My friends sometimes joke that when I first introduce myself, before I even say my name, I say I’m Albanian. Shqiptare. This same pride is visible in the hearts and minds of many of the immigrant kids from the second we take our first breaths here in a new country. Walking through the world, I carry my people’s knowledge, perseverance, and resilience with me. There is something brilliant about having access to such a vibrant culture and language with customs we can share in a new space with more opportunities for us and our families.
Yet, settling in these new spaces is not always easy. My parents, brother, and I came to the United States from Albania with no money, lots of debt, and zero English comprehension. All we had was the resilience of our culture and customs. Every day since has been a combination of struggles, celebration, sadness, achievements, anger, and tranquility. I’ve found myself divided between the two places I love most, unable to decipher where I most belong. While the silhouette of the double-headed eagle on top of the cherry-bright red remains my first love, the stars and stripes represent the struggles which my family has overcome.
For most immigrants, these struggles can seem overwhelming. But, like most other migrants, Albanians are resilient. The fear that anchors us seems to disappear when you cross oceans and borders for the wellbeing of your family. My parents came from villages that had nothing. Fshat. At the time, the communist regime was at its peak and poverty ran deep. Albanians scrambled for food and lived just to survive — a sentiment that many still closely relate to.
This past summer I got to experience that type of life and see its impact on who we are as a family and who I am as a person. I walked down the streets of Berat, in awe of the beautiful Balkan-style homes with seemingly endless windows perched up the steep hills. After dark, the city’s beauty was magnified by the illuminated homes’ shimmering reflections in the Osum River just below. Seeing pictures of my grandparents and mother in the same places I was visiting made me feel at home, as if my bloodline could once again embrace me after a long time without contact. The beauty I had so hastily forgotten remained in the crystal-clear waters of Ksamil, in the breathtaking views of Vlora and in the crowded streets of Tirana. Going up the steep mountains to see the hut-like home of my father’s childhood was a profound experience. Its walls echoed with the sounds of laughter and familiarity that were coupled with the faint noises of the suffering and hardship he had also encountered. Vuajtje. If there is one thing that every immigrant child can relate to, it is how different and challenging our lives would be in our home countries, struggling to find opportunities to succeed.
But migrating also has its own difficulties. Growing up in an immigrant family, I’ve seen how deep the connection to financial instability goes. My immigrant parents worked long hours, compromising their own health to feed me and my brother. While they each worked multiple jobs, my parents emphasized the importance of a great education, so we would never have to endure the same pain, trauma, and hardship they faced. With their unwavering support and encouragement, I built myself up in the eyes of Uncle Sam. Through every step of the way, my mother empowered me to strive towards every dream I have ever had. Mami. I took every opportunity I could to make my parents proud. To make them believe that their journey here was not for nothing. To make their adversity worth something. To bring healing to the deep and dark sickness my mother faced. To remedy my father’s bones from the back-breaking labor he did.
From time to time, the weight of these challenges makes me question what my life would be like if we never left Albania. Would my father have less gray hair and softer fine lines? Would I be happier? Such thoughts often keep me up at night. But then again, I think, what if I was never born in Albania? What if my family was third or fourth generation American? I can never really know. Instead, I have chosen to embrace who I have become because of my experiences both here and there. I am an immigrant. Emigrant. I am Albanian. Shqiptare. I am American. Amerikane.
Both identities have made me the woman I am now.
Të dyja kombesit më kanë bërë vajzen qe jam sot.
