The city of my Apples.

The city of my Apples.

The city of my Apples.

I came to this city to live, to breath with my two lungs and feel a piece of freedom of my mind and soul. At the first time, it was a little bit difficult to observe and “observe” the differences between districts, states, city/queens/brooklyn and bronx… it was tough to understand every single word from different “mouths” but… I am happy for now. I can live in hundred different countries at the same time… I can talk in different languages and “touch” cultures by food, customs, clothes and traditions. When I was a little kid, I always eat apples… it was my favorite fruit… apples. I used to live in Almaty (Alma means Apple), and now here in the Big Apple.

If you are an immigrant, life has a right to beat you and give a lot of problems with papers, emotions, mixed thoughts, depression… but if you take a minute and look from the different angle, you will see that your life give you a great choice to be strong and fight for something significant… or give up on it with your first step… what kind of decision you make, it depends from you. For some, it could be a moment; for others, it could take weeks or years to find their own way of thinking and acceptance this style of life. In my blog, I will talk about my own experience as an immigrant. It was tough… full of emotional pain… but it was in the past…

Because I cleaned up my closet, I found receipts, pieces of napkins, books and pieces of papers with my notes about my first impressions of this country, people and emotions. They are full of tears, yearning, happiness and discoveries… I would like to share… because I know I am not the one and I am not the last immigrant… Maybe it will help somebody to fight with depression… maybe somebody will see her/him self on my shoes… maybe you can just enjoy it and read it and laugh… maybe some of you decide to stay in your country or move and be an immigrant like me. It does not matter who you are, your opinion will be important for me anyway… so… Welcome to my Immigrant’s Notes.

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