It was a warm summer Wednesday when I was finally set to sail to the United States. My life in Austria-Hungary had not been treating me badly, but it was also difficult living there because of the oppression my people faced from the Austrian monarchy. I always believed I deserved more and could create a better life for myself. America was often talked about; some people praised it, while others were realistic about the risks I would be taking by going there.

    After a long trip to the local port, I finally boarded a ship called "Chicago." The other passengers told me that Chicago is a city in the United States where many Slovenians have made a life for themselves. As a seventeen-year-old Slovenian, I didn't yet know the path I wanted to take, so Chicago sounded appealing.

    The boat started moving. It was nearly impossible to sleep, eat, or even think because of the constant rocking of the waves. "Thank God I'm not a sailor," I thought to myself. I became very ill, and a person on the boat who claimed to be a doctor told me I might be seasick. This was going to be a long and harsh trip.

    After an intense trip across the Atlantic, someone screamed, "Land!" Everyone ran to the top deck, where we couldn’t believe our eyes. It was America. This was the point of no return; I just had to make the best of it.

    There it was, that giant brownish-red statue greeting every single one of us. We felt hope. A young Austrian journalist I met on board told me it was called "The Statue of Liberty." The boat came to a stop as we were escorted by a smaller boat to Ellis Island.

    I did not understand a single word of English. As we pushed through customs, I saw a booth with a German speaker. I walked to the booth since they didn’t have Slovenian, and German was the only other language I understood. They asked for my name, age, and where I was from. Before I knew it, I got through customs. There I was, standing with hope, opportunity, and excitement. I was finally in New York.

    I was frozen in place. So many people all looked so busy. I decided to settle down for the day and grab something to eat. The long trip had left me exhausted and hungry. I made my way to the giant bridge, where I found some food. I had money, but not a lot.

    I needed a plan. As I sat down to eat, I saw a sign: "Travel to Chicago via train for $10!" I remembered thinking about Chicago on the boat. The Slovenian community sounded appealing. Luckily, I had saved money from my old job in Europe. I decided to go. I could barely afford the ticket, but I hoped for a better life awaiting me in Chicago.

    I had to find the nearest train station to purchase my ticket. Navigating the giant city without speaking any English was difficult. People shouted at me, tried to talk to me, and attempted to sell me things, but I could not understand anything. It was chaotic. Finally, I made it to the train station. Things were turning around for the better.

    The cabin I sat in wasn't exactly fancy. I guess I got what I paid for; after all, I could only afford the cheapest ticket. This was my first time riding a train. It was very loud, and I couldn't catch any sleep.

    When I finally arrived in Chicago, I expected finding the Slovenian community to be nearly impossible. Luckily, I quickly found a German-speaking person who directed me. The directions were complicated and long. I got lost countless times, and just as I was about to give up, I saw a poster nailed to a wooden pole with Slovenian written on it. I walked past it and heard my language. I was overjoyed.

    I met some really nice Slovenians who gave me a place to sleep. Rent was expensive, and the living conditions weren't great. However, I did have a place to sleep and a community to help uplift me. That’s all that mattered.

    I met an Austro-Hungarian boy named Peter, about the same age as me, and we quickly became friends. We did everything together. When I was running out of the money I had saved, he told me about the factory job he had and that I should start working there with him.

    I went to sign up for a job, and with my crafting skills, I got it with ease. It was time for me to start saving money for the business I hoped to create. The wage wasn’t great, but I could easily cover my rent and put a good amount into my savings.

    Days flew by. I worked long hours with no breaks and faced many paycheck deductions. I even got a fee for using the bathroom once! After these long days, which seemed to stretch endlessly, I thought to myself, “Is this really all my life is going to be? Just working endless hours for a factory that profits far more than it pays its workers?”

    Rarely did I have time off work, so I decided to spend it studying English at a local church. I learned a lot. I figured it was the best thing for me and my future. The long working days weren’t getting any shorter, and my English lessons were limited.

    I met many other Slovenians at the church who supported my idea of creating a business. It was very important to me at the time to be surrounded by supportive individuals who had faith in me. Peter was my biggest supporter. He told me how he would invest in my business and help me be successful. I promised him I would support him too.

    During that time, many journalists surrounded our factory and asked us questions. People were talking, and rumors about a "revolution" against the factories were spreading. It was interesting, and although I did not oppose the idea of better working conditions, I needed to save money.

    Days flew by, and the strikes were beginning. Many protests broke out all over the country. I was so close to having enough to start my own business, and I was not about to risk it all. It was my dream, my purpose. It was why I came to America.

    Peter joined the protests and begged me to join him too. I ignored him, and eventually, we got into an argument that put our friendship on the line. I admit, what I did was very selfish. I didn’t think about others, the future, or keeping my promise. I only cared about opening my business and being successful.

    I kept working, and eventually, I got a raise, which helped me save more money. Peter and I rarely talked, and I didn’t think we would be friends anymore. I did not realize that the most important person in my life at the time was disappearing. He was like family to me—my brother.

    Then, something bad happened. Peter was beaten by the police, and his life was on the line. When I heard about it, I ran to the nearest hospital where I found him. The bruising was severe. I thought I was going to lose my best friend. This was my breaking point.

    I didn’t care about money anymore; I cared about what was right. I regretted that it took my friend's beating to make me realize that. I should’ve known sooner. I quit my job at the factory and joined the protests. When Peter recovered, I used my savings to help him pay his dues and get back on his feet.

    The protests continued. Peter and I needed money, so we started selling handcrafted furniture on the street. It was going well. We saved a lot, and when I had enough, with Peter’s support and investment, I thought it was finally time to open my business.