Natalia Parra
On the car ride to my oath ceremony, my mentality was only that of getting in and out as fast as possible so that I could just get this whole “citizenship thing” over with. I didn’t stop to think about the countless years my family struggled to get to this point, be- cause I knew it was too heavy of a feeling for me to recognize. The process was very formal, after all: I was patted down before enter- ing the building, stood in lines and waited for my number to be called until I could finally enter the room. As I sat in the room with over 50 other soon-to-be citizens, I could not stop thinking about that second-grade classroom when I first heard the Pledge of Allegiance. My entire life, I have been so jealous of my peers when they would treat the Pledge like something they had to recite every morning as a chore. For me, that Pledge was a reminder of the privilege I never had, but now it was mine.
Once I got into the oath room, tears started rolling down my face as I sang “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Suddenly, I felt so vul- nerable. This time, those words finally meant freedom and identity to me. Finally, I belonged somewhere. Finally, I could call myself an American.
Over the years, I have come to love America and I finally see no other place as my home, but I have definitely had my moments of thinking, “America, I love you, but I really don’t like you right now.” Like when my mom was mistreated at her job because her sponsorship tied her to the company permanently, or when my father was arrested for driving without a license or when we had to live on free food drives because my family couldn’t even apply for food stamps or any other welfare programs.
Sitting in that crusty office building where I had my naturalization ceremony, I could not stop thinking of how lucky I was —how lucky I was to finally have a voice in a nation that always told me to be quiet, to fit in and to be American but with no strings attached.
This little piece of paper that was proof of my citizenship — and my humanity — was my ticket to living a life of equality amongst my peers. The wave of emotions that comes with being an immigrant is mainly sadness and mistreatment, but also creates a transnational identity. The feeling of being a global nomad searching for a home causes most immigrants to understand true pain and joy.
The immigration process in America is like riding a roller- coaster with no seatbelt, because you usually don’t know what you’re in for; every turn is a surprise and you have to hold on for dear life because even gravity is against you being in that seat. Once you reach the end, you’re euphoric and in disbelief at the fact that you didn’t die in the process.
No matter how angry or happy I felt about my journey to citizenship, I couldn’t deny that the steps that had gotten me to that oath room have made me into the person I am today. The journey to citizenship is unique for every individual, but we all feel the same pain and triumph.