When asked where I’m from, I always feel conflicted on how I should answer that question. I was born in Detroit, Michigan, but only lived there for about two years before my mother and I packed up and moved back to their hometown in Poland, where my parents (and most of my family) is originally from, while my father searched for work in the U.S. He had been working three different jobs at the time, and wanted to find better opportunities – which, is the reason for the big move to the States in the first place. Back then, many people in Poland were leaving the country to escape communism, and so my maternal grandmother convinced my mother to follow in the footsteps of my aunt, and leave Gdansk. She immigrated to New York to work as a live-in nanny for a while, before eventually landing in Detroit, where her sister was. My dad arrived not too long after that. To this day, there is a large community of Polish people in Detroit, as well as Chicago.
At age 5, my mother and I landed in the Bay Area – my father had found work in California, and wanted to have us settle down here. Come to find out, we had no place to stay yet, so in a desperate measure to have a temporary roof over our heads, we stayed at a motel called “The Glass Slipper Inn” – I was ecstatic, I could finally live out my princess fairytale in sunny California! Little did we know, it was actually a notoriously very run down, outdated motel that had partially burnt down in the 80’s, and now housed (and still does) the low-income and homeless. I don’t remember much from our short stay there, except that I would get playdough from the store across the street, and make animals and would draw to pass the time.
We did eventually find an apartment and I was able to once again resume schooling for the first time since Poland. From that point on, my life in America truly began. I was extremely privileged in the fact that summer and winter academic holidays meant that I would get to fly back to Poland with my mom, aunt, and cousin to spend time with our relatives there. I still try to continue this tradition when I can. I recall my classmates exclaiming how lucky I must be to be able to go to Europe so often, to be from such a picturesque 1,000 year-old town – and I was. However, what no one talks about, is the other side of the coin. The side where as time goes on; we get older and take on more responsibilities that prevent us from being able to justify traveling as often. Missing holidays and important core memories, and especially as an adult, the fear of losing a grandparent or loved one, and not being able to say goodbye in time (something that I have experienced a couple of times now). Growing up well into adulthood, I have felt a bit like I was the odd one out in California and Poland, and I could never quite figure out why, because my identity is so strongly tied to both places. It wasn’t until I studied abroad in London and Scotland in college, that it started to click – ironically, it was in the U.K. where I felt more at home in many ways than I ever had before. It wasn’t the location itself (not entirely, anyway), but the people I was with. Home to me, is going in the ancient underground tunnels of Edinburgh with my study abroad family on a ghost tour. It is watching one extremist Catholic grandmother pouring a 3rd shot of cognac while trying to convince me to finally be baptized, knowing full well that I never will align with her beliefs – while learning to make homemade pierogi from scratch with another. Home is singing and dancing with my niece, and having her bombard my phone every day. It is the footage my dad shows me of him as a college student, working with Polish punk bands of the day. It’s my grandfather, laughing the hardest at all of his jokes. My cousin cackling behind me during Christmas Eve Midnight Mass in church, because he knows we are all going out clubbing after. It’s my friends, being there and filling in, when my blood relatives can’t. No matter how close we are to our families, we all have our traumas and obstacles we need to learn to overcome. One of mine has been figuring out where my place is in this world – not just physically, but also emotionally and artistically.
At times I wonder if I will ever have a “forever home,” and where that will be – my intuition tells me one thing, but only time will tell. With the current War in Ukraine coming up on a year of starting, I have learned that nothing is certain, and life is short and unpredictable – so, all the more reason to explore and see as much of the world as possible. Here on campus and in the Bay Area in General, we are seeing more and more immigrants. Seeing them try to adapt to American life reminds me of all the times my parents and I had encountered the same – being made fun of for our accents (even I had one until a bit later in life!), our names, being asked if we spoke and understood English out in public, and me having to navigate the U.S. Educational system on my own, especially in college. Though I personally have been very privileged, many other immigrants are not as lucky, and my hope is that one day we learn from each other and take this opportunity to embrace other cultures – after all, how boring would it be if we were all the exact same?