My story begins one day when the president of Venezuela, Hugo Chávez, announced the closure of 33 radio stations on national TV. My dad worked at 102.3FM radio station of the Belfort National Circuit (CNB). I remember going into my parents’ room, and minutes later, the three of us were crying. I did not understand why that was happening. Could it be that someone said something that the government did not like? I was barely 11 years old, and I asked myself many questions.
In addition to working on the radio, my father hosted a TV show on Globovisión called En La Mañana. At the drop of a hat, more than 75 percent of my parents’ income was gone. Months before, my mother had resigned from Banco de Venezuela Grupo Santander, where she was the Vice President of Human Resources. She worked there for 15 years, and she quit because she wanted to spend more time with my brother and me. With the loss of my dad’s job, a long search began.
My dad started calling several colleagues at various radio stations in Caracas, but they all said no. The reason: the position that he had taken against the government was not comfortable for any radio station. In 2011, shortages became the rule. I remember that my mother had to go to several supermarkets to find milk, sugar, flour, bread, meat, etc., and insecurity was uncontrollable. Apparently, my mom had already warned my dad about the need to leave the country. Living in fear is not worth it. To which my father always said: “I will be the last one to leave, even if it is on the wheel of the plane.”
His perspective changed when the government shut down the radio. My mother started looking for options to possibly move to the United States. When my parents already had everything planned out, they invited my brother and me to a family meeting. I was in sixth grade, my brother was in third grade and just when we got home from school they told us: “put down your bags and go up to our room.” My brother and I had no idea what was happening and that our life was about to change dramatically.
My father started talking; he mentioned the economic situation, the scarcity, the insecurity, and there he told us: “And for all this, your mother and I decided that the best thing for our family is to move to the United States so that you can have a better future and a greater quality of life”. At that moment, I felt like I was losing my breath; I started crying like there was no tomorrow. I couldn’t stop crying. I thought of my family, friends, school, house, beach, the Ávila, etc.
It was challenging for my brother and me to understand why we had to leave. Years later, we couldn’t be more grateful for that decision our parents made. By the time they told my brother and me that we were leaving, all the legal aspects had already been taken care of. The only thing left was to put our house and cars for sale and prepare the things that we would take with us.
The last family reunion was very emotional because we did not know when we would return. And that’s how in July 2011, we arrived in Katy, Texas. With all our belongings in 8 suitcases and endless questions. Katy is a city outside of Houston. Why that city? Because my dad had a job offer that ended a few months later, but going back was not an option. For a whole year, we lived off the savings we had and the sale of our house.
When you arrive in the United States, and you are going to start high school, they make you take an English proficiency test. I honestly thought I was bilingual because I had always been one of the best in that course at school, and I had even won the spelling bee several times. On the day of the exam, I was super nervous, and I remember that I did not sleep very well the night before.
The exam was super long and divided into four areas. They would show me cue cards with images, and I had to say the name in English. When they showed me a manguera, I said: “I got nothing up to here, I failed the test.” And for those who do not know, manguera means “hose”.
I passed the exam, but they told me that I needed to start a program called ESOL (this is the program that all the people whose English is not their first language enter). I was there for a year and a half, that is, all seventh and half eighth.
I was very excited to start school in the USA. They don’t wear uniforms, and I could wear whatever I wanted.
My first day of school arrived, I chose my best outfit the night before, so I didn’t waste time in the morning. My situation was particular because my school did not offer the ESOL program, which is why I had to take another bus to go to another school. My parents had already told me where the second bus would be, and what time it was coming. They put a note in my bag with their phone numbers as a precaution because I didn’t have a cell phone.
The first bus picked me up in my house and dropped me off at school, so far everything was fine. Now I had to wait for another bus.
It was boiling outside, so I decided to wait for the bus inside, but always looking out the window to avoid missing the bus. Time passed, and the bus did not arrive, and then I started to get nervous. In the blink of an eye, I see a yellow streak and realize that it was my bus. I ran, but it was too late; it was gone. At that moment, I felt alone, I didn’t have a cell phone, I would be super late for my first class, and I didn’t know how to explain in English that I had missed the bus. So I sat on the sidewalk and started crying. Suddenly, a teacher came out and she asked me in English what was wrong with me, and I didn’t articulate a word.
I did not know how to explain what had happened, and all I could say was: “me bus go, me bus go”. The teacher more or less understood me, and she took me to a teacher who spoke Spanish, and I explained everything to her in great detail. They called the bus driver so he could pick me up. And that was the story of my first day of school in America.
That year in Houston was tough, first because of the language. The first few months, I did not understand absolutely anything because it seemed to me that Americans spoke super fast. My brother and I chose to stop watching TV because we didn’t understand anything.
After that year we spent in Katy, Texas, we moved to Miami, Florida to see if my dad could get a job there, but he didn’t. Until one day, when we were at the movies, my father received a call from Univisión Laredo. None of us knew where Laredo was. Later, we learned that it was a border town.
We packed one more time and headed to Laredo, Texas. A new city where we had to make friends again, a new school. Laredo treated us very well because, although it is a small city, people were loving and welcoming. But from the beginning, we knew that this was not going to be our final destination because my dad’s dream was to work at CNN in Spanish.
After applying 4 times he finally got into the NASA of the news, as he calls it. Within a year of being in Laredo, after finishing eighth grade, we moved to Atlanta, Georgia.
We have lived here since 2013. I have been able to enjoy all the American traditions. I had the opportunity to go to the dances that are shown in the movies. I went 4 times to Homecoming (we wear a short dress and it takes place in October) and 2 times to Prom (we wear a long dress and it takes place in March).
I graduated from high school in 2017 and went to a university called “Georgia College & State University”, located in Milledgeville, 2.5 hours from Atlanta. There I studied journalism and graduated in December 2020 in the midst of the pandemic. Even though the university was small, there’s something magical about it that is difficult to explain. Everyone knows each other. It feels like a family. You enjoy the”southern charm”, people treat you as if they have known you since forever. They make you feel like you are at home and in my case, it reminded me a lot of my Venezuela.
There I got involved in the television group where I learned a lot; everything I know about audiovisual journalism I owe to them. Also, I was part of the International club, first as a member, then as a community manager, then as vice president, and in my last semester, I became president of the club. That group was the key to my experience at the university because I found my niche and I identified a lot with them. First, because since members came from other countries, they all had difficulties with the language, they missed their families, they had to make friends again, and adapt to a new culture. All these things they were experiencing as international students, I also experienced them and I think that was why I instantly clicked with them.
If you ask me if all these experiences are worth it, I would say absolutely yes. The story of each migrant is different. But I think we all have several things in common: first the courage to leave everything behind, having made the decision to live in a different country, and second, that we understand that giving up is not an option and that we will always try to make our country proud.
Translated by: Pascual Díaz
