It's interesting how sometimes things you don't want or fear, whether because they are unfamiliar to you or if you believe they are in some way harmful or perceive a threat to you, can turn out to be one of the most important things to you. I sat on a couch in my homely house in the suburban area of Budapest, Hungary as I thought about traveling to America, with mostly negative thoughts pertaining to the country. I've heard rumors of dislike and discrimination of immigrants to the U.S., but one can never be too sure of differentiating what people say and what the respective reality is. However, I was one of the many Europeans who firmly believed in the typical prejudiced beliefs about the U.S., such as that they had an education system of a lower standard, or they cared too much about their possessions, or that they had not enough regulation on free trade, and other beliefs. Immigration into the U.S. was supposed to be a very difficult and arduous process for many people wanting to emigrate into the U.S., and people have had to sometimes try multiple times in the application process for the infamous green card in order to finally get one because they had to clear up some factors of ineligibility that disallowed them from immediately getting one. With the H visa that my husband was given as a work permit to have a network engineering job in the U.S., getting into the U.S. was very simple; however, staying there involved the difficult process of getting a green card and being a permanent resident. But I didn't want to go to the U.S.; I mean, it would be wrong to leave my home country, the place I grew up in, went to school in, made friends in, laughed in, cried in, and all sorts of life activities, now or at anytime. I would've felt better if we could instead live in some decent country in Europe, like England or Ireland, but the U.S. … well, I knew almost nothing about the U.S. and yet my husband was already there, awaiting my arrival with our kids, Alex and Kevin. He insisted that he would've felt comfortable working and living in the U.S. (where some of his relatives were but in New York, on the opposite side of the country from the state of California). I'd seriously considered staying in Hungary with Alex and Kevin as a result of my extreme reluctance to go the U.S., but that would just make the situation even more complicated, so I thought the best course of action was to simply go to the U.S. Going to Jamaica, a completely different environment and society from Hungary, and living there when I was in my early twenties was easy – I felt little fear and sadness in leaving Hungary, because I was simply pursuing my academic dreams as a teacher and trying to become more exposed to different cultures and peoples in my youth as much as I could before it expired. And now, two children and a marriage later, why on Earth would I try to stake a living in an unfamiliar and strange world compared to what I've already experience – it was simply overwhelming for a person in their thirties. I looked at my watch: it was 6:30 P.M.; about time to leave for the airport and say goodbye to Hungary, the country I knew so well. I took Kevin, a son of six years, and Alex, a son of one year, along, packed our suitcases in the car, and had my grandfather drive to the bustling Budapest airport. On the way there, I watched the city of Budapest summarize itself before my eyes from the passenger seat of the old and worn red Ford our family owned. The ornate designs of the old apartment blocks, the storefronts of various businesses, the musty-smelling air, the various museums throughout city, the Budapest zoo filled with all sorts of animals (but not koalas), the packed city metro, the numerous and loud blue-green buses, and of course, the dull yellow villamoses (trams) were all combined into this city of Budapest that I saw and recognized all too well. However, this last sight of it was made in departure from the city into a mysterious and unfamiliar world, and soon I left all of it behind as we approached the airport. Once we got there, it was a struggle for me to carry any of the suitcases and bags we brought as with each step away from the known, the passage into the unknown became more fearful and uninviting, but my grandfather and my kids and I all eventually got to the Lufthansa check-in booths and gave the attendants our suitcases. The security checkpoint was one of the last stepping stones until we passed the point of no return, as was the situation for many people in the airport. However, as I looked around me, everyone, including families, men in suits, soccer teams, tourists, and lone travelers, showed absolutely no signs of fear, reluctance, or regret, not even Kevin or Alex (although to be fair he was but a toddler and didn't really understand the situation at hand and most likely it wouldn't be relevant to him later). One by one, our shoes, backpacks, phones, and papers went through the scanner with no illegal possessions within them. Of course, then Kevin and Alex went through the security scanner clean and pertaining no banned items, and as I came through, I was half-hoping that the metal detector would alert the security attends about something I had; perhaps keys, some loose change, or any sort of metallic object, so that I would be able to delay getting through the security checkpoint, even if it would cause a scene and attract everyone's prying eyes towards us. Alas, no alert was given off by the metal detector and I had passed through the security checkpoint. Our grandfather, who had no business in coming to America with us, waved goodbye to us behind the checkpoint and we waved back in the midst of strangers and people of different backgrounds, including the wealthy and the poor, the energetic and the tired, the Christians and the Muslims, and all sorts of other peoples.