My airplane, a late flight from New York to Detroit, was landing in the middle of a snowstorm. My life at that time was unfolding by the moments. I knew what I left behind but nothing about what awaited me ahead. The previous day had seemed like a twenty-four hour whirlwind spent between two continents. That long and strange day started in the early morning at Leonardo DaVinci-Fiumicino
International Airport in Rome, Italy.
By that time I had learned to use visual cues to access my environment and managed to navigate the busy terminal without any major setbacks. I tended to follow crowds of people that spoke Russian, dragging my two small children and a couple of suitcases with all our possessions. I hoped it would be the end of my six month ordeal.
The long flight to New York was my first time flying. I quickly found out I have a phobia of flying and air sickness as soon as the airplane left the ground. Waves of nausea were pulsating within my body, like snakes attempting to free themselves from my abdomen, ending up being caught in my constricting throat. Swallowing my fears, I fought to keep myself together. I did not have the luxury to display them in front of my two small children who were more scared than I was. My demeanor only showed a comforting island of the certainty, sense and stability I had tried to give them at this point of their lives.
After landing in New York, we went through the long, burdensome procedures of immigration paperwork and were given a choice of our final destination - Salt Lake City, Utah, or Detroit, Michigan. My selection of Detroit was solely determined by it being a shorter flight and a name. It was definitely not a right moment in my life to think about saving time.
So, there we were disembarking in Detroit Metropolitan Wayne County Airport, in the middle of the blizzard. My family’s new home in America. As difficult as it was for my children and I, my emigration was a breeze compared to the hardship of other immigrants. Luckily for us, my status as a Russian political refugee gave me certain privileges.
About an hour later I would be home... Hamtramck, Michigan, for the next three years of my life. Hamtramck... a heaven and a capital of new emigration from Eastern Europe. Everyone entered that place with such a wonderful impression. Only years after exiting however, we all realized it was a softer kind of hell.
Unfortunately not all of us were able to leave, with many being trapped there for the rest of their lives. I had to deal with the full extent of my reality and result of my choices. I chose Detroit over Salt Lake City. I picked the United States over every other civilized country in the world. I ended up in Hamtramck versus Vienna or Rome.
What I learned is that we never know where our hearts belong. And we are all too quick to judge.
It was the middle of January 1989.
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