Immigration, integration

When someone calls me an immigrant I am confused

Not knowing in what context the word has been used-

Maybe it is just an observation about me

Because I look and pronounce words differently..

I must confess here, though, that I am insecure

What my immigrant status signifies to someone, I am not sure

Some actually mean to compliment the industriousness

That they have noted in immigrants who garner success

Yet I am afraid when I am thus identified

My efforts at assimilation are intensified

I know it is difficult for any group to include

An outsider- I definitely do not want to intrude

There maybe some who look at me

With some degree of anger and animosity

I do not know if anyone has been deprived

Of a livelihood because of me, I have not contrived

To do any such thing- in fact, as far as I know

I obtained a visa only after my employer could show

That a citizen of this country suitable for this position

Could be found- those were the grounds for my immigration


My immigrant status is a shadow lurking in the dark

Sometimes it stays hidden, sometimes makes a mark

I am grateful to live and work here

Yet I wish my alienness would disappear..

The enduring attribute of my immigration

Would be my life-long attempt at integration.

Published by iheart11

A 30-something year old woman, physician by profession, fiercely passionate about work, family, travel and fashion..

One thought on “Immigration, integration

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