Our Stories

My mom comes from China. She’s got a simple story, but none the less important. Before she came to America, my mom grew up poor, with her parents and two sisters. And while they supported each other, they needed to work hard and get a good education to able to set themselves up for a better future. My mom majored in international trade and studied import and export. She had to travel to many places for business trips and important events, and in most cases, to America. She had begun to consider America as a possible future home, because it seemed like a safe, good place for the next generation, and decided to move here around a decade before I was born. She made a huge change in coming here. She put aside everything she’s known and came here alone because my dad had to stay in China. She set up everything by herself, and it’s so amazing how much she’s accomplished.

Learning English was a priority after coming here and finding a home. She went to ELS classes (English as a Second Language) and took many years of her time to learn the English language. If you could hear her now, you’d be amazed by how far she’s come with her communication skills.

After living here for about 10 years, my mom decided to start a family, and thus, I was born. I don’t remember much, but before my sister was born, we lived in an apartment, with my mom, and my dad visiting occasionally. Once my sister was born, we moved into an actual house not even a couple years later. My mom and dad now co-run a company that sells all those chairs and benches you see outside porches, stores, and restaurants! They’ve worked hard to provide for the family. My mom utilizes her lessons in English to communicate with clients and handle finances while my dad works in China to run production. Life is good here. I’m proud of my mom, who has worked very hard to accomplish all the things I could only dream about.

My dad still remembers that November day, 22 years ago, in Bombay, India. It was the day that he got his visa to come to the US for graduate school. His parents, until then, had not even fathomed leaving their hometown, let alone the country. As he and his dad excitedly called home and conveyed the news to near and dear ones, they knew that this was the fork in the road for their future generations.

America was pervasive. Even though it was completely foreign, my dad could relate to it. He could relate to the suburban ease of Archie and Riverdale High; to being C.A.Ts (as Indian teens called them) – Casual American Teenagers – sporting jeans, t-shirts, sunglasses and a Walkman; to the Oscars and Grammys they watched religiously every year; to Michael Jackson, Michael Jordan and Mike Tyson who were all part of his life. America was always in the news – leading the world and always being counted in public opinion. That’s where he wanted to be.

He found America to be welcoming of people seeking opportunity. He could come to grad-school to learn computer science. Within months of coming here he secured a scholarship and a campus job that paid all his bills – and allowed him to even afford a car and a TV – something that took his dad a lot longer to get. He married his high school sweetheart while still in his early twenties, and then she came over to pursue her dreams for higher education and a successful career.

Yet, it was painful in the beginning. Everything was new – different seasons, different people, different food, different social expectations. They hadn’t realized they would miss home so much. But, along the way they grew to see that there was a bit of them in everyone around. Everyone was from somewhere, united by the empowerment this society gave them, and the freedom they had to contribute who they were into this potluck of cultures.

Today my parents have the professional success they aspired for. They wanted to raise their child with a sense of comfort, stability and security – they have been able to do that in a manner that their parents only aspired for. They have been able to get their parents to experience America and see the world, which is something they cannot do enough of. America allowed to lead their life fully. This is why, for all the world, America has been that “shining city on the hill”. And the very reason, why my parents now proudly call this home.

I have always had a basic understanding of my mom’s immigration to America. I knew that she had come to America in search of better education, more opportunities, and a change from her life in China. What I didn’t know was just how long her entire immigration story was.

My mom grew up in Chengdu, China, and had never been out of the country until she graduated college. Growing up, my mom always aspired to study in America, so at age 27, my mom left China to attend graduate school in America. She attended graduate school with a student Visa for two years. During those two years, she majored in computer networking, her long-time passion.

Preceding graduation, my mom was fortunate enough to receive a job offer from a company in the area. Her job secured her work Visa, allowing her to continue living in America. Shortly after starting her new job, my mom applied for a green card, which would grant her a permanent residency in America without needing a Visa. With a green card, she could start a family, knowing that her children could grow up in a country with better education, opportunities, and environment. Unfortunately, the tragic events of 9/11 happened shortly after she applied for her green card, and all immigration processes were shut down. Ultimately, my mom did not end up receiving her green card for eight years.

My mom’s immigration process was long and tough. In the beginning, everyone spoke a different language than her and everyone was a stranger to her, yet she still felt like she belonged. America is beautiful in the sense that no matter where you’re from, the country welcomes you with open arms. To my mom, America is a land of limitless opportunities. She achieved goals that wouldn’t have been possible back in China, and for that, she is forever grateful for this country.

Today, my mom lives in North Carolina with her husband and two daughters (my sister and I). She remains the only person in her family who has immigrated to America, and although China will always be a part of who she is, America is her true home. In a few months, my mom is applying for citizenship, which is the final step in her immigration journey, but regardless, citizen or not, America is still where my mom considers home.

 This is my mother. She is from Ningbo, China, a city about an hour’s bullet train ride, or a few hours of excruciatingly slow brake tapping and watching cars whizzing past you in the far lane away from Shanghai.

30 years ago, she was densely packed and standing in the aisle of a train bound for Shanghai for eight hours, dreaming about her shining future in a big city, in the best university in China. 20 years ago, she sat in an airplane for twenty-two hours, dreaming about another shining future in the United States.

My mother came to America to study math at Boston University. I remember her once telling me about how when she arrived in the United States with only a hundred dollars, borrowed from her relatives. On the first day, she didn’t even understand what her professor was teaching because she learned English from only textbooks. Over time my mother learned to speak English well, but even after 20 years, she still has a lot of trouble with it. Last week, during my brother’s cross country team’s parent social, I noticed that she sat in the corner of the living room and didn’t really say anything to the other parents because it was hard for her to understand what the other parents were talking about.  On top of that, she felt like she didn’t have anything to share because she couldn’t truly relate to what the other parents were saying. On the way home after the meeting, I told my mother that if she didn’t say hello to the other parents, they wouldn’t say hello to her either. She was very surprised.

When I was little, we used to live in Hillsboro but we moved to Cary when my brother was born. Our family moved again, to a different house, when my little sister was born. I was 15. Our family moved from a 2 bedroom house with three people, to a 3 bedroom house with four people, to a four bedroom house with five people. My parents made money by working hard, but even though we’re living the so-called ‘American Dream’, my mother is still the one quietly sitting in a corner and not saying anything because of the language barrier and the fact that she felt that there was nothing to share. But when my mother has nothing to share, the most precious thing she would talk about was us.

Some would call my grandfather a survivor or a victim, but not me. If I could call him anything, it would be strong. Eric Strauss was born in October 1932, in Vienna Austria; however, it wasn’t until the early 40’s that his life would be turned around. His whole family had been transported to a camp known as Terezin. There, he and his family would endure roughly three years of unimaginable torture. The days would feel like weeks, and the months would feel like years. Eric was one of the lucky ones, somehow his mother, stepfather, and half sister, who was only a toddler, survived. Through these tough times, many people chose to exercise their faith, but not Eric, in the wake of all this pain and suffering he endured, he had come to the conclusion that there was no greater force out there, because if there was, no one would have had to go through what he went through. When only 150 out of 15,000 children survive, being two of these 150 children was a challenge in and of itself. After the war, scarred forever, he packed his bags and headed towards what he hoped would be a better life. Unable to return to their once loved home, Eric and his family traveled to a displaced persons camp back in Vienna. Camps like these were notorious for having similar living conditions to those of the concentration camps, with people struggling to find floor space to sleep. Finding no life there, he and his family left Vienna once again in 1946. This time he would find a place to call home. His boat docked in New Orleans, and he began the journey that would ultimately be the rest of his life. The transition may have been difficult at times, but nothing compared to the horrors faced in Europe. Ultimately, he was overjoyed to be here. He found himself in New York, where he met the woman that would one day become his wife. In all the time I knew him, he never once uttered a single word regarding the Holocaust, or what he had been through. What had happened to him was a thing of the past, and that was that. He had a new life now, one in America. Sadly, my grandfather passed away three years ago, but his memory will live on in his bravery, happiness, and strength.

Image of Elizabeth Joan Modarelli (Center) with two of her grandchildren, Tim Werner (Left) and Jack Werner (Right)

Guiseppe Alberto Modarelli was a Catholic, young man who grew up in a very poor part of southern Italy. The 25-year-old, married, father of two, was looking for a new beginning for his family. Guiseppe and his wife were poor, jobless and depressed because of the rough conditions of southern Italy at the time. North Italy was getting richer and south Italy was getting poorer which made living conditions in southern Italy terrible. They heard of many opportunities and better living conditions in the United States so they wanted to try and start a new and better life there. With high spirits, Guiseppe, his wife and their two kids packed up everything they had and boarded a boat in Naples, Italy that would travel across the Atlantic to Ellis Island, New York. On October 8^th, 1902, the Modarellis stepped upon American soil for the first time. They were not sure where they would live specifically in the United States when they first came over, but soon after their arrival, they found a train that took them to Ohio. They finally decided to establish their new home and raise their family in a small town in Ohio called Girard. The Modarellis quickly settled in and Guiseppe and his wife soon introduced a third child in 1904, whose name was also Guiseppe Modarelli. He would later go on to raise Elizabeth Joan Modarelli in 1937, which happens to be my grandmother. Since Guisepee Alberto was very Catholic, he wanted to raise his kids as very strict Catholics, and when his youngest son Guisepee, got married, he married a woman who was not Catholic. Since his parents who such strict Catholics, they banished him from the family and Guisepee and his children were not allowed to see Guiseppe Alberto and the rest of their family. Since my grandmother was not allowed to see her grandparents, there are no real Italian traditions that we take part of today. Catholicism has made its way all the way down through generations of our family to me, one of youngest Modarelli relatives. My family has made it all the way from Napoli, Italy to Cary, North Carolina in about 100 years and I am proud to call the United States my home.

Mai Trang Nguyen pictured third from the right

My mother, Mai Trang Nguyen, left Vietnam in 1983.  Vietnam became communist during the fall of Saigon in April 1975.  Because my grandfather worked as a police major in the army of the Vietnamese republic (the government that the communists took over), he was sent to re-education camp for eight years in North Vietnam and the family was persecuted.  My grandparents arranged the family’s escape because of the political persecution they faced.  In Vietnam, the required score for college entry exams was 80% lower for students from communist families than it would have been for my mother and her siblings.

To get out of Vietnam, my grandmother paid some acquaintances of hers to build a boat and sail to Malaysia.  My mother was 14 and left with her younger sister.  They brought just plastic bags with changes of clothes and 10 US dollars with them.  Their rough voyage calls to mind that of Odysseus – they were initially chased by Vietnamese coast guard, then were boarded by fishermen in the bay of Thailand who robbed passengers of their jewelry and gold.  Finally, they made it to Malaysia, where they stayed in a refugee camp.  While accommodations at the camp were slim, they were much freer than they were in Vietnam – in Malaysia they could see the flag of their republic raised high.  During their stay, they met with immigration officers.  During that time, Vietnamese refugees went all around the world – to France, Belgium, Australia, and West Germany, just to name a few places.  My mother’s family chose to go to Massachusetts, US because of the good educational opportunities there.  Between Malaysia and the US, they went to the Philippines to learn English and vocational study.

They were shocked when they arrived in the US.  My mother said she imagined America as sparkling and clean – Chelsea, “the armpit of Massachusetts”, couldn’t have been more different.  My grandfather had a law degree in Vietnam, but he went to community college in Massachusetts and ending up working in air conditioning.  My grandmother started out cleaning houses (which she didn’t tell her children about until years later) and ended up with a payroll company.  Now, my mother lives in North Carolina with me.  Her parents still live in Massachusetts, but in Stoneham, a huge step up from Chelsea.  My mother’s brother moved back to Vietnam seven years ago, her other siblings live in the US.

Many twelve-year old’s biggest problem is their grades or with their friends. In the case of Miguel Bello, he was wondering if he would ever see his family again. Miguel Bello was born in Cuba, in the year 1948. When he was twelve, the dictator Fidel Castro came into power. Castro’s first move as dictator was a total overhaul of the country. All religions were banned, all the money in the banks was now owned by the government, all land was now the governments, and the currency system was completely changed. Castro took everything from Miguel’s family; their land, their money, and their one-hundred-year-old family jewels. Overnight Miguel and his family lost everything. Miguel compared it to falling asleep in your home and waking up homeless. Miguel is already scared and has nothing, now his parents are saying that he needs to get on a plane for the USA by himself.

The reason his parents came to this decision was that they had heard and seen Castro and his army take young children and take them to be brainwashed into communists. Miguel and his family would go to the airport every day and see if there were any extra seats on a flight to the USA. One day there was only one seat left on the plane so Miguel went by himself, scared and alone, to the USA. When he arrived, he didn’t know what to do. He was in Miami International, by himself, and didn’t speak any English.

After about an hour, a nun came by and recognized him. Not by his face, but by his situation. Miguel was called a Peter Pan child. She told Miguel that she was a Cuban nun that was kicked out of Cuba when Castro came into power. She told Miguel that she had a place for him to stay with others like him. Miguel followed her and went in an old van with a couple other kids from Cuba to an abandoned air force base that the government had let the nuns use as a housing space. The Air Force Base had a townhouse complex the kids were using as a living space. Miguel lived there for four months, scared, lost, and with others like him. The complex was overfull so they tripled and quadrupled up. After the four months, the nuns told him a family in Boston had offered to adopt him, so Miguel went to Boston. The family there helped him learn English and adjust to America. Miguel never went back to Cuba and it was around eight months before his parents could join him. His parents were lucky because Cuba closed the border a week after they left. Miguel ended up going to the University of Massachusetts and had a successful career in the USA.

A classroom is only as useful as its location, and the view that met Maria Kazakova’s gaze through the university building’s window was static. No matter how many times her eyes wandered back, each one with equal optimism, the scene was forever set in the heart of London. And the mild solace that came from mentally comparing the UK to her hometown in Siberia was irrelevant. A lake is of no value to one who dreams of the ocean, and Maria yearned passionately for the sea, specifically for a landmass off the western Atlantic. Indeed, she was a woman with her heart set on and mind actively pursuing the golden-tinged promises of the United States.

Over three years later, she sat in a cramped studio, staring passively through a similar pane, though now, the New York City skyline looked back. Maria had evolved, and the whispers of purpose that had taken permanent residence in her back in Britain now shone outward like a radiating star. She glanced at the other occupants of the room and saw herself in an aspiring designer from Raleigh and a Swiss teenager with a flair for the dramatic. Her shoulders let out in involuntary shudder as she internalized that she was in charge, that this was her company, Jahnkoy, and that, within hours, the beaded clothing, whose creation had taken hours of intensive labor, and which now loitered the floor of the noisy apartment would be filling the window display of Bergdorf Goodman. In the spirit of the countless Americans who have felt the high of triumphant ascent overcome the crushing blow of failure, Maria Kazakova smiled. Her lips stretched until they were wide, and her eyes began to twinkle softly. The interns bustled, oblivious to her stillness. They were finding meaning through craft, exploring the depths of shared culture in this ‘new spirit village’ that her company’s name invoked, straight from the rubble of her past. Years of exploration had carved out this niche, somewhere between ancient African and the ever-captivating postmodern; the past two years at Parsons had honed it. She’d immigrated from Russia and played poker with fate, all to end up draped in decorative fabrics and sitting stoically in a new-age classroom, the setting a culmination of her first chapter, yet situated on land that perpetuates the immensity of potential. This window offered a glimpse of America.

Saket Bors is a true American with a great, inspiring immigration story that best displays why immigration and understanding the stories that make it up are so important. Living in Bhopal, India with absolutely no plan or knowledge of what the next chapter of is life would be, life for everyone of Bhopal changed December 2, 1984. Suddenly, through the dark night, distraught struck the city as a gas leak at Union Carbide pesticides plant impacted lives forever. The next morning, Saket stepped out feeling a difference in the city atmosphere around him that he was so accustomed to. Soon, he found out that during the tragedy last night, thousands were immediately killed with many more subsequently being injured and left disabled, some even close family friends. The city grew with grieve and remorse from all they had lost. Saket’s mother was set in a panic as she had always been a skeptic worrier and a huge believer in the superstitious things in life.

Scared and filled with emotion, she submitted a request for his Visa. Years later after marrying, Saket’s request had finally been granted as he and his wife packed their bags and traveled across the world to start a new life with hope. It was very difficult for him to find employment primarily because of his background and unpopular college with American companies. He’d looked for months before deciding it’d be best to go out on his own and start a corporation. He faced many troubles starting up as it took a lot of courage to take this risk. With a very low household income and few connections within the community, the company had to be put on hold. Saket was forced to take on another job in IT for a local public school as his wife found a job in daycare doing whatever they could to keep Saket’s hopes and dreams alive. In the following years, the company began to grow as Saket’s oldest brother, Milind, had his Visa accepted and came across to the United States to assist his brother. Eventually, the company grew and grew into the large, successful software firm it is today known as E-Emphasys Technologies Inc. None of this would’ve been possible without Immigration as we see it plays a huge role in bringing new ideas and thoughts to grow and develop as a society, and this story is just one of many examples.