This time 11 years ago, I arrived at Houston's International airport with 2 oversized suitcases and a leather backpack upon my back. Peeking out of my backpack, I'd purposefully stuck a mini American flag that my dear friend, Daphne, had bought me. She'd said it would immediately gain me red carpet treatment if I waved it walking down the customs aisles.
She was right.
The strapping African-American customs officer beamed at me at what seemed like my unquestioning patriotism right off the plane.
Coincidentally and symbolically, I'd arrived on America's Independence Day having accepted a job transfer that plucked me out of Singapore to live in the good ole' Land of the Free. Armed with only a quarter of my wardrobe, I couldn't wait to kickstart my independent life in Houston.
Truth be told, my American ride hasn't always been smooth sailing. Yes, I'd battled culture shock, suffered through seemingly neverending harsh winters in upstate NY, despaired at the lack of easy access to gourmet food (particularly in Corning) and then endeavoured to keep the butt bulge down because of the huge food portions served. But good memories in this country have outweighed the tribulations necessary to understand life in America.
It's cheesy and cliched but I do mean it when I say, "God Bless America" on this 4th of July!
No comments:
Post a Comment