You want to see what America's really like? Look through the eyes of an immigrant. You'll see a very interesting portrait of the nation -- one both bleaker and rosier than the one you're used to seeing.
You'll notice a lot of duality like that. See, when you live in the States and you weren't born here, things are different. Now, I can't speak for the rest of the tired, poor huddled masses yearning to breathe, but I can speak for myself.
I love this country. Fiercely. Passionately. Completely. I'm not some flag waving patriot who'll stick a boot up your ass just as quickly as she'll shock'n y'all (Yes, I realize that doesn't make sense, but then again, neither does Toby Keith). I'm just a person who appreciates the opportunity and the life she has.
There is no place in the world I would want to reside besides these here United States. But in this country -- I cannot legally work. If I choose to get married, a horde of officials will demand paperwork and legitimate proof of my relationship is actually a relationship and not a scam. If I wanted to go on vacation abroad, I could not re-enter the country. Next year, my visa will expire and I have no idea what I'm going to do.
In short -- living in America ain't easy, but trying to live here? It's even tougher.
Some days, it seems like the system is doing everything in its power to evict me. But despite that -- I want nothing more than to stay. I believe in America. That it is a good place. That the Algerian ideals are true. I still believe in the American Dream.
That being said, I recently rediscovered something I fell in love with when I was seventeen -- the music of Bruce Springsteen.
My boyfriend made me a mix CD and one of the tracks on it was Atlantic City.
I played it once and as soon as the song was over, I immediately rewound it and played it again. And again. And again. With every subsequent replay, I started to remember more and more about just how much I loved Springsteen. How I've read It Ain't No Sin To Be Glad You're Alive: The Promise of Bruce Springsteen by Eric Alterman from cover to cover at least a dozen times. How I must have listened to Glory Days at least once a week back then. How I referenced American Skin (41 Shots) in a paper I wrote for an English class. How I remembered thinking that Springsteen was a real rarity because he told the truth and no-one hardly does that anymore.
Springsteen epitomizes America. Just like Mustangs, Fender Strats, bottomless cups of coffee and great greasybluesydirty guitar solos.
He understands the country's duality -- the promise and the desperation. The optimism and the devastation. But above all, he understands the hope.
Life is hard and cruel. Sometimes, you don't make enough money to make ends meet. Sometimes, your dream is further out of reach than you originally believed. Sometimes, the guy doesn't get the girl, but in America -- when there's nothing else left, there's always hope. The promise of a new day. A brighter tomorrow. "Everything dies. Baby, that's a fact. But maybe everything that dies someday comes back. Put your makeup on. Fix your hair up pretty. And meet me tonight in Atlantic City."
It may be fraught with peril ("Well I'm tired of comin' out on the losin' end/So honey last night I met this guy and I'm gonna do a little favor for him" -- an obvious reference to Atlantic City's shady criminal underworld), but if you're willing to take the chance and get on that Coast City bus to the place where the sand's turning into gold -- well, you've got a shot. At a better life. At a bigger dream. At rebirth and reinvention.
Despite the elegiac tragedy just waiting to befall the our hero, Atlantic City is a song of promise. Our hero may never win the big money jackpot. He might not ever be a high roller but he's throwing the dice. He's taking a shot and as long as he does that -- well, he's living the American Dream.
No retreat, baby. No surrender.
I couldn't find Atlantic City on Radio Blog Club, so instead -- here's another one of my favorite Springsteen tracks.
You'll notice a lot of duality like that. See, when you live in the States and you weren't born here, things are different. Now, I can't speak for the rest of the tired, poor huddled masses yearning to breathe, but I can speak for myself.
I love this country. Fiercely. Passionately. Completely. I'm not some flag waving patriot who'll stick a boot up your ass just as quickly as she'll shock'n y'all (Yes, I realize that doesn't make sense, but then again, neither does Toby Keith). I'm just a person who appreciates the opportunity and the life she has.
There is no place in the world I would want to reside besides these here United States. But in this country -- I cannot legally work. If I choose to get married, a horde of officials will demand paperwork and legitimate proof of my relationship is actually a relationship and not a scam. If I wanted to go on vacation abroad, I could not re-enter the country. Next year, my visa will expire and I have no idea what I'm going to do.
In short -- living in America ain't easy, but trying to live here? It's even tougher.
Some days, it seems like the system is doing everything in its power to evict me. But despite that -- I want nothing more than to stay. I believe in America. That it is a good place. That the Algerian ideals are true. I still believe in the American Dream.
That being said, I recently rediscovered something I fell in love with when I was seventeen -- the music of Bruce Springsteen.
My boyfriend made me a mix CD and one of the tracks on it was Atlantic City.
I played it once and as soon as the song was over, I immediately rewound it and played it again. And again. And again. With every subsequent replay, I started to remember more and more about just how much I loved Springsteen. How I've read It Ain't No Sin To Be Glad You're Alive: The Promise of Bruce Springsteen by Eric Alterman from cover to cover at least a dozen times. How I must have listened to Glory Days at least once a week back then. How I referenced American Skin (41 Shots) in a paper I wrote for an English class. How I remembered thinking that Springsteen was a real rarity because he told the truth and no-one hardly does that anymore.
Springsteen epitomizes America. Just like Mustangs, Fender Strats, bottomless cups of coffee and great greasybluesydirty guitar solos.
He understands the country's duality -- the promise and the desperation. The optimism and the devastation. But above all, he understands the hope.
Life is hard and cruel. Sometimes, you don't make enough money to make ends meet. Sometimes, your dream is further out of reach than you originally believed. Sometimes, the guy doesn't get the girl, but in America -- when there's nothing else left, there's always hope. The promise of a new day. A brighter tomorrow. "Everything dies. Baby, that's a fact. But maybe everything that dies someday comes back. Put your makeup on. Fix your hair up pretty. And meet me tonight in Atlantic City."
It may be fraught with peril ("Well I'm tired of comin' out on the losin' end/So honey last night I met this guy and I'm gonna do a little favor for him" -- an obvious reference to Atlantic City's shady criminal underworld), but if you're willing to take the chance and get on that Coast City bus to the place where the sand's turning into gold -- well, you've got a shot. At a better life. At a bigger dream. At rebirth and reinvention.
Despite the elegiac tragedy just waiting to befall the our hero, Atlantic City is a song of promise. Our hero may never win the big money jackpot. He might not ever be a high roller but he's throwing the dice. He's taking a shot and as long as he does that -- well, he's living the American Dream.
No retreat, baby. No surrender.
I couldn't find Atlantic City on Radio Blog Club, so instead -- here's another one of my favorite Springsteen tracks.
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