Why I Became an American

“To Give My Parents, and Myself, a Better Life”

Name: Maria Yoplac, 35
From: Lima, Peru

As elementary-school teachers in Lima, my mother and father struggled to raise me and my four younger siblings on just $300 a month. We were given only one new pair of shoes a year and were warned to take care of our clothes, since they would need to last even longer. On very special occasions, my parents saved up so we could eat at a fast-food restaurant.

My mother and father taught me that education was everything. In 1995, at age 20, I graduated from a university with a bachelor’s in Spanish and literature. I found a job in a bank, but the salary wasn’t enough for me to afford graduate school. I wanted to become a professor, a well-paying position that could help me support my parents.

When I was 22, an uncle living in Paterson, New Jersey, offered to buy me a plane ticket to come stay in the United States for a while. Going to America had been in the back of my mind for some time. I had always wanted to learn English, and higher education seemed more accessible in the United States. When I arrived in New York in May 1997, I tried to appear confident. But inside I was frightened. I knew no English besides simple words like table and chair. I had never met my uncle or his family. I just kept remembering what my mother had told me before I left: “You’re strong, Maria. You can do this.”

My first few weeks in America were difficult. My uncle expected me to be a full-time nanny for his children and didn’t approve when I left the house. Luckily, my aunt, who lived nearby, came over one afternoon, packed my suitcase, and took me to live at her house instead. With her help, I was soon working at a restaurant every day from 6 a.m. to 2 p.m. I sat in on free English classes offered at local high schools each afternoon, then took ESL (English as a second language) night classes at a community college. I tried not to dwell on how much I missed my family.

Every month, I sent my parents $400—over half my paycheck. That money allowed them to buy land and build a new house, travel, and eat out at nice restaurants. My mother said she didn’t want to spend my hard-earned cash that way, but I told her it was what I wanted. (I still make her send me pictures from the cafés they visit so I know that they really went.)

Many people like me come to America to help their families, but you have to help yourself, too. Now fluent in English, I teach ESL at a Paterson high school, not far from where I live, and am close to earning my master’s degree in administrative science. My husband, José, a painter originally from Costa Rica, whom I married in 2007, cried along with me when I became a U.S. citizen last November. This step was crucial for my future: José and I want to adopt a baby. And becoming a college instructor is now a real possibility.

I admit, being a Latina immigrant can be difficult—especially these days, when immigration is such a controversial issue. There are some people who treat me poorly once they hear my accent; they are angry at Hispanics, thinking we have taken away their job opportunities. But they are the exception, and overall I love being an American. I love the fast pace of this culture, the ability to do a million things at once, and, most of all, the sense that there are infinite possibilities out there—all you have to do is grab hold of the one you want.