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In 1898, the Spanish American War ended. Spain lost and this forced many Puerto Ricans to move to the U.S. in search of a new opportunity. Our coffee industry fell apart, so many fell into poverty and moved to America as well.

I struggled finding my way in Puerto Rico during its Americanization. I spoke to my family about moving to New York City, and they hated the idea since they would have one less person to run the family farm, but I knew that moving was better for me.

I decided to buy a ticket on my own, and I left a note, packed my bags, and left. My friend has been sending me notes from the city and he says how much he loves it there. I did not speak English, and I had no clue on how to gain citizenship, but I needed to go here. I felt bad about leaving my family, but with the money I make in the US, I'll bring them with me.

I had just woken up from my sleep on the boat, and I saw a very nice surprise. The skyline of New York City was in front of me, I almost could not contain my excitement. I saw the reddish-brown Statue of Liberty, large buildings, and I saw my immigration station: Ellis Island. 

I entered Ellis Island. I was so nervous because I could not speak English. I was marked, screened, and spoken too countless times. Luckily, I met with a bilingual Puerto Rican to help me through the process.

I approached a man that was waving at me. My new friend explained that it was the man that either lets you in or sends you home. He asked many questions on what I was doing here, and who am I staying with, but I showed him my friend's letter, and he waved me through the doors.

I was so excited to finally make it to New York City. There were so many people in the street, but I had to get to my friend's house quickly before it got dark. On my way to the house, I was pointed and stared at; I thought that I wasn't foreign anymore.

I think I finally made it to the correct address, and it looked more like a single room. The streets looked very dirty compared to what my friend was saying in his letter, but I saw many people that looked like they spoke the same language as me.

My friend let me into the room, and it was very dirty. There were many bugs, and there was almost no place to sleep. I also noticed that because we were on the third floor, there were no toilets or plumbing. That probably explains the smell in the street.

Progressive Era (20 years later)

It is 1915, and I now live in a tenement of my own. I sit on a bench outside of the cigar factory that I work at. It doesn't pay much, but it is just enough for me to survive and save for the rest of my family to come.