When my mother, Astrid, received a call from my school notifying her that two strange men were looking for her daughters to be released from classes early, her heart raced. She felt mortified at the thought of a kidnapping and rushed over to pick us up.
That was my first and last day of school at Colegio Emil Friedman as a sixth grader in Venezuela. I was 11 years old.
It was 2002. I was forced to flee Caracas, where I was born.
My father, Col. Julio D. Rodriguez, declared himself in legitimate disobedience against the corrupt government of late President Hugo Chavez. By doing so, my father, along with many other military men, refused to follow orders from Chavez, the commander in chief of the Venezuelan Army. As a consequence, those people who revolted against the government were persecuted along with their families.
My mother, grandmother, Andrea, my sister, who was 9 at the time, and I came to the United States with a tourist visa.
My father stayed behind.
Javier, my mother’s brother, had been living in Virginia Beach, Va., for 10 years already. He was the only family member we knew here, so we decided to stay with him.
We figured we would only stay in Virginia Beach for a couple of months and then try to go back to Venezuela.
But that didn’t happen.
It was like living in a bubble at our new home. Our preferred language of communication was Spanish, not English. We cared about international news especially coming from Venezuela, not just U.S. national news. Our go-to breakfast dish was the Arepa, not pancakes. That gave us a sense of comfort. At least, we felt like we were still living in a familiar world.
But once I stepped out the doors of our home, I found a strange world, a world where I personally felt invited to be part of, but only if I worked hard to fit in.
The first two years were tough.
My father was not there for the first year, and that made it even tougher. He ended up staying in Venezuela to continue fighting for justice. The goal was to democratically revoke the mandate of Chavez for his actions against peaceful protesters at the march of April 11, 2002. Nineteen civilians were killed.
I felt like my family had been unrightfully separated, and I was constantly worried about the whereabouts of my dad and if I would ever get to see him again.
I was also worried about learning a new language and fitting in at school. I was living in a town where the Hispanic population was truly the minority.
My mother, my sister and I were very strong about the sudden changes in our lives, but we could not help thinking of the uncertainties. Would we ever go back to our country in a few months or will we stay here forever? If we did stay, how would we get our immigration documents?
I felt the anxiety, but as a child, I did not really fully understand what it meant to be an immigrant or even to be under political asylum.
At school, most of my classmates seemed welcoming and interested in learning more about me. They were excited to talk to me, but I did not know if it was because I was the new foreign girl or because they were eager to practice their newly learned Spanish skills. Maybe it was a combination of both. Either way, it was up to me to master English, so I could then properly convey to them who I really was.
One year later, my dad was able to flee Venezuela and to reunite with us.
By then, my mom had successfully submitted the political asylum application for the entire family just as our tourist visas were about to expire.
But legally, we were still in a limbo.
For more than a year, our petition was neither granted nor denied. In the mean time, my sister and I continued to attend school, while my parents patiently waited for an answer.
Without a green card, my parents could not attain a post-secondary education in an American university –something necessary to work in their respected fields of study, as mastered in Venezuela. Community English classes were the only options.
In 2004, our petition was denied for the first time. I did not know what would happen, but I did know I didn’t want to leave America. This once strange country finally seemed my own.
My parents explained to me that the laws of immigration were becoming stricter, especially after the events of 9/11, but that I should not worry. This was just part of the process and being denied was expected. We were fighting to prove that our family was not a threat to America and that we could not return to our country for risk of being killed.
We appealed and were once again left in political asylum purgatory. We found a way to appeal one last time, and after a long and expensive journey, my family was finally granted permanent residency in late 2009.
Achieving this victory led to new opportunities for my family, but especially for my sister and I as we moved on and went off to college.
But as happy as my sister and I were living in Virginia, we knew deep down inside that our parents were not. They missed home, they felt lonely, the language barrier prevented them from making long-lasting friendships and we barely received visits from our Venezuelan family.
The one thing they were happy about was the fact that we were all safe in a wonderful country. They were also content that our family had grown much closer; thanks to all the hardships we overcame as a unit. We became a team. My sister and I were always eager to help my parents with their English skills, and they were always very supportive of all the activities we decided to be involved with.
Together, we made it.
As soon as our permanent residency was granted, we moved to Miami.
That’s when things started to turn around for my parents. My dad was pursuing a job offer and my mom was excited about moving to a vibrant new place, where the population was known to be composed of mostly immigrants.
Living in Miami helped me accept my multicultural reality and solidify the identity I bestowed upon myself.
I do not think of myself as just Venezuelan or just American. Both cultures have shaped me equally.
Learning about a new culture at a young age sparked my curiosity about other cultures in the world. It has led me to explore my surroundings. I have become adaptable to the different places that I’ve had the chance to visit and accepting of the different people whom I’ve had the opportunity to meet.
Now, I consider myself a global citizen, with a fond embrace for an international culture.
I graduated from Florida International University in December with a degree in journalism.
As for my sister Andrea, she had the opportunity to attend and graduate from the University of South Florida with a full athletic scholarship.
After two internships, one at Fox New Channel's Miami Bureau and the other at NBC Universal’s Telemundo Network, and a field experience at Miami's local NPR station, WLRN, I was stoked to shape my beginnings in the journalism industry. My first official job was as an Assignment Editor for Univision Network News.
Independently, however, I like to keep up with my blog and think of the next big ideas for TV or web-based shows for my generation. When my first big idea becomes a reality, I will begin to feel accomplished. I am currently in the development stages to produce a restaurant/lifestyle show called "Miami Hidden."
Ultimately, though, I wish to travel the world and make a difference in people’s lives.
