Adjusting to America

When my sister and I first arrived in the United States, we spent only a short time in Pennsylvania. It was just a temporary stop while my adoptive parents got everything settled. Within a few months, we moved to Ohio, where my adoptive father’s family lived. Ohio is where most of my childhood memories were made, and it felt like our real home.

The house was small but surrounded by a lot of land. There was a creek behind the property, open space to run around, and a big garden that my mother worked in every day. That garden became one of the first things that helped me feel grounded. She planted vegetables the way she had been taught in Okinawa, and she used cooking and gardening as ways to take care of us.

Learning English was a slow process. I watched children’s shows and copied the sounds, repeating words even when I didn’t understand them. Little by little, the language started to make sense. By the time I reached first grade, I could understand my teachers, and I began feeling less lost.

That same year, I became a United States citizen. I remember standing with my mother and sister in the courtroom, not fully understanding everything but knowing it was an important moment.

Even with those milestones, adjusting to America took time. I came from one culture, was adopted into another, and now lived in a place that worked completely differently from everything I had known. It took years before I felt like I truly fit anywhere.