Personal Narrative: My Immigration To America

I’m from Russia and I came to The United States in search for a better life. Living conditions were horrible and inequitableness was everywhere. There was no religious lenience back in Russia and there were also illnesses everywhere but we were too poor to afford any medication. People were executed merely because they had different faiths. Professions were arduous to find and had very low salaries. My father worked as a soldier for the Russian Military but I didn’t see him often. The rest of my family worked on a small plantation as farmers. It was my mother’s notion to come to America in search for better living conditions and jobs. It would cost too much for medication and transportation if we took everyone. My mother only picked me instead …show more content…
The officials checked each person’s ticket. I was a jealous when I thought of the 1st and 2nd class passengers and how fortunate they must be in the staterooms and cabins. The officials checked by ticket and threw me in the very bottom of the ship known as the “steerage”. I looked around and I saw that there were people from many different countries who spoke many different languages. I looked around but my mother was nowhere to be seen and I felt hot tears dripping out of my eyes. We only had one ticket and she spent it on me. I looked out the small round window and I saw the long beach coastline for one last moment and I shut my eyes to prevent more tears from flooding out. That was the last time I saw my …show more content…
Then a group of people with white lab coats with medical equipment shuffled up to where the 1st and 2nd class passengers were located. The doctors quickly inspected them and they were released. Instead of coming to the steerage they left the ship and we were allocated into a small ferryboat. It was packed with people and I tried wafting away the smell of sweat and urine. We got onto Ellis Island for the immigration process. After I arrived people were shouting stuff at me and I was handed a tag with a small number etched on it. I was pushed into the red brick building and I realized it was the “Registry Room”, or the place where the medical and legal inspections took place. It was also nicknamed the “Great Hall” because it was 200 feet long and 102 feet wide. It was echoing with thousands of voices. A spiral staircase branched out from the floor and I climbed it. Upon reaching the top many doctors stood waiting and inspecting people with breathing, walking and other health

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