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Today I take the oath to become a US citizen. I feel oddly patriotic. Like, "someone get me a flag 'cause I wanna start waving that bitch right now" patriotic. HAH! NO ONE CAN DEPORT ME NOW!
Well, I don't think they can...hopefully.
God, it's been 14 years already since I came to the US from Cuba. Damn. It feels like I should say something philosophical here or at the very least compare how I lived in Cuba to how I've lived here. Honestly, I don't really know what I can say. I came over when I was five. I was happy in Cuba because I didn't know a lot of the stuff that was going down. I knew that you weren't supposed to say anything bad about the government, but like I said, I was only there until I was five. At that age, I didn't have much of a political opinion. I was fed and clothed and loved and therefore I was happy. The first shock I had when I came to the US wasn't that I could say whatever I wanted to say and not get arrested for it. It was that there were so many places to eat around. In Cuba, it's not like you're dying of hunger on the streets-or at least, I never was-- but there aren't Starbucks and McDonald's around each corner. Those places don't exist over there. The concept of fast food joints was completely lost on me.
I have this specific memory of the first hamburger I ever ate. I can't remember if it was at McDonald's or Burger King, but the burger was so freaking huge that I could barely bite into it. That felt weird. I remember being excited and confused all at once because the thought that you could go somewhere and get a lot of food for what I was told was a very cheap price was something that so hard to comprehend. You can understand why I got pretty hefty when I was younger.
At first we lived with my grandpa who'd already been here for a few years. He wasn't born in Cuba-he was Palestinian--but he'd lived there since he was in his late forties and then moved to the US in the late 80s. He had this tiny one bedroom apartment and he, my mother, my grandmother, and myself all had to live there for about 2-3 years. Fun times.
Well, I don't think they can...hopefully.
God, it's been 14 years already since I came to the US from Cuba. Damn. It feels like I should say something philosophical here or at the very least compare how I lived in Cuba to how I've lived here. Honestly, I don't really know what I can say. I came over when I was five. I was happy in Cuba because I didn't know a lot of the stuff that was going down. I knew that you weren't supposed to say anything bad about the government, but like I said, I was only there until I was five. At that age, I didn't have much of a political opinion. I was fed and clothed and loved and therefore I was happy. The first shock I had when I came to the US wasn't that I could say whatever I wanted to say and not get arrested for it. It was that there were so many places to eat around. In Cuba, it's not like you're dying of hunger on the streets-or at least, I never was-- but there aren't Starbucks and McDonald's around each corner. Those places don't exist over there. The concept of fast food joints was completely lost on me.
I have this specific memory of the first hamburger I ever ate. I can't remember if it was at McDonald's or Burger King, but the burger was so freaking huge that I could barely bite into it. That felt weird. I remember being excited and confused all at once because the thought that you could go somewhere and get a lot of food for what I was told was a very cheap price was something that so hard to comprehend. You can understand why I got pretty hefty when I was younger.
At first we lived with my grandpa who'd already been here for a few years. He wasn't born in Cuba-he was Palestinian--but he'd lived there since he was in his late forties and then moved to the US in the late 80s. He had this tiny one bedroom apartment and he, my mother, my grandmother, and myself all had to live there for about 2-3 years. Fun times.
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