My name is Giovana. I was born and raised in Sao Paulo, Brazil. My whole life, I spent every January at the beach, in the warm sun. One day, my mom asked me if I thought I would like to live in the United States.

I shrugged. It sounded okay.

Then she asked again. And again.

I was seventeen years old when I learned that my dad had been promoted, to a job in the United States. My mom, dad, and sister all knew about it, but they had not told me.

When I arrived in the United States, I did not have any friends like I had in Brazil. In the beginning, my sister stayed here with us, but soon she had to go back to college in Brazil. I only had my parents, I did not know anyone, and I did not speak the language. There was a three hour time difference, and it was very difficult to talk with my friends back home. On weekends, I only went out with my parents or with the other Brazilians that arrived at the same time we did, or go to spend time at other Brazilians’ homes. I hated the United States, and everything here, and I could not wait to return to Brazil.

On January 25th, I started going to school. If I had been at home, I would have been on the beach, bronzing in my bikini, with sand between my toes. Instead, I crunched through the snow toward the bus stop, in the dark. When the sun finally came up, the sky was gray. It was a terrible day, because people tried talking to me, and I did not understand. The only thing I could say was, “I don’t speak English.” I felt lonely. The only thing that made it better was having a small group of friends, like my own personal welcoming committee. They were another Brazilian girl, a Colombian girl, and an American guy, who had all been through the same experience.

Everyone at school knew I did not speak English, so some tried to speak to me in Spanish, but everyone else ignored me. I took Spanish 3, because it was close enough to Portuguese to understand some of it. The only time I spoke all day was when I was with the “welcoming committee”, or in Spanish class, but sometimes, even the teacher could not understand me!

Just as I was getting used to being here, my closest friend from the welcoming committee, Dayhana, was sent back to Columbia. After that, when I walked into the Spanish classroom we had shared, I cried.

A senior named Matt would eventually become the best friend I had in the United States, and when he graduated, I was both happy for him and sad because he would not be there to help me anymore. As I watched him walk across the stage, I remembered the day months earlier when we first became friends. Someone he knew had been in a small car accident, and Matt showed me with gestures, like a game of charades, to explain what had happened.

As the days passed, I did not feel as alone because people tried to help me. My teachers spoke to me and if I did not understand, they changed the way they said things, using different words that I might understand better. Sometimes they used gestures or examples.

Sometimes, as a last resort, they would use an online translator. My welcoming committee and my ESL teacher at school have helped me a lot, ever since the day I arrived at school. After school, I have another English class with a teacher who helps me too.

One way or another, I was able to talk to people, and they gave me confidence. They showed me that I was not alone. If I needed help, I had them to help me. I have learned that despite the feeling of isolation I had not knowing the language, I don’t have to feel alone.

This year, on the coldest, darkest day in January, a new ESL student arrived from China. My friends and I shook his hand and welcomed him warmly to the United States, like his own personal welcoming committee.

Now, my dad will be transferred back to Brazil in June. I don’t want go back because I like it here and have lots of friends!