“Naturalized, Not Neutralized: My Journey as an Immigrant in America”

As a naturalized U.S. citizen, I know the struggles of getting to America. My journey has been one of deep resilience, sacrifice, and unshakable strength. I didn’t come here expecting handouts—I came here with my head held high and my hands ready to work.

But let’s be honest—not everyone embraces immigrants. Many assume we all crossed illegally, overstayed visas, or came from “somewhere south of the border.” People rarely stop to ask about our stories. They just look, judge, and move on.

I’ve lived much of my life here under the eyes of those who never truly saw me. I’ve felt it. The stares. The rolled eyes. The shift in their tone. I’ve heard the racial slurs. I’ve seen people laugh at my hair, my voice, my presence—right to my face, like I didn’t belong.

And I didn’t just come here last year with a GPS and a support system—I came before cell phones, before WiFi, before the internet was even part of everyday life. There was no FaceTime to call home, no WhatsApp to stay connected. I navigated this journey with paper maps, handwritten letters, payphones, and prayers. That’s how far back my immigrant experience goes.

And while I faced all of that here, I also heard it from people back home.

Some would ask, “Why are you waiting tables in America? Your family is known here—you don’t need to do that.”

But this is what it takes to be an immigrant. We start from the bottom. We work hard. We do what it takes to climb up. We do anything. Because we’re not in our country—we don’t have a network, we don’t have the same privileges, and we often have no one to help us figure things out. Many people couldn’t endure what we do. But we endure it with grit and grace.

And no—I didn’t get any “special treatment” because I had permanent residency. I worked like millions of others. I paid taxes. I built my life from the ground up. I never used my status to intimidate or elevate myself. I’ve seen people wave their immigration papers like shields—as if that makes them better. That was never me.

When I took my oath to become a U.S. citizen, I took it with full sincerity. I pledged allegiance to a country I chose—through struggle, through waiting, through weariness. I didn’t just want to live in America—I wanted to contribute to it, build something real here, and give more than I took.

This country shaped me. And I am proud of the woman I’ve become. I’m proud of every long night, every humble job, every time I smiled through tears.

I came with nothing but my will—and by the grace of God, I’m still here.

I am living proof that if you work hard, stay grounded, and don’t lose your faith—it can be yours too.

To anyone still on the journey: I see you. You are not invisible. You are not less.

You are powerful.

You are resilient.

And your story deserves to be told—loud and clear.