56, Zero English, and Sent to a Separate Room: My Desperate First Day of Studying Abroad, Surrounded by 'Mafia' at San Francisco Immigration
Until yesterday, I had been writing about my life in a wheelchair and
my daily battles with my caregiver.
To tell the truth, until now, I have
consciously avoided looking at photos from the past.
For me, now unable to move freely like my former self,
photos from when I was active were nothing but painful to look at.
However, this morning, on the Facebook screen I happened to open,
a photo appeared as a memory from several years ago.
Usually, I would have looked away immediately.
But for some reason, at that moment,
I found myself staring at the photo as if drawn to it.
That's right, I was such a reckless and strong woman...
What the photo brought back was
that reckless challenge I took on at 56.
I remembered that the origin of my current struggle to 'design my own life'
even with this restricted body, was right here.
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56 years old, zero English proficiency.
Driven only by a desperate sense of crisis that "my sole proprietorship in Japan will be a dead end if things continue like this,"
I landed in San Francisco with a one-way ticket,
and what awaited me was a scathing remark from a stern-looking female immigration officer.
Why is studying abroad necessary for you right now?
Even though I conveyed the answer I had desperately prepared,
my katakana-style pronunciation didn't get through to her at all.
As I stood there in despair, unable to say anything,
the next person to appear was a burly immigration officer.
A woman applying for an F1 student visa
who can't even hold a basic conversation
is nothing but a suspicious person, right?
Just like that, completely unexpectedly,
I was taken to a "separate room."
It was a gathering place from another world.
What awaited me after being thrown into the separate room
was a scene I had only ever seen in movies.
Dirty synthetic leather long sofas that looked out of place in a modern airport. A floor that clearly hadn't been cleaned.
The air conditioning felt like being inside a freezer.
And the stern-faced immigration officers.
People who clearly looked like they were trying to enter illegally.
A strangely stylish group that made me wonder, 'Are they members of the mafia?'
People who claimed they didn't have their passports.
I could hear unsettling conversations from people who were likely from the Middle East,
and the eyes of the people with cloth wrapped around their heads
were darting around with incredible intensity.
'That suitcase definitely contains something that should never be taken out...'
A bleak atmosphere where such suspicions swirled.
In the middle of it all, a 56-year-old Japanese woman stood all alone.
Honestly, I was driven by the urge to
'Aaaaaahhhhhhh!!'
scream and collapse right there on the spot.
The 'lucky charm' that saved me
That's it, my lucky charm...!
Resigned to the possibility of deportation, I remembered
a single English essay that the representative at my study abroad agency in Japan had given me.
I don't think it's likely, but
it would be good to take an English essay with you just in case,
they had said, and they helped me write it together.
However, opening my bag without permission would probably be a no-go,
as any strange movements are not allowed in the separate room.
So, while being mindful of the watchful eyes, I carefully pointed to my bag,
and desperately pleaded for them to take out the file. Please pick up... as I repeated it over and over like a broken doll,
one of the officers took it out with a look that said, 'Oh, give me a break.'
Written on that paper, which I handed over with trembling hands,
was what I wanted to achieve.
I want to learn art therapy, which is 10 years ahead of Japan,
in the country where art therapy originated. That is why I came here,
a passion so pure and so out of place in this bleak space.
From the face of the officer who finished reading it,
they asked where I would be studying, and I told them the place I had looked up.
They searched my smartphone, and finally, the sternness vanished.
The suspicion of illegal entry was cleared, and they stamped my passport.
With a smile, they said, 'Good luck!'
Entry was finally granted, and a 56-year-old female college student was born.
The terror of that day and the reversal of fortune brought about by a single piece of paper. Years have passed since then, and now I live in a wheelchair, spending my days in a battle of wits with my caregiver over 'a single mug'.
However, the grit that pried open the door in that desperate separate room is still very much alive within me today.
Even with a disabled body, my life is not 'over'. Just as that essay saved me back then, I believe that the words in this note will become a 'talisman' for someone else, and for myself.
The adventure of a 56-year-old international student would continue for nearly two more years from that point. I plan to write about the funny happenings from that time little by little.
Thank you for reading.