Beyond Borders: A Story of Immigration & Growing Up

By Isadora Argenta

When most people hear the word "home," they picture the walls, floors, windows, and bedrooms that shaped their childhood, where most of their memories link them together. The cozy spot where you can unwind, and the familiar place you had for a while. Uberlandia, Brazil, was the last place I called my house "home". I have always been told that life is full of opportunities, and when given the option to improve your life, you take it. This was a circumstance in my family, my father was offered the chance to move to Switzerland, giving my mother, my brother, and I the chance to travel and live on a different continent. I was nine years old when I was told I would be leaving my country of origin, culture, and home, which I called Brazil. I was young, but even still, I had grown to love the things I would soon be leaving behind. That was the first moment I understood that a house is not a home but a place where you live and form memories and that my family would soon become my forever home.

As the day of our departure arrived, I walked downstairs to leave and glanced at the place where my early childhood memories were shaped. Even though I was only a child, I discovered aspects of myself through a brief glimpse of my life. As I scanned everything around me, my mind was racing with thoughts. Until that moment, I had never experienced severe change, and I had no choice but to accept. It felt as if I was leaving my whole world behind me. I would no longer be able to feel the city's warmth, see my babysitter, whom I loved like a mother, interact with everyone in my native tongue, or spend as much time with my extended family. I wondered if I would fit in. Would people would like me? Was I capable of learning another language? Would it be easy?

Once I got inside the airplane, I realized I would not be returning. The four of us were departing for a country whose culture was entirely different from our own. After twenty-two hours and fourteen minutes, we arrived at our new, foreign place, home. A couple of days later, I attended my first day of school at the International School of Basel. As my mother let go of my hand, the only feeling of familiarity had left my body. Although I had always been an energetic, extroverted kid, I felt like an alien to my own body because I could not communicate with those around me. As opposed to the relaxed appeal of my hometown, the constant hum of a hundred different languages felt strange.

The school subjects were blurred, and I couldn't understand what my teacher wrote on the board. It was the first time I felt alone. I could not ask for help or make conversation. So tiny, but so strong. An insight into a different phase of my life that has changed who I am. I had no choice but to grow up because, rather than playing with dolls and my best friends, I had to figure out how to learn a new language to communicate my emotions as quickly as possible. Thankfully, the school connected me with other Brazilian students who helped me navigate the school, but most importantly, I finally felt close to home again. As an immigrant, you feel hurt in your heart every time you talk about your home country. When you hear someone speak your language or share the culture you love and miss, you feel welcomed, like you aren't as far from home as it seems.

As time passed, I learned to communicate and slowly immerse myself in a new culture. When I cracked the code, I finally felt like a kid again; I could understand everyone around me and form meaningful relationships. I came to learn about the world's beauty, and through our travels around Europe, I learned about different cultures, manners, and languages. Even though I cannot say that this move was easy, it provided a glimpse into a new phase of my life that fundamentally changed who I am. I learned how to speak up for myself and found my voice.

Three and half years later, it was time to say goodbye to Switzerland and hello to the United States. The place where many immigrants can only dream of going to. Unfortunately, when I was told we were moving again, I couldn't fully accept it. That was the first time I had felt feelings of denial, and although I knew we were moving, I couldn't bring myself to tell those around me. I had finally found the comfort of what was there with me. I felt as If I didnt tell my friends, it wouldn't come true. I caught myself lying in more ways than another. I was a disaster, every feeling I felt as a nine-year-old me came back but stronger. Then, the words “I am moving to the United States” finally came out of my mouth, and I soon said my goodbyes. I didn't know how to say it or understand how my time in Switzerland would become memories. Although I knew I could text or visit them, I had to accept that It would never be the same, and I would have to find new friends and comfort in a new house.

There we were again, the four of us departing for a new foreign country. I realized I wasn't the only one in fear at that moment. We all didn't know what was coming or ahead of us, and you can only hope for a good outcome, but you can not be sure. However, life gave us another opportunity, and it was only fair to try it out. We came to our new home in Minnesota after traveling for fourteen hours and forty-five minutes. It felt strange because I could understand and communicate with everyone around me this time. But it wasn't a good strange. I started feeling pressure in my chest. My breaths were slow, and my heart was faster with each beat. That was the first moment I came across the feelings of panic. I was inside my third house in my third country when I was only twelve. My life didn't feel real then; that is when I realized I was once again alone. I had everything, and it was all gone. A few days later, I would attend a new school with new faces, subjects, and everything.

The time came, and there I was, walking into a new school for the third time. The whole day felt like a scramble. School in the United States felt way more intense than in Switzerland; this time, I was one of the only immigrants. There was no one else from my home country, no one else who spoke my language or shared my culture. I felt like an outsider walking through the school and feared I would slowly lose my sense of culture. I came home crying in my mother's arms that day, and she told me that it would get easier with time, but it didn't. This was the moment I faced the most significant storm in my life, everything that had once felt familiar had left my body. I had to learn to rebuild myself and be strong enough to face the difficulties of moving.

School became my worst nightmare. I would come up with any reason not to go or call my mother in the bathroom to pick me up, but some days, I would have to face reality and spend the whole day in school. The subjects were again blurred, but not because I couldn't understand the language; I couldn't understand the formulas or histories in front of me. I felt stupid for not knowing them for not knowing the basic history of the country I now call home. I had no idea what Fahrenheit was, so I couldn't even ask about the weather. I felt isolated and trapped; no matter how hard I tried to leave, I couldn't. I had to learn how to face myself and my struggles alone.

Over time, I found a group of friends, but it was hard getting close to them. Their ignorance hurt me, so I avoided answering any immigration-related questions. Sometimes, how people would talk about it as though it weren't real or difficult would bother me. People weren't thinking things through before asking someone about their personal life. Unfortunately, as time went by, I learned to laugh about the illegal immigrant jokes and the questions that were insensitive to my culture.

The feeling of being alone kept growing; no matter how many friends I had, I always felt like an outsider. In Switzerland, most understood what leaving your home country was like; you felt seen there. In Minnesota, most kids have lived in the same city since birth. They could never fully understand what moving to a foreign place was like. A part of me felt jealous; I was jealous that every holiday, they could see their family, celebrate their culture with everyone around them, and have friends they knew their whole childhood. It was difficult for me to observe how difficult the holidays were getting. It nearly served as a constant reminder that my family was not with me. My mother would always cook Brazilian food, and we never stopped celebrating holidays like we used to at home. Though certain aspects of immigrating to a new country hurt, I learned to appreciate the small moments. And soon enough, I won the battle, as I always did.

When you take the opportunity to leave something good for something potentially great, you don't exactly know what is coming. Most of the time, you'll experience the hardships of life, the storms, the darkness, and exhaustion. But you will also experience the sunny days, the waves of laughter, and the happiness. You will find the tiny light shining at you, and soon enough, you will see how big that light is, and that it will greet you, embrace you, and make you feel strong and proud of everything you have accomplished. I would not change my experience for the world because it shaped who I am now and brought me closer to home, my family.