The year was 1998. That’s when I moved to the United States. Due to some visa restrictions that are irrelevant here, I was not allowed to leave the country until my Green Card was issued. I had no idea how long that’d be. I applied for it the same year, but the INS doesn’t tell you anything about anything. You apply for something, and they will notify you. One day. It can be tomorrow (it never is, really), or in 10 years. You’re at their mercy.
I could leave the country, really, but that
might have meant I might never be allowed to come back. Newly married and
starting my job and my life in the US, I didn’t want to risk not ever coming
back. So, I stayed. And for two years (this is how long it was till the INS
finally granted my Green Card), I was not allowed to leave the country.
I was 23 at the time and 1998 was a tough year for me. For
the first time in my life, I was away from the only people I had ever called “family”
for all the important occasions: my birthdays, theirs, deaths, and all the
holidays. We had no Skype, no Zoom, no Facetime. I had a discount phone plan
with MCI (landline; remember them? With the sun on the “i”?!) that cut my
cost-per-minute by 10-20% or some such number. I was making minimum wage and could
not afford to talk for more than 10-15 minutes once a month or so. The normal going rate was something like $2.50
for Romania.
Those two years were my practice time, where I learned how
to survive and have a more-or-less normal life knowing I would maybe never be with
my family for many, if not all, of the most important occasions. I admit, as a 23-year-old,
that was something to get used to. By 2000 I got into the groove of it. It was
what we did. And we lived. The distance and the absence did not kill us.
Nowadays, the desperation of people not being with their families
for Thanksgiving this year puzzles me. Yes, I know it hurts. I know it’s not
what we “normally” do. Like I said: I have been there. But why risk our health
and that of those we love for a get-together?! That part, I don’t understand.
Sure, there are still millions out there who don’t believe this pandemic is
real, but even those millions that believe in it (although it’s science
and not Santa Claus, really) are willing to risk it all for 24 hours of eating
turkey with an audience. I just don’t get it.
Today, we have so many ways of communicating and practically
feel like we’re right there, in each other’s homes, that I would think it would
be a no-brainer being safe and not sorry later. Or better safe than sick. I
know the remote options for communication work because today I meet with my
family weekly for free for about a couple of hours every Sunday. We catch up on
the week and gossip about the rest of the family. It’s great.
We still don’t celebrate, for the most part, holidays together.
That is “our normal” and that has become our routine. We managed to find and
make other traditions over the years around the holidays and we cherish them
just as much as the old ones before we decided to live in different countries. We
don’t mourn what we don’t have anymore (we have not done that in 20 years now),
and we’re grateful for the times when we can travel and see each other.
Those times, regardless of when in the year they occur, are holidays within
themselves. We’re ever so thankful for technology and each other regardless of
how many courses we all eat together from the same kitchen (Thanksgiving does not
apply for my own family, but you get the idea). We have survived this distance.
We have built other bridges to communicate and find other times to communicate
in. And if we could, like so many millions of other immigrant
families, I am sure we all can.
I wish strength and optimism to those who decide to stay home
and make memories in a new (and hopefully not-to-be-repeated-again) way. Better
days will come. They must. I wish everyone else who decides to travel and get
together this season much care, precaution, and much luck.
Regardless of your choice, Happy Thanksgiving to all!
