fear.
I listened to a podcast that noted that this has EVER been the way America has treated her immigrants. We are a nation of immigrants with the exception of the few beleaguered native americans. And always we have treated each successive generation of immigrants with suspicion and hate. Benjamin Franklin made snide comments about Germans that could be written in a blog today about Immigrants.
I’d like to say we have improved but Tuesday put the nail in the hope.
I am sure mankind is improving up and down and up and down but always moving up. Surely we cannot accept anything else. c
[…] miss immensely. Then, please stop by Cecilia’s site, who just published a post called “I am an immigrant.” While you are reading it, keep in mind that I am one, one who got her green card and […]
Goodness sakes, the response here is unbelievable… unbelievably great! I will have to come back tomorrow to complete my reading of it all.
Ms C., my heart ached to read your thoughts and fears. What has happened to society to put this feeling of unrest into people? Shame on those who have created it — nay, rather they have normalized it. I have no doubt your immigration status, and anyone’s who is there legally, is quite safe…. but it seems that’s not the point. The real point is the feeling of unbelonging, an uncomfortable feeling just existing in a place you’ve spent ten years in. That is a dreadful state of affairs…. I am not an American so I can’t apologize for that but it makes me sad to think that’s the case. Appears you are not alone.
I live in a large multi-cultural city where I am fast becoming a minority (white anglo saxon) and I suppose that’s likely the reason I find it difficult to understand the fear people seem to have of strangers.
There is no question, this election cycle has put the maturing of society back a good 50 years; it’s going to take an enormous amount of time and work to overcome the damage made.
I hope you find some peace soon, Ms C. We are all citizens of the world and let us all stand up and shout it out! ~ Mame, World Citizen 🙂
And here we go again Mame. We are talking about this topic again this evening on my other platform. I would love to hear your thoughts. https://ceciliaatthekitchensgarden.substack.com/
So well written. Believe it or not, I am first generation American, a citizen of America, and I feel much the same as you. I am also light skinned and blue-eyed, but when I speak in a foreign language with my mother, we get the same reaction. And it’s been like this all of my life. Thank you for posting this.
How are you feeling about it all this year? I feel like we have leapt back into 2016. We will be chatting about this more on https://ceciliaatthekitchensgarden.substack.com/ if you would like to pop over!
I came to this post late. Our farm is crazy busy readying for winter right now. And I’m behind in my reading. I sat for a very long time after reading this post. And I’m not sure even now if I should post my thoughts but I think I will say my part too……
When we moved from Texas to Montana, I had people ask where I was from every day. Every. Day. They made fun of my accent to my face. People assumed I was ignorant because of how I said words~ not what I said but the way I said them (I have 3 degrees and I am a Masters prepared Nurse Practitioner). I was different. One man asked me if my children rode horses to school in Texas. And then laughed at me when I was slack jawed and dumbfounded that anyone could ask such a foolish question. They asked me if I had a job before we moved here. We had our car egged at night before we traded our TX license plates in for MT plates. It was not fun. We moved from the South to be closer to my husband’s family and chose here because we wanted to grow our children in a place where you could walk into the woods and not see a single evidence of man. We wanted to live in a place where you could go into the mountains and safely drink the water that was bubbling from the earth; it was that clean. We wanted to live in a house where we could only hear owls and coyotes at night~ not traffic and sirens. We wanted to own affordable land where we could grow our own food. We were striving for the “American dream”. And that dream was in MT. At least for us. We WANTED to be here. We joined a church. Our kids swam on the swim team. I volunteered at the community garden (because, oh my goodness, Montana is a whole different world to grow food!!!!) My husband and I gave free sports physicals to kids who couldn’t afford them otherwise (he’s a PA). We became a piece of the community. We didn’t want Montana to be Texas. We wanted to be Montanans. We have lived here for 14 years. After a while, nobody noticed my accent.
People come to America for lots of different reasons. Sometimes they are dragged. Sometimes they follow. Sometimes they run screaming to the border begging to be let in because where they left is horrifying and they know they would be safe if only they could come inside. America is still the land of milk and honey. In America, we live long healthy lives because of amazing, innovative technologies. (Some of us even have our health care paid for by others). In America, women can own land and run a business and vote and have a place in the community. Children can write their own destiny with hard work. Where but America do you have self-made tycoons? And in America, I can say the name of Jesus and not fear for my life.
Do we have problems? Yup. Are we sometimes loud mouthed and foul tempered in public? Yup. Freedom allows people to pursue evil as well as goodness. Are we sometimes bullies in the world arena? Yup. But twice in the 20th century, the United States saved the world — first from the Nazi threat, then from Soviet totalitarianism. After World War II, the United States proceeded to rebuild both Germany and Japan, and today they are American allies.
Honestly, my frustration comes from those who feel our country is “lost and heading in the wrong direction” because of our recent elections. A new red-headed leader doesn’t change our core values nor who we are as a country any more than a black president did 8 years ago. Despite its flaws, American life as it is lived today is the best life that our world has to offer. We are still the place for those who are tired and poor and who long to breathe free. We are still the land for the homeless and sick. American is still America. And our golden lamp, the torch of freedom, will continue the standard of hope that will always overcome darkness.
Ok…enough of my ramblings. I feel better. Thank you.
And thank you Elizabeth – well said.
amen sister- excellent words! Thanks!
Just re-read this comment Elizabeth – and still it was a wonderful read and such a revelation. Hope all is well with you!
(Haha! Boy, I was on a tare with that post!)
We are well! My wonderful children have grown, as children will do, and are finding their own adventures. I started a new business here at the farm about 6-7 years ago and I’m just about to return to school for a counseling degree. My husband is working at a job he loves so I don’t think he’ll retire soon.
Life is good and we are happy!
Thank you for your kind words. It’s nice to “rekindle” old friendships even if it’s a digital friendship!
This is how I felt after the British voted to leave the EU (I’ll not reduce that emotional period by using the term Brexit), and Brits made it clear by actions (racist attacks, etc.) that immigrants in the UK was unwelcome and surplus to *their* requirement. I also get people asking when I’m going “home” … but that’s always happened here; pre-Brexit. I also get people asking “What do you think of Trump?” (six times on Wednesday), and I nearly bit off the head of the last guy who asked me. It used to be that I was always asked about Bush. Then I was asked about why Americans love guns. Now it’s Trump. Fact is, that vote revealed the true territorial nature of the human race because that wasn’t a British phenomenon — it’s a human phenomenon. and the same thing just played out in America. I’ll bet you France and Germany are next.
Mad was thinking the same thing, people are afraid.
[…] idea of Home and being Other has been brought into focus by the election. The comments on her post I am an immigrant need to be read as […]
I too am an immigrant but, in my heart, I don’t think I was ever English or British or whatever is now the permitted term. I felt I was in the wrong place ever since the moment I first traveled into France as a child. I now feel I’m in the right place, but I’m clearly not French. For all that, I feel at home here. I’m not sure that I will apply for French nationality because my main objection to the current zeitgeist is the importance of belonging to a club…be it religion, political party or nationality. In that unholy trinity lies the fault line that is slowly eroding the family of man.
Am republishing this post on my other platform and was thrilled to find you in the comments – one of the only reasons I am still on instagram is to keep up with your life in france and your art! https://ceciliaatthekitchensgarden.substack.com/
I’m an immigrant–an American in Britain–and the granddaughter of immigrants. My own experience makes me wish I’d asked my grandmother (I never knew my grandfather) about her experience of immigration, but I took it for granted then. I didn’t know the questions to ask. To be an immigrant in the land of Trump, though? I feel your uneasiness vibrating through the pixels.
Cecilia-
I sincerely believe the media has worked up a stormy frenzy which I hope subsides. It is ridiculous- this country has checks and balances and quite frankly some folks need to calm down. Your thoughtful and poignant post resonates with me. I do believe that Mr Trump truly does have the best of intentions to bring this country and it’s residents
back on track with meaningful jobs, safe cities, healthy and educated children- just to mention a few items that are missing right now. Right now we do not have safe cities, good jobs and children go to bed hungry. This is unacceptable to me and a whole lot of other people. For far too many years there has only been cheap chatter and empty promises coming from the government that is supposed to help not hinder it’s fellow man and woman.
I will step off my soapbox now and just say- Thanks for your wonderful work on your farm- you truly have a handle on what is important. Hugs across the land – from the mountains of Northern California to you!
I absolutely agree about the frenzy – a dangerously devisive frenzy. I truly hope that it all works out and like I said to Lady Astor the other day “The sky has not fallen in.”
Oh Celi .. I was clutching my iPad at home while reading this. I didn’t even realise I was holding my breath until the end of your narrative. Yes, I understand. Keep your chin up Celi .. There is only one of you, and you my dear are very special.
Julie! I popped in here as I am re-publishing this essay on my substack channel of the same name. Loved seeing you here! We have been commenting back and forth for years and years!
The words I’ve settled on for how I feel, as a citizen: off-kilter and askew.
I can fully empathise with these words and it is now 2024!!
I just felt compelled to tell you a bit of my story, not to overshadow your real experience, but perhaps to flesh in a bit of what you are feeling. I too am an expat. I did not hail from another country, but rather from another state. In the U.S. I was born and raised in Northern California. For 30 years I lived and breathed the air, the politics and the diversity. It is unabashedly a Liberal state. It became a part of me and me a part of it. And even as I yearned to leave, having failed to thrive in my native land, it stayed embedded in my soul. I left California about 20 years ago and have resided in the Midwest ever since. It was a good choice. I was able to immerse myself in my new culture and for the most part, I blend. However, I am often found to be a fraud, a foreigner. And mocked. As much as I have tried to assimilate myself here, my roots shine through, and I hear myself trying to explain. In this part of the country it is perceived that the pilgrim only travels in one direction. West. It does not make sense that one would leave a Utopian climate filled with beautifully tanned people, to journey to a place where dark days claim almost 6 months of the year. This place where houses are modest, incomes are modest and people are unadorned in the most authentic way. I don’t say that in a condescending manner. It is not about the haves and have nots. It’s about being true to your heritage and wearing that proudly like your own skin. It is a place I love and hate. I love these people even as I despise their politics. Not all of them. Probably not even most of them. Fortunately, I live in one of the few blue states left in the region. But there is an ugly intolerance for people who are different, of which I am one. So, I Iive here, though I am not from here. An important distinction. One that often results in a quizzical look followed by the question, “Why would you ever move out here?” After 20 years, I am the “girl from California” wink wink, nod nod. Still. Always. I sometimes feel that I am never understood here. That I must always guard against revealing my true thoughts and beliefs. Always a guest, never a host. And yet, California does not beckon me. It does not care that I was adrift. So I have formed roots, however shallow, in this “new” place. It is Home without the logo. I understand the yearning, the not quite rightness of life here. But I have chosen it, it did not choose me. I could return at anytime and perhaps California would allow it. Yet I know that the longing would follow me. As a tree with a branch lost will seal the wound, so have I formed a scar where my old life became my new. It cannot be erased and is rather a testament to my ability to grow and survive in a sometimes hostile climate. As an Outsider, you are different. We are different. You see that? Already there are two, where you thought there was just one. There are many of us. Here, there and everywhere. We have a right to this place too. We belong. There is no secret society that gets to decide who is good enough. We are good. We are enough. The others might appear to be casting a shadow on your light, but really it is your light that is brightening their darkness. Shine on Cecilia!
Wonderfully written Sue and so close to my story. You know I have never thought of the emotional journeys of the people who move around the States. Being transplanted. Living in the midwest is not easy is it! Amd our dark winter days are coming straight down the pike. Good luck to you and thank you for such a well crafted piece of writing. c
Sue – I just reread this comment after all this time and boy is it good. I am republishing my essay this evening on my other platform – https://ceciliaatthekitchensgarden.substack.com/ and am so proud to have your comment here with me. Take care!! c
Thank you, Celi. As you know, my family tree is populated with immigrants, some quite recent. Instead of Plymouth Rock, their Mayflowers landed on Ellis Island, New Orleans, and other North American ports of entry. As familiar as their stories are to me, there is much I do not know, like the reasons behind Dad’s parents returning to Europe in the early 1920s. Some things just weren’t discussed. Your post not only sheds light on your situation but, in the process, theirs as well.
I remember Tia talking of France? Ellis island must have been terrifying – did you see those photos of some of the buildings now? Huge. Like massive cow sheds . c
You’re correct, Celi, but their return trip from France was after Ellis Island was already closed. Besides, having been born here, they would have avoided the Island altogether. My grandparents, however, were processed through Ellis. I found those records, as well as their names on the passenger lists of the boats that carried them. Along the way, I located records for quite a few family relatives, some of whom I had long forgotten. It’s a fascinating undertaking.