March 2019 Student Spotlight: Orlando Del Sol Puig
Orlando immigrated to the United States from Cuba three years ago and now lives, works, and studies in Rochester. He is pursuing a degree at MCC in Electrical Engineering Technology. In this story, Orlando shares the experience of the day he reached his long awaited freedom.
The Mustard Line
“Did you receive the message yet?” Luis asked me.
“Not yet, we have to cross the yellow line first,” I told him just before crossing the United States – Canadian border.
Usually, every time we drive between states, we receive a welcome message on the cell phone. But this time, this message had a huge meaning, since it said “Welcome to United States of America.” It was the second time I had received one like this, and it reminded me of the day when I crossed the southern border, entering to the US via the Laredo Bridge.
*****
I was too tired to stand up because I had not slept at all. Just one hour before, I had tried to sleep, but it is almost impossible to rest when you have your mind full of worries about the journey. I would have to be at the airport at 6 am since the plane would leave at 7. Mexico City is a big city with a lot of traffic; therefore, we left with plenty of time and arrived at the airport one hour and a half before the required time. I felt relaxed but worried.
I had been living in the city for almost two years. Moving to a new and completely different place would not be easy, but I had been thinking about this option for a long time. Since I had made the decision, I was really sure of what I was doing. I planned everything carefully; every step, every place, every price, and even every word had been studied meticulously.
When the plane left the city, I felt a feeling of emptiness inside of me, as if I didn’t belong anywhere. I only saw the landscape and whispered. “I probably won’t see you again.”
When we arrived to Monterrey, it was very hot, as if we were in hell, reminding me how dangerous what I was doing could be. My body was weak because I had not eaten anything, so I found a place to get some breakfast. I really don’t know how I could swallow each piece of my meal. My mind was focused on the rest of the journey. I thought each person in the airport knew what we were trying to do, that I was leaving my life in Mexico, following the “American Dream.” But I was sure the people couldn’t understand the reasons why a Cuban was abandoning a country that never felt like his home because he didn’t feel safe in it.
The hardest time of the journey arrived. We had to travel on the road between Monterrey and Nuevo Laredo, around 200 km of distance, almost two hours and a half in car. This is an area invaded for drug trafficking, which makes it highly dangerous. The best way, we discovered, was to get an UBER. The driver almost died when I told him the drop off location would be a bar called Dos Laredos, just in front of the bridge. He complained a little, but he accepted to give us the ride in the end. It was a nice trip. There were no inconveniences along the way because of the time we chose to take the road. I was checking the route we were taking all the time on my GPS. I studied the road so well that I knew every kilometer we took. Even the only police stop, near Nuevo Laredo, was closed because the lunch time, so everything was in our favor.
I can’t express with words the emotion I felt when I saw the United States for the first time from my position in Mexico. Just the Rio Bravo was in front of me, separating me from the freedom. We drove for a while on the road bordering the river, trying to reach the cross point. When we arrived in front of the border crossing, we got out of the car. I gave extra money to the UBER driver, and walked toward the bridge, as If I were walking to my native city. I don’t know how I could feel that confidence, but I was focused on not attracting attention. We paid four Mexican pesos each, passing to the Mexican side and entering onto the bridge.
I walked with the strength of the air pushing me toward the freedom; the bridge whispered to me that I should walk faster, and suddenly, without realizing, I was crossing the yellow line. Two flags next to the line, moved to the rhythm of the wind, welcoming me to a dream.
I prepared my documents just before seeing the immigration officer. I didn´t want anyone else to realize I was Cuban because of my passport. When I showed my documents to the officer, I was prepared to ask for political asylum, but it was not necessary because he knew already what I wanted. He looked into my eyes, as if looking for some fear, some weakness. I am sure he didn’t find anything, and asked me, “Where is the rest of your pack?” in a mocking tone.
“We are only two,” I said. And he indicated to another officer the way we should follow. We walked down a long hall, and entered into a room where we waited for more than 7 hours to get the required document to be able to stay in the United States.
If I were forced to write about a happy moment in my life, none can match the moment when I left that office and I sat in a park with my chest full of emotion. Some tears escaped from my eyes, to relieve the emotional pressure of the moment.
ESOL Voices is a collection of stories written by ESOL students at Monroe Community College. This publication highlights our MCC students who come from all over the world. Look for a new story each month. We hope you enjoy our students’ stories as much as we do.
— Katie Leite, Pamela Fornieri & Bridget Dee, ESOL Program, March 2019