Somewhere in the Beginning

Kunchok Dolma
Aug 8, 2017 · 6 min read

Unapologetically American

As the plane circled over New York, I breathed a sigh of relief and a wave of excitement engulfed my otherwise nervous state. I forgot the nauseous headache that had accompanied my Turkey meal on the flight. So much for adventure! I knew I would never eat Turkey again or at least for a very long time.

This was my first Turkey meal. When the stewardess on Austrian Airways offered an option between chicken and turkey, I thought, “Why not! Let’s go with the unknown!” I was about to land in New York City and from the movies I had watched, I gathered most Americans love Turkey.

It was a gloomy day in March. I remember seeing snow atop building roofs and filling joyous. Despite coming from Nepal or from the Himalayas as it would be later referred to by many in and around my circle, I had never seen snow.

So here I was at 21, about to see my mother after 7 years, anxious, fidgety, and excited. When the plane landed, I scrambled to gather my luggage. I held tightly to the large envelope, the size of my upper body, that contained my chest x-ray. I checked my backpack for the “other” manila envelope with official documents from the U.S. Embassy in Nepal.

As I exited the plane and made my way to the immigration line for foreigners/tourists/first-time visitors, my heart shrank. How I wanted to be part of the other line marked for citizens!

I was swept by another bout of nervous anxiety. For the past few weeks, my mind had been filled with a number of doomsday scenarios.

What if the plane crashes, I had thought many a times. I couldn’t swim. I still cannot! What if I’m rescued and brought to NYC harbors but the legal documents that allowed me to enter the U.S. including the large chest x-ray I was carrying in my luggage is swept away by ocean currents? Different versions of Titanic played through my mind and in each I hoped I would be Kate Winslet - the survivor! No way I was going to die before I landed in the U.S. and met my mother.

Thankfully, there were no crashes and I landed safely in JFK, but as I waited in line holding on to these documents, I thought of many other scenarios that could prohibit my entry to the country. I wondered if I had some rare disease and that was why I had been asked to carry my chest x-ray and medical records. What if all of a sudden and upon entering the airport, I would be sent back promptly!

These fears weren’t simply dramatic renditions of my state but seeped in years of trial trying to make my way to the U.S. which everyone claimed would be a land of opportunities.

Growing up, my mother supporting us as a single parent often had to leave us in boarding school even during holidays as she managed her business. She left for the U.S. in search of a better future when I was still a young adolescent. I hadn’t seen her for seven years and many a times during those years, I had felt that I would never see her again. I was born a Tibetan refugee in Nepal and circling around the country’s bureaucracies to ask for some form of identity that would allow me to travel to the U.S. had been its own struggle. And finally when the embassy approved my travels, my flight was cancelled because of mechanical problems.

At the time, Kathmandu airport was a small international airport and Austrian airways operated flights to and from Vienna with some of its ancient fleets. Right around the time when the gods and deities had decided I would be allowed to reunite with my mother, some airline god intervened and the plane they were sending to Nepal failed to fly. I waited in dread for my travel date. Everything seemed like an indication that I would not be able to enter the U.S.

Finally after three whole days, we received notice that the airline would be sending a plane the next day. As I finally got on the plane having recited many a mantras to clear away all and every obstacle, I realized I did not know how I would request a connecting flight to New York at Vienna, my layover.

In Vienna, a savvy Nepali green card holder who introduced himself as such got a group of us traveling to the U.S. complimentary hotel rooms from the airline. He remarked to the airline customer service agent, “I am a U.S. green card holder. I deserve boarding and food after having been stranded in Kathmandu for three days.” His bold American mannerisms got us room, boarding, and quick connecting services to our respective destinations in the U.S. The next day as I pulled my small luggage to board the flight to New York the handle broke and so it was with many a minute incidents that aggravated my fear and nervous anxiety, I landed in JFK.

As I waited in line, anxious and excited, one of the border agents finally gestured towards me to step to the boxed check point. I handed over the manila envelope. The agent took out the letter from the embassy, looked carefully at my bewildered face, opened the tiny gate around his cubicle, and disappeared into a back room with the documents. As I stood there frozen, I thought the whole world’s eyes were upon me. After several minutes but what seemed to me like an eternity, the agent emerged with another in tow, and prompted me to follow the other agent.

This other officer was a cheerful man. He smiled warmly at me. The windowless room I entered with him was filled with familiar faces from the flight and abuzz with folks waiting for some grand proclamation.

There was that child in green who had cried all throughout our flight, now sitting quietly with his parents. Perhaps he too had contemplated many a scenarios that would bar his entrance to the U.S. and strategized that quiet would be the way to go in this brightly lit windowless room.

The officer dropped my manila envelope into a letter box in front of a long high desk that covered one entire section of the room from left to right. “Someone will be with you shortly,” he said with a smile.

I smiled back and offered the large envelope that contained my x-ray. “Keep it with you,” he said. And so I sat there for another hour or so still clutching my x-ray report like it was life itself.

There was a lot of movement behind the long desk as agents went back and forth between offices in the back. I kept a close watch of the letter box that contained my documents lest someone take it or move it. Every time an officer came from the back room and scrambled through the box, I nervously stood up. Finally the officer who had ushered me into the room came from the back with a burly middle aged man and gestured towards me to approach the long desk.

I handed over my X-ray. The burly officer took it and without a glance threw it in the large trash can next to him! They asked a few follow up questions and handed me an I-94 form. The cheerful agent proclaimed, “Welcome to America!”

And thus it was that I made my entry to the U.S. When I saw my mother in the waiting area, tears ran down my cheeks, and she said as the tough woman she is, “Stop crying! You are here now!” My cousin came running from the other end. She said “Welcome to the U.S. achya!,” sipping a large soda and clutching a McDonald happy meal in her hand.

Kunchok Dolma

Written by

A hesitant storyteller and a 1st generation immigrant woman of color aspiring to build and foster inclusive & supportive communities.

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