Not all the immigration stories have a beautiful start, or a great ending, hope is the only way to transform frustration and keep fighting.
A few days ago, as the new year started, sitting inside a bar with a friend, immigrant also, expressing my feelings about my life, and reviewing situations. I am a journalist, i came to this country six years ago, with my suitcases full of hope and trying to better my incomes, to cover the needs of my family; it was a difficult moment for me, but I decided to try, and when I try, I set all my eggs inside this basket, wanted to reach the goal of having a better life, regardless of hard work, just needed an opportunity, knowing it wouldn’t be easy. But I never expected it could be this hard. In my country, security issues are an everyday thing, and freedom is not exactly what the word mean in practice. Having a professional degree in this country is too expensive, and to validate my career in Spain, is like starting over. Today, after working for six years, cleaning houses as a full-time job, and fighting for a better life, happiness is not a feeling that I can enjoy frequently. I came here with 34 and, in the blink of an eye am 40 years old; still never travel back home or reached the goals I came here with. Not all the immigration stories have a beautiful start, or a great ending; hope is the only way to transform frustration and keep fighting day by day.
Being an immigrant became a cross; I can feel the heaviness of a tough journey, but improving the quality of my life with taking care of my family became a priority I am still fighting for. That day, in that bar, my heart was set on returning to my country, even if am living a love story with the most beautiful person I ever met, and it may be contradictory, because love is the most powerful feeling; love can overcome anything. But during the last months, I have been fighting against bureaucracy fixing this and that, here and there, putting up with the ignominious way foreigners are treated in so many places, confronting this journey, and standing in front of a mirror daily, telling myself: Yes, you can, don’t give up!
Being an immigrant is not that easy; it’s not like those old tape recorders, there is no easy forward, or reward; there is a lot of emotions involved, emotions that daily pour out of my eyes, expecting that next day things will be better, hanging like a monkey, and wishing miracles to happen.
Being an immigrant, is the struggle of keeping hope for a living, in the middle of a political war, where dignity and pride has a price, and it depends only on the political mode of the day.