Two days ago at JFK Airport in New York, I was “admitted” to the US as an immigrant, a.k .a. as a Green Card holder. I lived in this country for nearly seven years and traveled frequently throughout my adult life, but this was the first time I followed the “citizens/residents” signs at the arrival hall. It was a strange feeling. I think I have not realized the implications yet.
It has been only a couple of weeks since I left the US Embassy back in my hometown after hearing the “your application is accepted” from the officer. When I stepped out on a cold winter morning, I couldn’t help wondering, “So, what is next.” I still do not have the answer. It never occurred to me to apply for residency until after the pandemic, although I always knew I had the option as a mother of a US citizen. But the pandemic changed how we take in life, and for me, it fueled the need to be close to my children. So now I am here, as a dual citizen, building a second life without ending the old one. I am ready, mostly curious, for whatever life will bring.