Foreward

    I traveled from Italy to the United States in the late 1800's, seeking better opportunities. The journey was filled with challenges. We crossed the ocean on steamships, which felt like giant beasts-- symbols of escape to a land of modern civilization.

    On the ship, we staying in a crowded place on the lower part of the ship, called the steerage. It was hot and stuffy, and we had absolutely no air conditioning or heat. 

    We slept in narrow bunk beds and had to deal with seasickness, dirty conditions, and not much food. Many people were squeezed together into small spaces, making everything a whole lot tougher. 

    Even though I was surrounded by filth every day, I had one thing that kept me going: I wanted a better life and new goals. I also wanted to reunite with the family members that I cannot wait to see in the Americas. 

    Others on the ship were also looking for jobs and freedom. We arrived at a place called Ellis Island. I felt nervous because people said that we had to go through customs. If we didn't do well, then we might be sent back, but I wasn't sure what they really meant by that. 

    When we arrived at customs, there are people pointing us in all kinds of different directions. Finally, I found a line to stand in. As I moved closer, I saw a man with a flashlight checking people's mouths and eyes. I wondered, why would he be looking there? 

    When I reach the booth, a person starts asking me questions. I see his mouth moving, but I don't understand him. The only word I recognize is "name," so I say, "Bella." Then he bombards me with more questions. 

    If I don't answer well, it could ruin everything I have worked for on my journey to the United States. I remind myself that I have prepared for this moment. Finally, he asks, "Where are you going? Do you have an address?" I let out a sigh of relief and pull out a postcard from my jacket pocket. 

 Next, it's my turn. The man instructs me to stay still while he inspects me. Somewhere behind me, I overhear someone say they are looking for diseases. The man checks my eyes, mouth, and ears.

    After he finishes, he checks me off and lets me move on. Another person directs me over to another line. While I wait, I hear lots of conversations happening around me.

    I pushed the small piece of paper toward the man and point to the numbers written on the right side. He nods and pushes the paper back to me. I let out a sigh of relief. I made it!

    As I step through the border and into the broad daylight of America, that feeling of relief fades away. I look down at the postcard with the numbers. Suddenly, I feel a wave of panic rush over me. I realize I have no idea where to go! I start wandering around, hoping to find someone who can help me.

    This is the first time I really feel alone in this new world of possibilities. As I walk, I hear many unfamiliar voices speaking languages I don't understand. I need to hurry because it's getting dark, and if I don't find help soon, I might have to sleep on the cold ground with just blankets. Finally, I hear a voice I can understand! I see a small, thin boy wiping tables outside a restaurant on the corner.

    "Surely he knows where to go," I think to myself. As I approach him, I start to feel hopeful. He looks at me with surprise, as if I just jumped out at him. I ask him if he would be willing to help me and he agrees with a slight nod of his head. 

    I show him the address on the postcard, and he points further down the street. I give him a quick kiss on the cheek to say thank you, but he looks disgusted. He wipes the kiss off and walks into the restaurant, still confused by what just happened. 

    It's dusk now, but I don't have far to go, I think, so I continue walking down the street the boy pointed to. I search for the numbers on the buildings that match mine. I read, "2228, 2229, 2230..." until I finally see the number on my paper. "2231! This is it!" I think excitedly. But then, worries start to crowd my mind

    I start to worry, "What if this is the wrong building?" or "What if I open the door and it's not my family?" I push these thoughts aside, and just as I'm about to knock, the door swings open. It's my sister!

    I rush into her arms, feeling relieved and exhausted from the long journey. I've never been so happy to see anyone! She pats my head in confusion and welcomes me inside.  

    The hallway is narrow, and the room is small but cozy. There are beds and blankets on the floor, with very little space to walk. The kitchen and bedroom are in the same room. My sister introduces me to her roommates and shows me my corner. My bed is against a small window in the far right corner, just a few feet from the stove. I place my things down in my little area. 

    Feeling exhausted, I lay my head down on the pillow. The next morning, I wake up to the sound of the door creaking open and closed. I look around and see that everyone I met last night is gone. Then I spot a piece of paper with my sister's handwriting on the counter.

    It says, "Don't worry! I'll be back soon. These buildings are home to workers from the factories nearby. There's a shop up the street where you can buy food and drinks. Look in the bottom drawer to the left of the stove. I left $1.50 for you; that should be enough!" 

    Feeling lonely and scared, I take the money and put it in my jacket pocket. I grab my things to go find something to eat, but a strong gust of wind blows through the room. It's cold, so I put on an extra pair of socks to stay warm. Before I leave the building, I look for directions to help me find my way. 

    I find a dusty, old map in the bottom drawer, along with a pamphlet that has different job opportunities. Curious, I take both the pamphlet and map with me as I head out the door. As I skip down the sidewalk between rows of buildings, I start to notice the different sounds and feelings of this new world compared to home in Italy. 

    I reach the small restaurant on the corner of the street and realize it's the same place where I asked that young boy for directions. Hesitantly, I open the door and step into the cozy restaurant. Inside, there are many places to sit and lots of delicious baked goods displayed. 

    I make eye contact the boy who helped me the other day. Quickly, I turn my attention back to the treats. The person behind the counter asks what I want, and I point to the swirly puff pastry covered in white frosting. While the cashier rings me up, I look around and see a nice window seat waiting for me in the corner. I sit down to enjoy my pastry while also looking at the dusty pamphlet I found in the drawer.