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‘‘I Can’t Wait to Get to America So I Can Complain About How Terrible It Is!’’

 

Dear America,

    After years of applying; after years of hoping; after years of praying, crying, and worrying I can finally thank God —my kids and me are leaving Belarus and coming to America. America! Halleluiah!  

    That’s right, my kids and me finally got approved….by the illegal immigrant smuggling network in Minsk to endure the two-week-long nightmarish escape from Belarus, be smuggled through Western Europe, then stuffed into a trailer on a cargo ship to then be (hopefully) ignored by the bribed U.S. Customs agent in New York as me and my five kids slip by and are soon lost among the churning humanity of Brooklyn, then possibly Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, maybe Washington, who knows.

     Being from Belarus, one of the last Soviet-style dictatorships in Eastern Europe, you can imagine the oppression we endure. It’s a rough life in a tyrannical, impoverished state, and we’ve had enough. Now finally we’re going to be escaping this horrible place, paying the $5000 it has taken me four years to earn on the side (via my backside) to make our way to America. Yes!   And believe-me-in-you…or whatever the American expression is, once me and my five kids (oh, wait, just had another one. Make that six now! Whoo!) make it to the “Land of the Free,” we will be so joyful, so happy, so 

 

unimaginably euphoric that we will kneel down on your soil and...and…complain about every single damn aspect of your pathetic country. 

   Yes, America, we plan on respecting no law of yours (beginning with immigration. After all, we’re “dreamers” now!). In fact, we look forward to “dreaming” our way into your nation with no other intension other than to exploit and complain about it. We’ll complain about everything; from your food, to your people, to your religions, to your foaming welfare system we will dupe into chugging out endless amounts of…doesn’t matter, it won’t be enough for me and my six ki…(wait, I just popped out another one. Make that seven!). We’ll complain about the openness your society allows for us while damning it at the same time. And no matter how much public assistance we get, it won’t be enough.  We’ll complain about Americans who will refuse to give me money on the street to those who will give a whole $5 or $10 (because even if it was $1,000 it would not be enough, you selfish capitalist bastards).

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     You see, America, generations ago immigrants came to your shores seeking to make it on their own, and in doing so help contribute to the nation. As your Statue of Lady Liberty, or whatever it’s called says, “Give me your tired, your poor/Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” And they did.  Immigrants came here seeking freedom to worship as they wished, to open businesses, or work for better wages, plow their own fields, or just for freedom and economic opportunity in general.   Well, those days are gone. Get over it, America.

     These days people like me and my seven kids don’t head to the United States so much for freedom or the opportunity to “make it for ourselves;” we head there for the guarantee of what we will get from the rest of you (those who immigrated before us, legally). It’s a troubling dichotomy, I know, so it may be hard for you all to deal with. …Ouch… Aughhh…AAAAaaa! …Yep, I just busted out another one –make that now eight kids. Holy Moly!

    And in no way will I and my now eight kids…wait, ahhhh…is that?...is that..? Ahh, never mind, that was just some gas.   Anyway, in no way will I teach my kids to speak English so that they can assimilate easier into your society, because we have no intention to assimilate. No, we’ll just melt into other communities from Belarus and other former Easter Bloc countries and just live among them, never learning English, never learning common American mannerisms and customs.

   Honestly, we’re not moving to America to become Americans; we’re moving to America to another sliver of it like Belarus. In fact, we will be offended that Americans don’t bother to learn our languages and customs. After all, this is the age of multiculturalism, isn’t it?   Forget that damn “when in Rome do as the Romans” crap! This is the age of going to Rome and telling the Romans what to do. So don’t expect my kids to grow up feeling any like respect or connection to your country. They’ll turn 20 not knowing a word of English. They won’t know a lick of your laws. They won’t know a shred of your holidays or history.   They’ll just continue to breed in your already innumerous “countries within a country,” branching out and assimilating not one bit. My kids will only not help make America into the melting pot it was, but into the mosaic it increasingly is; each piece being its own socio-demographic; separated, ignorant of other pieces, never daring to melt into its neighboring piece, exemplifying what a mosaic is by nature —shattered.

     I can’t wait to…whoops, just slid out another one. Nine kids now! …Anyway, I can’t wait to complain about how little money I get from your government. I can’t wait to complain about how my lack of knowing your language, your dress and customs will prevent me from getting a job, let alone a job I can excel or move up in, and about how you won’t bow to us, the Malashko family and my nine kids from Belarus, and unexpectedly change your ways –the ones you’ve been born and raised with– to accommodate mine.   So brace yourself, America. Years from now you’ll try to order a burger at your local McDonalds and my oldest son will behind the counter and not understand a damn thing you’re saying. And when you get frustrated and complain, we’ll call you a racist, a xenophobe, a bigot and more. Ha! It’ll be a hoot!   You already have politicians defending our pending unlawful, parasitic presence; “rights” groups demonstrating for us and the contributions we will bring to, well, nothing. At best you have a complacent media that will largely ignore when, let’s say, my son Alexi rapes your daughter in a drugged-out midnight craze years from now, or is caught running a chop-shop for stolen cars.  

     Yeah, America, you seem to have everything already set p for us. No way could we get away with any of this in Belarus (told you things were oppressive here). Ahh, and the authorities here will wonder why we escaped.

     See you in a few, America (whoo-oa..! Yep! Just shot out lucky number ten!).

        Sincerely,

         Irina Malashko,

         Current “Dreamer,” Future Undocumented American,

         Minsk, Belarus

 

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