James's Story

My father came from Qingdao China all the way to Boston. The reason for this was for better opportunities. This included better education, living conditions, better salary and jobs opportunities, and also to have better technology at the time. He had come from a area of China where food was scarce, there was little space to live in his apartment. Everything was shared with many people and it was hard to find freedom. He came to the United States in order to study at Fitchburg University to obtain his masters degree and finish his college education. There was more freedom in the US and everything was more advanced like the roads, trains, cars, and other infrastructure than it was in China. It gave my father a spark in his life that he never had before. Although he missed his family back home a lot, he loved America and what it offered to him. It was hard at first to adapt for him, but he never gave up on trying new things and risks. It paid off in the long run. For example, He was able to make a family here, have a high paying job in the real estate business.


Joan's Story

My Dad and his Mom, Dad, and brother, left Tiraspol, Moldova in 1923 to escape persecution of the Jews. They made their way to Hungary and sailed on a ship called The Braga to Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. Under possessions, on the immigration form the filled out, my grandfather wrote NONE. That word NONE continues to cause me heartbreak today. I love you Grandpa Louis, Grandma Anna, Dad, and Uncle Ted. You remain in our hearts forever!


Eli's Story

My great grandfather was from Czechoslovakia and grew up there in the 1920s. When the Nazis invaded Czechoslovakia, he was able to escape through Switzerland and then he left Europe through the UK. He traveled by boat to Montreal first, and then came down into the US and headed for New York. There, he met my great grandmother, and they fell in love and got married. They moved to Greenwich, CT five years later and settled started a family in the late 40s.


Jack's Story

My great grandparents emigrated from Sweden to Nova Scotia on boat and then later immigrated to America and settled in Runford Maine. That is all I know of their immigration story since my grandfather ran away from home at 16 years old


Henry's Story

My great great grandfather emigrated here to US from Italy in search for work. He only had a few dollars in his pocket and nowhere to live. He worked at an industrial factory and was blinded from sparks. My great grandfather delivered oil to peoples houses. My grandfather owned real estate. Finally, my dad was the first to go to college and become a CPA.


Ryan's Story

My grandmother was born in Buda, Hungary and my grandfather was born in Pest, Hungary. My grandparents met in kindergarten. They emigrated to Israel in 1948 by taking a ship from Europe to Israel. They were both in the Israeli army. My father was born in 1959. After being in Israel for 16 years, they tried to get a Visa to enter the US but were declined entry so they moved to Montreal in 1964. After three years, they received their Visa to enter the US. My grandparents and their children learned English while in Montreal. In 1967, they moved to NYC. My father and his sister did their schooling in the NYC public school system while my grandfather learned his trade as a jeweler. Eventually, my father came to MA to go to college and as a result we are all MA residents.


Esteban's Story

I migrated to Boston in 2016 for educational purposes. I considered myself a privileged migrator because I wasn’t forced to leave my home country. Although it is hard to get use to a new culture and way of living, I got used with time. The experience living abroad has been amazing as I have learned many attitudes of myself that I couldn’t imagine before moving.


Kathleen's Story

My first American ancestors immigrated to the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1635 for political reasons. Then they immigrated to Nantucket. Others came in that time to Penn with Penn. They were Quakers. Those all started moving west in the late 18th c....then to Illinois. Some came to the Midwest from upper Bavaria and From between Amsterdam and Hamburg in the 19th c....


My husband and I moved to first SFBay area in 1969, 2 years later to NM where we’ve lived ever since....now and then we migrate back here!

Daniel's Story

My four grandparents were from the Pale of Settlement. My fathers parents became philanthropists and help to work for the establishment of Brandeis University and the Weizmann Institute in Israel. My mother’s mother worked to start the ILGWU in Boston. My mother taught literature at the high school level for 45 years, starting at the age of 42. My father was in business for 30 years, wrote books and taught sociology for 30 years. My father was also on Nixon’s enemies list. I am a carpenter, an architect, a teacher of architecture, a father of two daughters, and a devoted husband. I live near the woods. The woods is my happy place.

Christie's Story

My grandparents immigrated to Hawaii from near Guangzhou, China. My other grandparents immigrated to Pennsylvania from the Black Forest in Germany. Both sets of grandparents immigrated to escape Europe and Asia during World War II. I am half-Chinese and half-white. Several years ago I reverse immigrated to Shanghai and Hong Kong. Foreigners are called expats but really we’re immigrants.

Anh-Tuan's Story

The Vietnam War still lives on in the legacy of the Southeast Asian refugees who came overseas and resettled in the US. A legacy which I and many others, whether they be Hmong, Khmer, or Vietnamese, have to continue to grapple with.


Bryant's Story

My parents immigrated here from South America to escape growing conflicts from a dictatorial government. Thankfully, I have had the amazing experience to grow up in this country of the United States where, relatively speaking, things are “good”. However, I would just describe the situation as more stable instead. However, I always wonder how my life would have turned out if my parents didn’t take us out of there. Would I even still be alive?


Maryam's Story

My life as a Pakistani American. You might think “it’s not so bad being fully (or if not fully, then half) Pakistani~!” “Being Pakistani sounds nice”. It is true. But that’s not what it was like for me before this sudden mindset came to be.

How My mother met My father, she was American and in a college (whom I cannot remember the name of unfortunately...) and My father was in the same classes as her. I would say an ‘Art College’ since both of them were artists. TIME-SKIPPED to where they’ve gotten married, my father leaving my mother over another woman. And here My mother was..basically alone, with a baby being carried in her stomach.

Growing up, From age of 4 all the way to my age (which is 16), My mother always told me I had beautiful skin. Beautiful eyes, beautiful hair, Beautiful everything really. And I did believed her, because I felt special and didn’t see anything wrong over being myself. But that didn’t last long. I don’t remember much about HOW my self worth and love became to be so low. But going back to where I was in 3rd grade to 5th grade, I was always asked by kids around my age. And I think one (If not, a couple) of the questions got to me.

“Why is your Mom so white?”

“Where’s your Dad?”

“What are you?”

At that time, I was so confident to talk about myself and to what I was, knowing my nationality and “religion” from the back of my hand. “I’m Pakistani and Black!”. I will never forget that smile and cheerful voice I once gave to them, and the reactions I got.

“EW, SHE’S A TERRORIST” One kid yelled. I didn’t know why they yelled it out like that. But I do remember vividly of their horrified faces when they’ve heard about my nationality. From that day, kids would either avoid me and pretend that I wasn’t here and just continued on with there business, or that they would tag me and run away from me and would yell “RUN, QUICK, SHE HAS A BOMB!”.

I didn’t know why, I didn’t know what was really wrong with me. This treatment continued all the way to 8th grade, and it gotten to the point where I disliked my nationality, my skin, my eyes, my hair, my everything. What had changed me was one time I had one hell of a mental breakdown and couldn’t stop crying in my room, alone. I didn’t realized how loud my sobs were, but not to long ago, I heard my mother open a door. My door. She asked me ‘what was wrong’ And if school was okay?. I told her about my struggles with the kids in my school, the torment, the words and rumors they spread, everything. All because I was Half-Pakistani.

My mother sighed. She looked at me dead in the eyes. At first, I thought she was gonna yell at me. But I thought so wrong.

“Your not a terrorist, there’s nothing wrong with you. From what I told you and to THIS day. Your still beautiful to my eyes. And I’m not just speaking out of my ass about it”. All of this from 8th grade. Looking back, I’m glad I’m the person I am today. -Maryam