Independence and Privilege

A couple of weeks ago Kevin and I made the short drive to Milwaukee. We'd received a letter with an appointment time and directions for our next step in the immigration process. 

Edge of England, Art Display by Cornelia Parker. Make of chalk, wire, and wire mesh. Found at the Milwaukee Art Museum in 2018

If you didn't know, I am an immigrant. But I am not just that. I am a privileged white immigrant. I came from a privileged country. I was not fleeing for my life, fleeing from war, or being prosecuted for my beliefs. I am an immigrant because of money. An offer of enough money to move fifteen hundred miles from loved ones. I have come to love Wisconsin and I want it to become my forever home but my god, is it hard to be proud of the country of opportunity when other immigrants are not welcome to the same privilege as me.

The Fourth of July, Independence Day. A day commonly associated with fireworks, parades, barbecues, carnivals, fairs, picnics, concerts, baseball games, family reunions, and political speeches and ceremonies, in addition to various other public and private events celebrating the history, government, and traditions of the United States (according to wikipedia). What does that even mean for immigrants who are coming in and not finding the American Dream?

Today, on a day that's suppose to be full of celebration, I am struggling to reconcile that and the reality faced by any minority.

I'm a lifestyle blogger, covering deep subjects including body images, battles with food, and overcoming how I was raised. I try to be as authentic as possible and I don’t sugar coat how I see things.