Love Stories >> Mira Hall                                                                         

THE  TRUE  LOVE  STORY  OF  A  MODERN  DAY  IMMIGRANT

By

Mira S. F. Hall

En español - Clic
 

My story is by no means one of heroism, or escape from persecution, nor fraught with economic or physical deprivation.  My reasons for coming to America were not that complex at all.  Mine is a love story, plain and simple.  It is no more special than any other modern day immigrant’s story about coming to this country.  However, it is my story; my first impressions of America, its people, its culture, my fears, my hopes, and my dreams.

As I sat on a seemingly endless flight across the Atlantic Ocean with my American fiancé, I very nervously contemplated the first meeting of my future in-laws.  Despite assurances, I had many fears about coming to America. How do Americans treat foreigners?  Will I fit in with American life?   But most importantly, will this new family accept this foreigner?   Perhaps those people are right who had warned me that everyone in America has a gun and that it’s only a matter of time before you are shot at walking down the street.  Coming from a country where even the police did not carry guns, this was rather a daunting thought indeed.  Perhaps I should have listened to my father, who had twice come to the United Kingdom whilst on a world business trip to tell me that I cannot possibly marry this American and move to America.  In fact, during the second attempt to convince me, he put a credit card in my hand and told me to go back home, which happened to be New Zealand where I was born and raised, to see my mother.  I agreed to think about it, especially as I’d not seen my mother in over a year and missed her dearly.  At this point however, he informed me that it was for a one-way ticket only.  I had been doing volunteer work and didn’t know when I’d be able to get enough money together to go back and visit my mother.  13 ½ thousand miles may as well have been the moon.  However, love prevailed and I was now on a one-way ticket to begin a new life in America.  I was excited, scared, happy, sad, hopeful, confident, and dozens of other emotions all mixed-up together.  Happy and excited to begin a new life together in my husband’s country, but sad also at the realization I would not be returning to my own country.  Would my mother understand?  Would she forgive me?  Would I forgive me?  As I wrestled with my emotions I could not possibly have foreseen the many obstacles that lay ahead of me.

We landed at JFK Airport and moved as one wave through to Customs, my fiancé going in the Citizens Queue and myself in the Foreigners.  As I apprehensively awaited my turn, I suddenly froze upon seeing a guard with a gun.  I had never seen this before and suddenly could not move until I was forcibly nudged in the back propelling me forward yet again, closer to the front of the queue.  Again those warnings about guns sprang to mind.  Upon presenting my passport I was duly asked, how long I intended on staying in the United States.  With renewed excitement I declared, “indefinitely” as I had come here to marry the man I love and begin a new life here.  At this point I was informed, in no uncertain terms, that I could not possibly do that as I had the wrong kind of visa.  Further discussion ensued as I tried to grasp the full meaning of this.  Before long, other officials were called out, and after lengthy explanations, all declared the same fate. It was not possible for me to stay!   As I began grasping the full reality of this, at least as much as I was able, considering the shock I was in, I felt like I’d been knocked between the eyes.  This was soon replaced by sheer panic as I realized I’d lost sight of my fiancé.  I was pulled out of line and escorted to a separate room to be questioned, alone!  My fiancé was not allowed to come in with me.  I must have been giving all the wrong answers as before long I was being accused of trying to enter the country illegally.  By now I’m scared!  Why won’t they let me see my fiancé?  I was asked the same questions over and over, each time more impatience and frustration being conveyed by my accusers.  Why won’t they believe me?  How could this be happening?  I’d never so much as had a parking ticket before, now I’m being told that I’m in trouble with the United States Government.  I knew this was serious.  I am being treated as someone who has broken the law.  I had a visa stamped in my passport that said it didn’t expire for another three years.  However, what I didn’t understand was that it was good only for passing through the United States with a ticket out.  I was told I must have known this.  More questions.  Now I’m literally too scared to speak.  This frustrated my questioners even more.  After what seemed like a very long nightmare, and out of sheer exasperation, my interrogators finally allowed my fiancé to enter the room.  More questions.  Soon we are told that if we really were intending on getting married as we’d claimed we were that we must leave the country immediately and go to Canada or Mexico and apply for a fiancé’s visa.  They could not tell us how long that would take.  We thought about this possibility until we pooled all of our financial resources and found that we only had a little over $6.00 between us.  Needless to say, that option was immediately ruled out.  After more heated questioning and suspicion, it was decided that the next option would be to deport me.  In my ignorance and fatigue I thought that would be a good idea.  Perhaps I could go and see my mother after all.  It was soon pointed out that I would not be deported to New Zealand.  I would be deported to the last country I was in, and on top of that, it was also made abundantly clear that once deported it was highly unlikely that I would be allowed to come back into the country.  Again, another dead-end.  Another option ruled out.  How could this be happening to us?  We’re in love.  I may not have had any material possessions; all I had were a few dollars and everything I owned was in one suitcase, half of which was taken up by a used, handmade wedding gown.  But I didn’t care.  I had dreams!  Surely these Government Officials would eventually see reason.  Why were they treating me like a criminal?  My only crime as far as I was concerned was falling in love with an American. However, the gravity of the situation slowly began to sink in as I felt completely engulfed and overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the problem and feeling powerless to change the situation.  My fiancé patiently explained, yet again, that all we wanted to do was to get through to his family home in Colorado.  Hours had gone by.  Everyone was exhausted.  Finally it was decided that we would be allowed to continue on to Colorado contingent upon agreeing to appear in Federal Court in six days time. Although relieved at this news, physically and emotionally drained, we were also excited that I had been able to stay, albeit six days. 

Due to my father’s unsuccessful attempts to convince me not to come to America, he had taken it upon himself to detour to America on his way back to New Zealand ahead of me and ‘check out’ my husband-to-be family.  If I wasn’t embarrassed by the fact that my father had met my in-laws before I had, I certainly was embarrassed and humiliated now that I couldn’t even come to this country without creating all kinds of havoc upon arrival.    My hopes of a good first impression and subsequent acceptance of me were fast fading.  Now we had to meet with problems hanging over my head.  However, with my fiancé sitting beside me I felt renewed strength.  If there were a solution, we would find it.  After all, we were in love and it was difficult to accept that anyone, Government or not, would stand in the way of that.  How naive I was.

Six days later we duly drove the 240 miles to the Federal Court with my future in-laws in tow in order to keep the appointed court hearing with the Federal Judge the next morning.  This was frightening to be summoned to a court such as this and the trip in itself was an adventure in more ways than one.  First of all, due to the length of the journey we were compelled to stay in a hotel as I was required to appear first thing in the morning before the court.  All four of us had to share a hotel room together.  This I had never done with my fiancé, nor anyone else for that matter, so the thought of doing so with my future in-laws I found very embarrassing, especially as I had to share a bed with my fiancé’s mother.  My fiancé had to share a bed with his father and we lay awake most of the night staring at each other from less than three feet away as his parents snored loudly beside us, both of course wondering what tomorrow would bring and would our lives be changed forever.  Perhaps our dreams of a future together were doomed.  Sleep wouldn’t come.   I felt like I was in a fog, being smothered.  So much had happened in a few short days.  I was in cultural shock in more ways than one.

I had not grasped the full magnitude of the problem until during the first hearing at which time I was informed that a positive outcome was highly unlikely.  We were sent away with instructions to appear back in court again in the afternoon.  Although the outcome looked bleak, we were ecstatic that time had been bought.  Still Immigration believed that I had intentionally tried to enter the country illegally and there was no convincing them otherwise.  How could this be?  Eventually, I was told that I would be put on probation whilst my case was considered further.  I was fingerprinted, mug-shots taken and told to reappear in court on another appointed date, during which time I must not work.

Now we only have seven more weeks left until our wedding.  We had people arriving from overseas as well as locally.  We decided that the plans must go ahead.  The long-term picture was that my fiancé was returning to school full-time and that as I was skilled, I would be the main income during that time.  One slight hitch; I was informed that I was not allowed to work.  What kind of country is this who offers one financial aid in the form of Welfare such as food stamps, yet doesn’t allow one to work?  I explained that I did not want any financial help from the Government as I was perfectly capable of earning my own way; all this to no avail.  I knew that it was not possible for us to carry out this plan without me working.  As we were to be living over two hundred miles from my in-laws, we made trips there looking for work.  Meanwhile, wedding plans were going ahead and my fiancé making plans to start school full-time in a matter of weeks. Other little details complicated our days.  My fiancé’s mother told me that in order to obtain a good job I must sit some State exams.  I studied and practiced hard and passed exams well. I also must get a driver’s license, which was a disaster in its own right.  My logical mind told me that if America drives on the opposite side of the road than what I was used to, then it made perfect sense that all of the road rules would be the opposite as well. Big mistake! Too many exceptions.  After failing the written twice I decided it would be a good idea to actually study.  Meanwhile the practical aspect of driving was proving far more difficult than expected.  I’d driven off the road numerous times, up into someone’s yard almost hitting a tree, not to speak of several near misses with on-coming cars due to being on the wrong side of the road.  Out of sheer exasperation I proclaimed that I was not going to get my driver’s license, at which time it was pointed out that it would be impossible here to get by without one.  Needless to say, eventually I got my license.  How excited I was.  How can the Government kick me out now?  I have a driver’s license; my first little step to feeling like I belonged here.

Meanwhile, a seemingly endless volley of paperwork continued with the INS.  I had to appear at the Immigration Building and be examined by a Government doctor, the first of several exams.   Another trek found me lined up alongside dozens and dozens of other people seeking legal residency or resolutions to their various immigration problems.  I spoke to many of these people.  I found a woman who had swum across the river from Mexico to have her baby born in America in order that it may have a better life.  I found others who had come seeking sanctuary as they’d fled abuse or persecution of various kinds.  It was here that I first heard the term “wet back”.  I was saddened by how some of these people were being treated.  I stuck out like a sore thumb.  On one visit I was the only white person and got my first taste of the injustice of racial discrimination as I was treated better than most, yet in my mind, I felt as though I deserved it probably the least.  After all, I’d come not fleeing terrible things.  I loved my country.  I just happened to love one man more, and I was willing to go to the ends of the earth to be with him. Yes, these people definitely deserved to be allowed to stay here more than me.  Although our stories were different, we shared a common bond; hope for a new life, a future for ourselves and our families, whatever the reasons.  I was examined, yet again, by the Government doctor.  My blood was taken to make sure I was not infected with some terrible disease. With hope I had shown them my papers to prove that I’d had vaccinations for Smallpox, Cholera and Typhoid, which I’d been told was necessary in order to get my original visa.  What more could I possibly be infected with?  (This was before the world knew anything about aids.)

Plans continued for the wedding.  We had to go to a courthouse and get a license.  I was thinking that a lot of American life must entail going to court.  Then I was told I had to have more blood tests.  So this is America?  I was told that I had to have yet another physical examination.  Nobody explained to me that this involved a gynecological exam; something I had never heard of, much less imagined.  This all came as a shock.  I felt violated and was convinced I was being tortured.  Perhaps this was a test to see just how badly I wanted to stay here.  I had never taken my clothes off in front of anyone, much less a male doctor.  Nothing could have prepared me for such humiliation.  It was at this point I almost gave up and thought that it would be best for me to leave now and go back to what I knew and where I belonged.  I will never get used to these crazy American ways.  Besides, America doesn’t want me and that’s fine with me now.  Life was getting more complicated and I’d only been in this country a fortnight.  I didn’t understand anything, except the fact that I loved someone with all of my heart and we shared a common dream.   So, that was the deciding factor.  I must keep fighting for this. 

Wedding plans continued.  I tried to adapt to everyday life.  I still didn’t understand how Americans thought and I made many mistakes and many judgements.  We pulled up in front of a business that had a sign in the window that read, “No checks here”.  I excitedly said to my fiancé, “Look, let’s go in there, they will not check us”.  Not knowing that this was how American’s spelt “cheque”, I ignorantly assumed that they were going to bodily search us.  In light of everything that had been happening, this did not seem unexpected to me.  Life was full of similar episodes and lessons each day.  I only owned two sets of clothes, therefore, the first thing I had to do was wash them upon arrival.  I could not see any wash house area.  I did not recognize American laundry machines.  I set about washing by hand and then went outside into the garden to hang them up to dry.  I walked around everywhere looking for a clothesline.  I couldn’t find one anywhere.  I looked over all of the fences into neighbours’ gardens and was astonished to find that they too had no clotheslines.  What a strange place this was. 

We painted my fiancé’s grandfather’s house to earn extra money before the wedding.  Soon people arrived, some from overseas.  My sister was the only one who could afford to come and represent my family.  She gave me away.  My family had come to accept my choices, although it would be many many years before I could appreciate what my mother felt.  It was not a personal thing toward my fiancé.  The main issue was that it would entail living in America, almost 10,000 miles from home.  It would be seventeen years before I could take my husband home to meet all of my family.

 After the wedding we moved over 200 miles away from my husband’s family.  Now we could get on with the business of being our own family and starting our own life. We could now begin to live our dream.  My husband was in school full-time.  He was also working part-time.  I was working full-time at a very good job that I'd got illegally apparently.  Life was not that simple.  Everyday I was frightened that I would be “found out” as I was still not allowed to legally work, and then I’d be expelled from the country.  Nothing could have prepared me for the isolation and loneliness that I felt.  Coming from a large family I now lived in a place where I knew not a soul.  I’d just got married to someone my mother had not even met and I was living in fear of being deported any day now.  I was a nervous wreck.  I couldn’t concentrate on my work.  I was not doing the job I knew I was capable of.  Meanwhile, my legal status here continued to be a big issue.  More court hearings, more examinations.  I was still on probation.   My in-laws once again accompanied my husband and I to court.  They knew a Senator in their area who had looked into my case and said that it was all but hopeless.  The morning hearing was not going well.  We were told to return later in the day.  There was apparently one more person with whom we could plead my case.  As we sat now in this man’s office things were not looking very positive at all.  I was far too shy to really contribute much, so was not hopeful whatsoever. Then, all of a sudden my father-in-law happened to notice that this man was a hunter by the trophies around his office walls.  He quietly proceeded to talk about hunting, eventually inviting him over anytime to his part of the state to hunt.  That was it!  Everything turned around.  This man took my papers and signed it right then and there.  Nobody could believe it, least of all me.  I was speechless to think that after everything that had transpired to date, it could be instantly fixed with one simple pencil whip.  Amazing!  One man had the power to completely change the course of our lives. That lesson will stay with me forever.  To say we left that Federal courthouse absolutely elated that day would be a gross understatement. Now could begin the formalities of obtaining a “Green Card”.  One more step closer.  I was still technically on probation and still not legally allowed to work, however, the end was in sight.  More paperwork went back and forth and along with it, more money each time.  It would be well over another year before I would get my Permanent Residency status and have a green card to prove it. 

Life was looking up.  Now I could finally concentrate on adjusting to this strange culture and its interesting people.  My first winter in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado brought with it one of the worst blizzards in years.  I had never even seen snow before, much less lived in it. Therefore, trudging to our apartment in knee deep snow was an interesting and challenging experience indeed.  Having been raised in the South Pacific I’d never been so cold in my entire life.  My husband would frequently have waiting hot water drawn in the bath for me to thaw out in.  Cooking was yet another interesting venture.  Being raised at sea level I now had to learn to cook at high altitude.  It would be at least a year before I discovered such American conveniences such as cake mixes and other instant foods.

After my husband finished school we headed to the west coast with all our belongings squashed into a VW bug in search of work as this is where we were told there were plenty of jobs available.  In all of the hustle and bustle of moving I’d neglected to register with the Post Office; something that is no longer required for non-citizens now.  After receiving INS warning notice the problem was addressed and eventually rectified, thankfully.  I was still nervous at the mere thought of upsetting these Immigration officials again.

A year and a half later a daughter arrived.  I took her home to New Zealand to meet my family.  Little did I know the legal ramifications that would take place as a result of this.  Before leaving the United States, I had sent my passport to the New Zealand Embassy in Washington D.C. in order that my daughter be put on to it. This they did without question.  So without a second thought, off I went.  It wasn’t until leaving NZ for the return trip that the American airline with whom I was booked stopped me and said that I would not be able to continue as I had an American citizen on a New Zealand citizen’s passport.  How could this be?  I thought all of these headaches were behind me.  I was informed that if they let me through knowing this that they would be heavily fined.  My father knew people in authority at the airport, and after several long and heated discussions, I was eventually allowed to go at my own risk, although strongly advised not to as no-one could guarantee that I would not be detained upon entry to the U.S.  With a permanent residency status and a child born in the U.S.A. how could there possibly be trouble?  How wrong I was.  Sure enough, upon arrival into the U.S. I was detained and questioned and questioned.  I was told that it was illegal to have a United States citizen on another country’s passport without them being a citizen of said country.  This of course was true, and so in my ignorance, I had inadvertently broken the law, yet again.  Eventually, however, it was all ironed out, and despite threats of separating me from my nursing infant, an agreement was reached.  As I could not yet become an American citizen I was fortunately able to have my daughter made a New Zealand citizen to avoid the same situation happening again in the future. This did solve the problem, although I found out later that there were easier solutions.

I became more confident in my American way of living.  I still found many things strange, but I was beginning to understand how Americans think, and also how the system works; definitely a big turning point, and something that did not happen overnight, but only came with time.  I even got a little cocky in my newfound familiarity and whilst a couple of overseas relatives were staying with us they expressed a desire to go to Mexico.  As my husband had to go overseas on business I decided I would take them to Mexico by myself, along-with an infant that is. I had never heard about such things as not to drink water, much less any security issues. However, we did survive. I did not even take my passport as I’d been led to believe that as long as you have an American driver’s license you can get back through the border no problem.  How ignorant I was.  Upon re-entering back across the border into the United States I told my relatives not to speak as their accents would draw attention to the fact that we are not Americans, but that they should not worry as I have an American Drivers license which I planned on just flashing at the Customs Officials.   Fortunately for us we were lucky and encountered no major problems, just a few questions raised as to where I was from.  I’d forgot I still had an accent.

It would be ten years before I would apply for my American Citizenship.  Various legalities had prevented me from doing so earlier, along-with convincing my family that I would not give up my citizenship to my mother country.  And so it was.  With my husband and children looking on, I was sworn in as a citizen of the United States of America.  It had been a long journey and although I’d learnt an awful lot through it all, it was a journey I would not recommend repeating the same way. The relief I felt knowing that it was all over was profound.

Many more years have passed by since that day, but I like to think that I have contributed to the betterment of my adopted country.  I have raised and educated productive members of society and now have grandchildren whom I know will be the same. My family   continues to be my first priority. So now with the first generation of full-blooded American citizens, I finally feel like I actually am entitled to be here.  As this branch of our family tree began with my decision to come to America all those years ago, I feel in many ways, solely responsible for ensuring not only the survival, but the success of this new branch in my adopted country.  I will continue to do my best to help in anyway needed to make sure that my children and grandchildren have all the opportunities to make that happen.  As far as regrets?   I do not in any way regret coming to this country.  I have learnt to love, understand and appreciate most Americans and have found most to be tolerant, friendly and generous.  I have been more fortunate than some in that I have always felt accepted and grateful that I never felt discriminated against as a foreigner.  So, despite a rocky beginning, this country has been good to me.  I have never taken my citizenship lightly.  I realize that most Americans never have to think about that, but it is something I will never forget.  Would I recommend this journey to anyone else?  Believe it or not I have been asked that question many times, and as recently as this writing.  My answer remains to think long and hard. Then, if you still really believe in your dream, hold on to it with all your strength and never give up. As far as that young American I fell in love with all those years ago, I can honestly say, I am more in love with him now than I could possibly have imagined all those years ago.  That love not only endured through thick and thin, (and could fill volumes), it grew far beyond my expectations.   As far as the other most frequently asked question of, “was it worth it?” I can say, nay shout, a resounding “YES”, with all my heart.  I have no doubt in my heart and soul that I married the love of my life and would do it all over again, in a heartbeat.  I am still living my dream.

The End

(for now)

© Mira S. F. Hall, 2004. All Rights Reserved.

Mira Hall was born and raised in a large family in New Zealand until the age of 19 when she left her homeland 'to see the world'. She lived first in the United Kingdom before settling in the United States. She has experienced America from living in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado to the Mojave Desert, and San Joaquin Valley of Southern and Northern California.  Mira and her husband currently live in Pennsylvania.  She has devoted her life to providing the best possible environment to raise her family in, home schooling her children from an early age. She has been a vegetarian for over 30 years and actively promotes vegetarianism, the humane treatment of animals, along with a humane, sustainable lifestyle. Mira is the author of "Everything Stops For Tea". You can contact her at hall76@ptd.net.

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