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The opinions expressed in this article are the writer’s own and do not reflect the views of Her Campus.
This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at SLU chapter.

September 3. It is currently 9:29 a.m. My momma and I are sitting inside the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS) field office in Atlanta. There are four rows of chairs, each of which is filled. We all have some sort of a goodie bag in our lap. The goodie bags consist of an American flag, an application form for a passport, a pamphlet titled “Congratulations on being an American Citizen” and a paper with the Pledge of Allegiance and “The Star-Spangled Banner” on one side and the Oath of Allegiance on the other. I am mentally preparing myself, reading over the Oath of Allegiance, making sure my mom has her glasses so she can read them as well. It’s only one minute until we are American citizens.

We took the Oath. They collected our green cards and gave us our Certificate of Citizenship. It is currently 9:35 a.m. In the last 15 minutes, my entire life montage has played before me. My family is coming here, struggling with American culture, not knowing how to fit in, facing racism on so many different fronts. It has been such a process. For the past six years that we’ve been living in this country, we’ve been working towards one goal: becoming American citizens. But six years is just the short period of time we’ve been living here. This process of immigration and naturalization has been going on for 19 years for my family. I have hundreds of constructive criticisms of the USCIS, about their case processing times, field officers, paperwork, online website…and, now that I am a citizen, I don’t feel scared sharing them. 

It feels unreal. My mind has not completely comprehended the fact yet. I can vote now. I can participate in civic duties. I can apply for more scholarships. I can live without worries, knowing I have more rights now as an American citizen.

However, with that, I also feel guilty about my motherland, Bangladesh. She gave birth to me, raised me until I could walk, sheltered me from all harm, gave me love, fed me delicious food, took care of me, and now I have abandoned her. I erased my nationality as a Bangladeshi for a piece of paper that secured my status in this country. My heart is happy but it is crying too. Even as I am typing this, my eyes are teary from the patriotism I didn’t know I had. Today, I learned the real meaning of the phrase, “you never realize something’s value after you lose it.”

This was a pivotal moment in my life. One of those events in movies that changes a character’s life forever. Now I don’t have to select “Permanent Resident,” insert my Alien number and upload my Green Card. 

I can simply click the box that says ‘Citizen’.

A Neuroscience major, minoring in Communication, Aseya has spent half her life in Bangladesh before moving to the States. When she is not busy watching TikTok, you can often find her studying and stressing about the future :)