#immigrant life

[auntie-venom]

It’s a blistering 57°f here in Dublin, a true “heatwave”. The Irish are suns out buns out after 5 months of dreary wet weather.

We’ve followed suit by renting a car and fleeing to Wicklow.

Strider was pleased.

#daily life #Irish heatwave #immigrant life #travel #Wicklow #everyday adventures

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Alexander Zerdin Kruse (American, 1890–1972), The Butcher Shop, ca. 1940. Oil on canvas.

Kruse depicted a kosher Jewish butcher shop and the predominantly immigrant population it served with dignity and understanding. While paintings and popular illustrations of New York's Lower East Side at the time tended to focus on its poverty and overcrowded conditions, Kruse instead presented a clean, tidy business with well-dressed and orderly patrons. Kruse was born to Jewish immigrants and raised in the neighborhood depicted in The Butcher Shop, which may account for his sensitive treatment of the subject. A painter of his neighborhood, he painted the Lower East Side. As he moved from there, his subject matter included Coney Island, Fire Island, and Pawling, New York.

George Luks discovered Kruse sketching on the streets of New York at age 10. Kruse subsequently studied at the National Academy of Design and the Art Students League, where he associated with Luks and other Ashcan School artists such as Robert Henri and John Sloan. Sloan included a portrait of Kruse in his McSorley's Cats, which hangs in this room.

Picture & text: Huntington Library

#New York #NYC #vintage New York #1940s #Alexander Kruse #butcher #Kosher butcher #painting #oil painting #Ashcan School #American art #immigrant life #cats

[head-post]

Britain looks forward to sending migrants to Rwanda

British Prime Minister Rishi Sunak and Rwandan President Paul Kagame are looking forward to the first flights under Britain’s controversial plan to deport asylum seekers to Rwanda leaving in the spring, they said in a statement on Tuesday.

Sunak is keen to resettle asylum seekers, who arrive in Britain on small boats each year, in the East African country, even though his plan for Rwanda has faced a number of legal challenges.

During a meeting in London early Tuesday, Sunak and Kagame discussed the plan, also called the UK-Rwanda Migration and Economic Development Partnership.

A statement issued by the Prime Minister’s Office said Sunak briefed the Rwandan president on the next stages of the bill in Parliament. It added:

Both leaders looked forward to flights departing to Rwanda in the spring.

Read more HERE

#world news #world politics #news #europe #european news #uk #uk politics #uk news #england #london #united kingdom #britain #rwanda #rwanda plan #migrant #migrant crisis #immigrants #immigrant life

[mirtadraws]

"Neither here nor there", a small comic drawn for an island-based and island-themed annual zine published by SEA Silba Environment Art ☀️

#comic #me #island life #silba #immigrant life #dalmacija #oc #fursona

[briinjapan]

I’ve been in Japan for a decade. And it’s changed my life in many, many ways. None of these will be interesting for Japanophiles, but I need to vent.

I’m not really a part of my home family anymore. And the fact that I’m the eldest and we have large age gaps means that the family I remember doesn’t remember me.

My father died and nobody seemed to remember how shitty our relationship was. Nobody remembers the abuse… The yelling, the constant insults and berating. And since he’s dead, I can’t really bring it up. I’d be attacking their dad, and from what I hear, they had a good dad.

Meanwhile I wrote a letter to a version of “Dear Abby” asking how to live up to his expectations and got a response explaining verbal and emotional abuse. I didn’t imagine it. But nobody but I can remember it.

My mother tells two stories of my childhood. The first is me jumping on a bed. Dad says he’ll spank me if I don’t get down. I say “You’ll just forget!” and he spanks me right then and there. This is a funny story, or so I am told.

The other story is me telling a preschool teacher that my parents hit me. My mother explains that I am very lucky that the teacher knew my parents personally. That this teacher knew my parents would never hit me. This story is supposed to be one of a lying little girl.

It often feels like my entire childhood is just being framed as lies. And I’m too far away to correct them. I don’t know the people my family has become, and they don’t know me. The ones who actually remember me only remember a young woman going through hell. They remember me when I was sick, both mentally and physically, but my illnesses were ignored. When I would cry and scream and vomit every morning, as if those were all normal things to do as a daily routine.

The woman is gone. But so is her family. So is her entire country. The US in 2013 is long gone.

So I don’t think I can ever go back.

#immigrant life #griefjourney

[trivalentlinks]

I don't remember ever having believed in Santa Claus, but when I was in first grade back in Canada, my friends and I (all of us Chinese-Canadian) would discuss how important it was to pretend to believe in Santa Claus to let our parents and other adults in our community know they were doing a good job at observing the traditions of our adoptive country.

Thinking back, it's kind of funny: Adults pretending Santa is real to try to keep the magic alive for the kids. Kids pretending Santa is real to try to keep the magic alive for the adults.

#none of us knowing a gosh-darned thing about it having anything to do with Christ or Saints #santa claus #christmas #immigrant life #i also didn't believe in reindeer until i was in high school #oops #lost in translation i guess

[sneverussape]

just realized that all my cousins who have kids (and that's a lot...i have like...30 or so first cousins on my mother's side) have passed on the trait of using the cultural labels we use for older siblings, so my nephews and nieces in the West (and east, but in different countries) are loudly and proudly calling their older sibs with <title><name> and that's just...it's so cute and the greatest thing ever. these are 2nd gen/3rd gen immigrant kids too so it's so pleasing to see that one of the more obvious parts of our culture has survived.

#kidlets #culture #immigrant life

[aprogressivescum]

The year of living Danishly

I’m reading it now, and I get pretty tired of the condescending way people she meets act there. Whenever she remarks on anything that’s strange or new to her she gets these pitying looks and things like “oh? You don’t have that in England?” Or “do all British people live this way?”, with some sort of indignation.

I’m an immigrant, I get a lot of these exact conversations on both sides. When I do or say something weird, people comment “do all (enter my nationality) do this?”. I meet other immigrants and they ridicule everything about our host culture. I’ve done the same thing.

I’m exhausted with it. I’m not a fanboy of my new culture, but I’ve also learned from it. Do they think they have all the answers?

I want to learn about Hygge, and danish society, but can we tone down the self-satisfaction?

“Do all danish people act this way?”

P.S.

I’m from a different high-ranked country and we also seem to be self-satisfied. Oh well. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#hygge #book review #social criticism #rant post #danish #immigrant life #hello tumblr

[pattytacuri]

9/15/22

I took this picture yesterday after arriving at my "tia's" house. She's my Tia because my parents have been friends with her since college and she's treated us more like family than my own family. I can't put into words all of the emotions I'm feeling at being back here. In one day, I've observed how hard the situation is here and gained perspective as to why my parents left. Still, I feel like I belong here in a way that's different to how I belong to America. So far, I've observed the warmth and closeness of my people. In America, I feel detached and distant at times. Another thing I gained perspective and felt silly about was how sad I was last year cause some dude broke up with me . Last night I remembered a couple of things 1) I come from a land of the Incans. 2) I come from a country where people are incredibly strong and endure much harsher circumstances than I will have to endure. I'm made to have this loud and strong energy not a lot people will accept or understand. I used to think I was crazy for being so dramatic/sensitive and constantly tried to tone myself down but being here I realized I'm just being me. I remember this time last year feeling so unlovable but here with my Tia and relatives reaching out, I feel a sense of home and love welcoming me back. As a person with BPD, my sense of self has always been unstable and while I've been working on this for a while, here is where I finally stand firm in who I am and where I belong. I can finally acknowledge how I can belong to 2 places at the same time. Its been hard to finally get here but thanks to DBT and really understand dialectics, I've arrived to a true understanding in who I am. No man or no kid or no job could have given me that; I had to do all the hard work to really have a true understanding and acceptance of who I am.

#feelings #real life #truth #life #bpd feels #life lessons #immigrant life #american #latinx heritage month

[nusrattalks]

An Immigrant’s Notes- 1

Rubayat was woken up by the familiar, deafening knocks on her bedroom door- it was part of her house help Tara’s weekend ritual to try and break down her door in the process of waking her up.

But even Tara’s absolute lack of a sense of privacy couldn’t take away from the glee Rubayat woke up feeling. It was going to be an absolutely PERFECT day where everything and everyone including the weather was going to cooperate. With an ear to ear smile, Rubayat got out of bed and opened the curtains. And just as her heart had promised, the weather was indeed an indication of Dhaka feeling love for it’s people- sunny, breezy with the slightest sign of humidity and maybe some hints of rain. Perfect.

As she was washing up and brushing her teeth, she took her time to appreciate the beauty of the mundane: the feel of the toothbrush, the coolness of the water on her always-warm skin, the smile that greeted her in the mirror, the yellow of the indoor cactus by the window. So this is what ‘yellow’ feels like, she thought with giggles.

Even her beloved, torn-in-multiple-places maxi was saying ‘I love you’ to her in all possible languages.

She giggled some more.

Her parents met her at the dining table, along with her little sister Reba, waiting to start breakfast.

“Abba, I don’t know why you insist on waiting, it’s the weekend I should be able to sleep in some more.”

“Because otherwise, I’ll have to go days before we can all sit together at the table for breakfast.” He smiled. That warm, ‘Abba’ smile that radiated the sun’s rays.

She countered with giggles.

Rubayat looked around at the table and inhaled the sight and the smells: porota, dim poach and alu bhaji with her sister making their signature porota wrap, tongue out in concentration; Amma insisting on hand-feeding her; the smell of freshly brewing tea on the stove.

She could also smell the rest of the day. It smelt like her favourite Fridays, spent at their Uttara home, with those she loved as much as life itself. Smelt like the fragrance of turmeric and Chandan on Amma’s freshly showered skin, the fish fry for the feast which best described their Friday lunches, the smell of Abba’s skin as they’d all cuddle together in bed for a post-lunch nap, and the smell of fresh rain soil. The kind you only get to smell in Dhaka.

It sounded like cars honking at each other, and street peddlers reminding the neighborhood Ammas of the vegetables they forgot last minute; tunes of the old Bangla classics in the voice of Runa Laila and Shabnam that Abba will be playing later through the day already made its way into her ears.

She closed her eyes in anticipation and gratitude.

And just as she was about to take her first bite of the signature porota roll, Rubayat heard Amma’s frustration: “but how many times have I told you not to eat or drink anything in your dreams, Rubayat! Pet kharap korbe pore ke dekhbe tomake?”

As her brain tried to make sense of the confusion, her people and Dhaka home became a blur.

A jolt. And then, Tara’s deafening knocks.

Only, it wasn’t Tara.

It was the construction work taking place in the neighbourhood.

And it wasn’t her Dhaka bedroom.

It was the bedroom she was learning to call ‘mine’ in Melbourne.

As her body tried to make sense of what was going on, Rubayat’s brain tried to provide some assistance- This is Melbourne, Rubayat. You live here now. This is your new home.

That smell you’re getting is your roommate brewing coffee and making toast for breakfast.

That sound you’re hearing is Kiss FM playing the latest hits of Melbourne.

That alarm you are hearing is your phone telling you to wake the fuck up and call Robert about the meeting in Oakleigh at 3.

Abba, Amma and Reba are pretty far away. Dhaka home has to wait for a bit

Rubayat looked around her. Sure enough, her brain wasn’t lying, but her body was taking some time to re-adjust.

But wasn’t I just wrapping Amma up in my arms and smelling her skin? How could that not be happening right now?! Maybe if I close my eyes and open them again…

And so she shut her eyes tight, said ‘Allah please, Allah please’, and reopened them.

No Abba, Amma or Reba anywhere. Just her in her PJs, still feeling the warmth of her torn maxi.

With a sigh, she made her way out of bed with a smile.

Oh, well. Another day. Another dream about home. And a heart full of gratitude.

She went in to say good morning to her lovely Greek roommate, and the sight did make her heart smile.

Family away from family. Home away from home.

As she grabbed a piece of toast and made her way to get dressed, she heard her roommate call out.

“Wait, what’s those lines you were humming last night, again?”

Rubayat felt her heart fill up with sunshine and face light up with the biggest smile.

“I’ll be home for Christmas...if only in my dreams.”

#writers on tumblr #writers and readers #writersofbangladesh #browngirlbloggers #women writers #brownwriter #spilled #spilled in words #spilledink #spilled in writing #immigrant life #immigrants bangladesh melbournewriters writers

[daystold]

https://katleyanotes.com/2024/02/21/navigating-the-challenges-beyond-the-glamour-life-overseas/

#blog entry #expat life #expatriate #immigrant #immigrant life #overseas worker life #wordpress

[pepsiluver69]

it just took me 5-10 whole minutes to figure out a word that i used the week before.

...

the word was validation.

#immigrant life

[ladyms-stuff]

salt. Nayyirah Waheed

#nayyirah waheed #immigration #immigrant life #immigrant

[head-post]

Texas bus company to stop transporting migrants to NYC amid lawsuit by Mayor Eric Adams

A Texas charter bus company sued by New York City Mayor Eric Adams’ administration over migrant costs has agreed to stop transporting people from the southern border into and around the city, court documents revealed on Wednesday.

Roadrunner Charters Inc. has reached an agreement with the Adams administration to stop busing migrants to New York, New Jersey and other nearby locations while the case is pending before the state Supreme Court in Manhattan. The company signed a letter that said:

“The Defendant Roadrunner Charters Inc. will refrain forthwith from transporting individuals known as migrants from Texas to New York City, and/or from Texas to the vicinity of New York City.”

The lawsuit, filed by the New York Department of Social Services, alleged that 17 companies, including Roadrunner Charters, violated New York State law by failing to pay for migrant care. The lawsuit seeks $708 million in damages.

Read more HERE

#world news #world politics #news #us #usa #us politics #us news #united states #usa news #usa politics #usa today #america #united states of america #nyc #new york #new your city #eric adams #texas #texas news #road runner #migrant crisis #migrants #immigrant life #immigration #immigrants

[yaasthoughts]

immigrant dreams

the plane lifted

off the coast

of the african continent.

as it ascended, he looked down below, at his motherland

he would never had thought that was the last time he'd see his home.

-

off he went to the land of opportunity, 

America.

he lived there,

undocumented

for several years.

left his good job with the Ghanaian government,

in search of the 'better' life.

he worked and worked

for many years, he did not see his children

and will never see them again.

-

a stroke befell him.

still undocumented,

he was uninsured.

there he lay dying,

with limited mobility.

-

with his illness,

there was just one income,

his wife had to work harder.

rumor has it

that she began to abandon him

and found a new man.

she cut contact with friends and family.

what was she to do?

was she going mad?

this popular man,

with a huge laugh and heart,

who had so much love and light,

was cut off from the many people

who loved him.

was she embarrassed?

did she not want people knowing about his failing health?

see him looking frail?

he died without his loved ones getting to say goodbye.

#immigrant #immigrant life #immigrant dreams #poem #poetry

[andrasthehun]

Where to Ukrainian Refugees?

April 30, 2023 Ukraine is preparing for a major attempt to recover some of the territory lost to the Russians. It is over a year ago that Russia initiated an unprovoked war on Ukraine, calling it a “special operation”, a euphemism by any stretch of the imagination for what it is, a war. This “special operation” displaced over fifteen million people in Ukraine, and over eight million people left…

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#canada #Canadian immigration #covid #CUAET #expressing opinions #Hungarian uprising of 1956 #immigrant life #PM John Diefenbaker #russia #Ukraine #Ukraine war