Only about a week ago I realized that it's been twenty years since my family an I disembarked from a Boeing 747 (maybe it wasn't a 747) at the JFK Airport in New York to start our lives in the United States. It happened on Nov 26th, 2001. Until then, the only time I have been outside of Russian borders was during the two hour layover in Frankfurt, Germany on the flight from Moscow. I don't remember much about these times, and first couple of months in the states. I was fourteen and all of the excitement of a new place and sights and sounds of Manhatten have been already replaced in my head by other things. People who are bit older than I am, with personality and adult life already set, like my brother or my parents can remember these times better. They were better equipped with dealing with kind of changes immigration requires of a person. Me, I was a kid, what did I know. I had two best friends back in the old country. I tried to keep contact for a while but that dissapea
If I could organize my thoughts, this is not what it would look like.