It Happened To Me: Immigration Sucks When You’re In Limbo
Even when you play by the rules, being an immigrant in this country means feeling like the other shoe is about to drop
By Sarah Lally
After Covid-19 there was a real rhetoric in New York that “Only real New Yorkers stayed.” Never one to be outdone, I had to go one step further and move 3,000 miles across the Atlantic just before the borders closed to prove myself. I took the honorary title of “New Yorker” quite seriously.
So then why exactly am I writing this from Ireland?
I guess I need to go back to the summer of 2019. I had carved out a nice life in my little country with my better half. He was a software developer and I worked in media. All in all, we had a fairly stable, happy life. My husband's job sent him to New York so I could tag along for a cheeky holiday. On day one our lives changed — he was asked to transfer to New York.
Now a little background about the other half of me — he has only ever lived within 26 miles of where we grew up. Pheidippides ran that distance to Athens, Cian just about drove a moving truck that far.
I only mention this to explain our differences. He has been lucky enough to get work within commuting distance of our home while my career had caused me to roam like a nomad, traveling and living out of my suitcase for long stretches of time. So I was used to being constantly on the move.
That day in June he told me “They’ve asked me to transfer,” my reply was an incredibly hasty “When do we move?” My inner nomad reared her bedraggled head, shoes on and bags packed, but having a far more logical head than I, Cian suggested we take the three weeks on offer to decide.
We spent that week weighing the pros and cons of moving. Although, if I am being honest with myself, my mind was made up. I was already there. I would see every Broadway show, I would meet creative people and make art and I would happily get lost in a sea of 8 million people and drink in the madness that was New York. I could see it all like a reel of 16mm film, grainy and flickery and oh so romantic. Earthy tones that compliment the brooding, acerbic, self-deprecating nature of my people.
Fast forward to 2023. We have settled in quite nicely in New York. We have two cats (Pan & Púca), a nice apartment, friends, I’m working at a magazine having made the transition to video producer. We braved the pandemic, wore masks, were socially distanced, and stayed put for three years. Three years without stepping foot on home soil, without a session of music in our local pub where everyone knows us and our entire family, without seeing rainbows or stars, and without saying hello to Magpies.
It was a fairly typical day at my job when a text came through from Cian asking me to call him.
His contract was finishing in a month.
A lot of things went through my head — What did that mean? Where did that leave us? Would we make rent? But mostly I was worried about my husband. I left work abruptly.