Lost in Translation, Found in America.. The American Dream… Literally

Sneakers & Stilettos™

The Day I Became American (Spoiler: It Wasn’t When I Got Citizenship)

People always ask me what it was like moving to the U.S. from Romania.

And after 25 years of living here, I finally have an answer.

I did not become American the day I got my citizenship.

No offense to the government, the paperwork, or the tiny flag they hand you.

But that wasn’t it.

I became American the day I started dreaming in English.

That’s right.

Not speaking.

Not thinking.

Dreaming.

Because that’s when I knew there was no going back.

My subconscious had officially switched teams.

When I first moved to America, I came with an accent, a suitcase, and the confidence of someone who had absolutely no idea what she was getting herself into.

Classic immigrant energy.

I thought, How hard can it be?

Cute.

Very cute.

Nobody prepares you for the weird things about America.

For example—portion sizes.

Why is every drink available in small, medium, large, and bathtub?

Why does one appetizer feed a Romanian village?

And why do Americans insist on putting ice in everything?

Water? Ice.

Soda? Ice.

Juice? Ice.

At one point I was convinced Americans were one power outage away from complete emotional collapse.

Then came the language.

Let me tell you something.

Learning English in school and living in America are two completely different sports.

School English teaches you things like:

“The pen is on the table.”

“The weather is nice today.”

Fantastic.

Very useful.

Because obviously the first real conversation you have is not:

“Hey, what’s up?”

“No worries.”

“I’ll catch you later.”

“Let’s play it by ear.”

Play what by ear?

What are we catching?

Why is everybody so casual while saying things that make no sense?

And then there’s American small talk.

“How are you?”

This one almost broke me.

Because where I come from, if you ask someone how they are, prepare to sit down.

You’re getting the whole story.

Family drama. Back pain. Financial concerns. Blood pressure. Everything.

In America?

“How are you?”

“Good! You?”

Nobody wants the truth.

It’s basically verbal ping-pong.

Then something even stranger happened.

I started changing.

I caught myself saying things I never thought I’d say.

“Let’s do brunch.”

“I need coffee before I function.”

“That’s not in my budget this month.”

And the ultimate American sentence…

“I’m just gonna run into Target for one thing.”

We all know that’s a lie.

No one leaves Target with one thing.

You go in for toothpaste.

You leave with candles, throw pillows, seasonal decor, a notebook you didn’t need, and somehow a mild identity crisis.

But the real moment happened one night.

I had a dream.

People were talking.

And they were all speaking English.

I woke up offended.

Excuse me?

What happened to Romanian?

Why is even my subconscious assimilating?

I sat there in silence and thought:

Well… that’s it.

I’m American now.

Not because a piece of paper says so.

Not because I passed a citizenship test.

But because my brain no longer needed subtitles.

And here’s the funny thing about being an immigrant after all these years—

You never stop being where you came from.

Romania still lives in me.

In my accent when I’m tired.

In my cooking.

In my stubbornness.

And especially in the way I argue.

Listen—nothing strengthens an Eastern European accent faster than righteous anger.

Nothing.

But America lives in me too.

In the way I think.

In the way I work.

In the dreams I built here.

That’s the beautiful part no one talks about.

Immigration doesn’t erase you.

It stretches you.

You become more than one thing.

You become layered.

Part memory.

Part survival.

Part reinvention.

Part old country.

Part new country.

And somehow… all of it becomes home.

So if anyone asks when I became American, I’ll tell them this:

I didn’t become American when I got citizenship.

I became American when I started dreaming in English.

And if I ever start dreaming about spreadsheets, networking events, and someone saying “let’s circle back”…

Please check on me.

That means I’ve become too American.