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Ship Sick?

Dear Journal,

It is me again. I grew tired of gazing tiredly at the sickening sea water with a sme...
and I move toward him widening my eyes showing him what I meant. After physically
showing him what I meant, he understand ...
in and let me sleep in a VERY small room. As I looked around the room, I realized you
could fit ten or less bodies in the ...
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Journal Entry Immigration


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Journal Entry Immigration

  1. 1. -12/1/1918 Ship Sick? Dear Journal, It is me again. I grew tired of gazing tiredly at the sickening sea water with a smell you could die of. But what was worse was the enormous and sardine-packed crowd that annoyed the daylights out of me. There was no way I would have boarded the ship into second class. Instead, after arguing with the people who managed the boarding of the ship, they told me that I was only a few dollars short to be in second class, but had to stay in the horrific steerage. After calming down, I pondered the reason why I left home- the country of Russia. I am extremely upset . I feel that I have abandoned my home; but I am also prosperous of America. I knew that America was my only hope to escape persecution, due tot my preference of Semitism, and for a better education. Recently, Uncle Schnitzel bought for me a special portable pen, that I could use to write letters and use with my studies (at school). This pen reminds me of my old life in Russia, and hopefully will one day remind me of my successful, gold-paved life in New York City I will be living in the Lower East Side with my Uncle Boris for a little bit, ‘til I find work and find my way around the city. Meanwhile, I will have to deal with the plethora of people on this dumb boat and starvation. On the other hand, at least I have my String, or what I like to call ‘God’s Call’. It reminds me of what Jesus has brought me (also of ) mother’s food, Kosher food. I miss it. I miss life in Russia. But, America awaits in a few hours. Finally, the wait is over. I think I’ll savor the ink for when I arrive. _______________________________________________________________________ _ 2/3/1918 The Arrival Dear Journal, As the ship began docking, we could look out and see the Statue of Liberty, standing proudly. People soon to be citizens of America gathered around the left of the boat gasping and grinning. However, I was smiling a fake smile. I didn’t know what she was or what she meant. How was I supposed to know? I was puzzled, but glad we were finally here. My mind began a plethora of thoughts or where I would stay and what I was going to say to people. I walked with confidence in an upright shoulder position, as I began walking forward to the ‘steerage-line’. I muttered to myself a little, annoyed at the fact that I was in steerage and not in a higher class (which I could have been in). Afterwards, I received a numbered tag and unclear instruction to join another very, long line. I started speaking to the uniformed director. He resembled those Irish folk. The man yelled a number. It sort of annoyed me the way the director spoke and I said something in Russian in a scowling voice. Then, I asked him where exactly to go
  2. 2. and I move toward him widening my eyes showing him what I meant. After physically showing him what I meant, he understand and clearly pointed to me where to go. It was extremely weird how he acted like he didn’t know what I was talking about. But, I calmed down and walked to the line thinking about reflecting about my voyage here. _____________________________________________________________________ 2/5/1918 What’s In Store Dear Journal, Thank you, God! I am finally off that wretched island. IT feels-well felt- really awesome to reach America and victoriously pass those vicious tests at Ellis Island. Anyway, everyone (immigrants) seems so nervous and emotional about coming and being here in America. However, I feel challenged- challenged in a good, positive, enriching way. The reason for me feeling challenged is because of my goal of adapting as much as possible to this New World (well, according to me). I was picked up by me Uncle’s brother, Olg Schnitzel. He is currently twenty-five years old. For the next two days, I will be staying at his house, and will be living elsewhere soon, hopefully. By ‘elsewhere’, I mean that, within those two days I will be finding an apartment- a nice one with golden staircases, maids, and a prepared, fresh feast. Well, that is what I wish and I know for sure America has. I hope to find an apartment nearby the Triangle Factory on the Lower East Side in Manhattan. Olg and his family live in the Lower East Side of Manhattan as well. I am looking for a job in the Kosher- Food Eatery Business (as Olg told me). There is a bright future ahead, I can just tell. SENTENCE COUNT: 15 _______________________________________________________________________ _ 2/7/1918 Dear Journal, The big city of New York has welcomed me with (slightly) outstretched arms! IT has been, so far, a great experience. There has been one or two experiences - only a few- that hasn’t supported the ‘Big City’ factor. The first was after I told, and insisted, to Brother Olg (not really my brother; he’s my uncle’s brother) that I would find a home. After hours of continuous begging and pleading for a tailor job, I received one but could not find a home. It was getting really late and had no home. As a result, I walked and traveled the streets until I grew too tired to walk anymore and fell to the gray- cemented, and fell asleep. After a few hours of shuteye, I awoke to the sun’s wink of golden sunlight- the only golden thing here in America. Knowing that the job was a couple blocks away, bound to get lost (even with the numbered streets), I took off into the progressive daylight still making it early enough to start. Before I entered the tall building, , I flashbacked to the humongous buildings and that stood unattractively before me. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, based on the letters Olg sent me from back home. When I saw the owner approaching the building, I asked him in my most fluent voice, of (this ) American English, for a place- or small area to live. After making a scene out of my plead, he gave
  3. 3. in and let me sleep in a VERY small room. As I looked around the room, I realized you could fit ten or less bodies in the room. It had one couch and a small wood-chipped table. It also had this “thing” an usually shaped thing called the “phone”. As I touched it, it made a sound, and I jerked backwards. I was satisfied enough. I liked it less but it was convenient and more satisfying than my life & home in Russia. Within the next couple of days, I bought a little something for myself with the (currently) daily paycheck and bought books, a hat, and tasty Kosher food. Life as a New Yorker was far better than the hell, beating, discrimination, prosecution, and slight poverty in Russia. _______________________________________________________________________ _ 2/14/1918 Pumpkin Cake Dear Journal, Working at this tailor shop was hard work. It was not fun, which I expected but I found it appalling of the job to be very hard and tiring. I work several hours a day. For the next couple of months, I will be working overtime to pay off for my place. Currently, I am renovating the place. However, I just thank Jesus for keeping me safe and my family safe back in Russia. Some, not all, of my family were poor, and we tried to help them out as much as we could. My experience so far has been 50-50. However, when I re-think my declaration, I think my experience has been 60-40. 60% represents the positive, good things that has happened in my life like receiving pay, a job, an okay home, and doing entertaining things. The 40% covers my encounterance of poverty, that experience of begging, pleading, slight hunger, tired working, and rude co-workers and employer (boss). Life in America, both positive and bad, has caused adjustments. The pay, skyscrapers, tall buildings, and the machinery (i.e. sewing machine). Also, I felt I was excited and thankful that I was in America. However, I didn’t like how people- old people (elders) snickered and scowled at us “people” who ate at the Kosher eateries. Overall, my experience has been bittersweet- like pumpkin cake. Sentence Count: 15 _______________________________________________________________________ _