COMING TO AMERICA (part 3)

Picture by Frank Bryan

                         COMING TO AMERICA (part 3)

Frostburg State University

Writing this section of my blog is extremely difficult. The memories bring more tears  than happiness. 

The deeper we got into the new way of life in America, the more we learned about it; the life plans changed and adjusted, then adjusted and changed over and over. 

Coming to America is quite different from the emigration to Europe. In 1992 and later, when Bulgaria entered the European Union, I did not hear stories from friends about their hard life during immigration. Maybe, they did not want to talk about it. Everything had to be kept a secret. This is one of our national traits. Kind of "whatever happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas," only this is not about gambling and drinking. Over time, I realized that keeping secrets defied logic. Sooner or later, in every organization, including the family, a weak link appears. Then comes the realization so much time was wasted not sharing ....

I ask myself many questions, that's my natures. "Why didn't I ask for help when I was hungry? Why all of this immigration life was a secret for so many years?" The answer comes back to me always the same -- I did not want to connect with the past, to show weakness, hopelessness, failure. How many around you talk about their failures?

In 1993, I was accepted in the MBA program at Frostburg State University. Frostburg is situated in Western Maryland; the climate is chilly, but people are not chilly. 1994 was the coldest year in the history of the city. That must have been our luck. The coldest temperature maximum was -21degrees F (-29 degrees C); the total snowfall was 50.6 inches. Frostburg was for me a symbol of the American life in the small, low income part of America. In the little, old, coal mining town with about 9,000 population, I found the University, where there were no other Bulgarians. Out of over 5,000 students, no Bulgarians.... I was the first to discover it! I also became the bread winner of the family with my part-time job as a research assistant. 

My daughter went to the only high school - Frostburg High School. She was an excellent student, there was no need for any help with homework or any modern form of punishment. She was not going anywhere, no one showed any interest in a foreign girl from unknown country. I was also one of the few foreign students at the MBA program. Being different did not attract any attention, but my different way of thinking and antics were helping. This made me a little hip. And I was not even trying.

We lived in a shabby apartment, barely furnished. We had two mattresses, a little TV we took from the trash and a computer (from the school trash). My daughter was sitting on a broken speaker to study; we had no chairs. I was using the school library for papers, requiring a PC. Luckily, technology had not conquered the world that fast. Paper and pencil were still in use.

The worst part of living in Frostburg was the cold. There were so many snow days, when school was not closed. My daughter will try to walk in the snow alone in the days in which I was at school. Most of the times, I was able to pick her up and the two of us were walking trough the deep snow home.

My classes were mostly in the evening. On the way to school -uphill and downhill, on the way back - the same... I am not sure what scared me more - the darkness in this tiny path, or the big dog in one of the houses closeby.  I always felt one of these nights, when the dog was very hungry, he would break off the  chains and would have me for dinner.

 What happened in Frostburg briefly was: The Redskins arrived in the summer of 1995 choosing the city as their training camp. This was the most exciting event for the last 100 years. Next, my daughter graduated high school at 16; then, the parents were all through with their diplomas, degrees and board exams.

The Best Part - we won the Green Card Lottery! It became clear soon thereafter that  the 16-year old would go to Georgetown University - somehow financially this had to happen, while the adults needed to do what they had to do - find jobs and a place to live.

With the broken Nissan, putting in everything we had, we drove back to Washington, D.C.  There was so much done and so much waiting to be done.  The success outweighed the failures.

Jefferson Memorial in Washington, D.C. Pic. by G. Coleman

COMING TO AMERICA (part 1)

Picture by Frank Bryan

COMING TO AMERICA (part 1)

                                     

I will make this blog colorful, like the Bulgarian national flag. It has 3 colors -- white, green and red. 

 Coming  to America in 1992 for a family of three was not like in "Coming to America" movie. My daughter (12 years old at the time) and I arrived in USA from Bulgaria after my ex-husband. To give you a crash course of where Bulgaria is -- the country is situated in Eastern Europe; it is not part of the former Soviet Union, though SSSR had strong ideological and economic influence on its development in the past. 

All we knew about where we were going to live got into our crazy heads as a result of graduating from the English Language School in Plovdiv. We had good education, good control of the language, (incl. my daughter.) On top of this, we knew all the rock bands:) Ha, ha! "The Iron Curtain" fell in 1989. Finally if one had relatives in Western Germany or Eastern germany, they were able to cross the border and reunite with them. The new life has just begun!!

Emigration time in Bulgaria started as soon as the people realized they can live in other countries, get better education for their children, live the "American Dream", whatever they thoughtt it was. From a totalitarian country, they were flying to a capitalist environment, democracy and everything they believed they missed for so many years. The American Constitution was their pocket book.

My husband at the time was already enrolled in a Master's degree program. My daughter started school as soon as we were able to enroll her in one. We were so poor, we relied on good Americans for everything -- basements to live, covered with cement, food cooked with the worst quality products you can think of, old bagels given to my ex-husband from the university store. This was his second job. I was helping with everything possible in the places we were welcome to live. Even if not asked, I felt I had to do my share. I was also preparing for exams, hoping I would be accepted to a graduate business school. 

The first visit to McDonald's was a real celebration. It was only my daughter, who was able to have a burger. This was the biggest victory of our first year in USA. She was keeping the napkin for a long time.  Probably until we "graduated" to Taco Bell.

It was really smart leaving Bulgaria with several essential items. My daughter and I had thick wool coats. We also had warm boots, hats, a lot of underwear :). We even got haircuts. Mine was actually an Afro. How would I know that there is a separation in hair fashion in USA? I looked cute with Afro style. But, when I arrived I saw no white woman with Afro hair style. I have to tell you, this is their loss! Until my Afro became straight hair, I was already in graduate school. I do not think Afro style was a style I will not choose now (if not "ostracized" by society.) I have been tempted many times to tell a woman at the hair salon "Straight hair does not look good on you. Why don't you choose something that makes you beautiful, not what is modern."

Later, in 1994, when I was in Graduate School, I learned about 'culture shock ' foreigners go through and its stages. I am absolutely sure for us there was no 'honeymoon stage', no 'negotiation stage'. There was a "How To" stage. How to get a roof on top of our heads, how to feed ourselves, how to have our child safe and keep her healthy. Romantic fascination with USA was out of question. Comparisons between life styles and cultures were the last thing on my mind. Survival was all the parents cared about. 

Of course, there was always the option of going back, but this was the last option. There were sooo many options to be explored. Afterall, this is America, the land of opportunities!!!!!!

Bulgaria

Plovdiv

PRINCESS

PRINCESS

Twenty two years ago my daughter and I immigrated to USA. Our survival depended on the graciousness of good American families. There were 2 suitcases and a bleak desire to really make it in the foreign land. My former husband had arrived before us. He was accepted in graduate school. The big question mark was how we all can survive on very slim resources.

It was our first American summer; school had not started yet. I was helping a nice family with babysitting in exchange for room and board. For some time, we were staying in a house in Washington, D.C. One day, a couple living close by, came with a request to have us house-sit and dog-sit, while they were on vacation. They knew us vaguely; they had already helped us with linens and other necessities, which we needed badly at this time.

The request came as a big surprise to us. Not only they trusted us to stay at a fantastically decorated old style Georgetown house; they left a family member behind, a Lab Retriever, named Princess.

The first day we spent walking gingerly though the house, making sure we do not leave any signs on the carpet. The house looked like a museum to me with its antique furniture,
paintings, décor… It was a completely new world – one, not seen on the little TV we had acquired from another good American. We knew – we can watch everything surrounding us, but we cannot touch or move anything. All I wanted was to remember all I can see… I was not sure I was ever going to see a place that beautiful…

Princess was not following us during the tour. She gave us time to get to know her house. When dinner time came, we knew the fridge was packed with food for us. Princess had her special food in a big bag, with special instructions, left by the owners, along with the amount we need to give her. She was not a young dog, but was eating well. She did not need long walks, just enough to get outside and take care of ‘her business.’

Our first day house-sitting and dog-sitting went smooth. Playing with Princess, enjoying her beauty was something we had never done before in our lives. We never had a dog or a cat.

The problems started later. Coming from a poor Eastern European country, where many dogs and cats wander on the streets and eat scraps, it was hard to comprehend one simple truth: when a bag of food carries a label “Dog Food”, this is what a dog is supposed to eat. Crispy fried bacon is not a gourmet meal for an old posh Princess, although the smell is tempting. Her belly cannot handle it. Well, I wish I knew that back then…

One evening, while everyone was having dinner, Princess looked so pitiful; she was sitting next to the table looking up at us. We decided to share everything with her. One piece of food lead to another, it was not her regular dry food dinner. It was our type of dinner – with fried food and quite a lot of fat.

Then, Princess went quite reluctantly for an evening walk. In the morning, she was laying down close to the front door. She was not barking, not eager to go out, not eager to eat… She made it clumsily outside. My daughter and I walked her out. She was looking at the other dogs. I can almost hear her saying “good bye” to them. When we got home, she lay down close to the front door again. No reaction to toys, bones… She was just staring at the front door… We were certain we have killed her because of our stupidity.  Big, unforgivable, unforgettable stupidity. Crying, my daughter took her for an extra walk. A very long walk… Whatever they did, they both came back ‘smiling.’

I am sure Princess did not tell anyone about the crispy bacon. When the owners came back they thank us for the good care we took of her. We did, we just did not know that even dogs are different in the world we have arrived in.

Maybe, this is not entirely correct. They may eat different food, but they are the friend you want to have in every country around the word. They will not forget you, no matter how old, or fat you have become. To them, it is the HUMAN they know.  

DISCLAIMER: Any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All
characters appearing in this story are fictitious.