An 11-year-old orphaned girl, formerly living on the streets in India, struggling to survive, is brought to the United States by an organization whose mission is to help orphans in third-world countries. She spends her first day in Washington, D.C. with a volunteer from the organization and will meet the family she is to be adopted by the following day.

From the moment I left the orphanage until now, everything has been a blur. I vaguely remember the myriad of checkpoints I was whisked through. I recall following closely behind the American woman, who introduced herself as Ms. Julie, and brought me here, where I will start a new life and be adopted by a family. I focused intently on the back of her bright green shirt, determined to not get lost as I was enveloped by a flood of people and countless elbows jostled me.

When I gathered enough courage to look around, I saw sign after sign with foreign symbols on them. The clear black letters stood out starkly on the otherwise blank white signs. Formed from straight lines and perfect circles, these symbols were so different from the graceful loops and curves of the various Indian dialects I was used to seeing. I assumed this was English, because although I can now speak English with some difficulty, I still can’t read or write. I spent the last six months in India learning about The United States of America, “land of opportunity”, and the English language after I was selected to be part of a program. The organization, Smile Foundation, provides orphaned and illiterate street children with the opportunity to create a better life for themselves in America. This life-changing organization is the entire reason I am even in this airport. Distracted by all of the signs and absorbed in my thoughts, I lost sight of Ms. Julie and panicked for a moment. I remember the terror I experienced, the blood pounding in my ears, my eyes darting through the crowd, desperate for a glimpse of that neon T-shirt. My heartbeat and breathing didn’t slow until finally, I found Ms. Julie again.

But, my experience at the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport wasn’t completely negative. There was the sensation of flying, so exhilarating that it is hard to even put into words! I had never felt anything like it. After the captain welcomed us on board and reminded us to fasten our seatbelts in a monotonous voice, as if she had said the words a hundred times before, the plane gave a sudden lurch and slowly started rolling forward, picking up speed and getting louder as it went. As the plane finally lifted into the air, my nails were digging in to the rough fabric of the armrest and my eyes were wide open. After a few moments, I was able to look out the window. I first saw the airport, getting smaller and smaller until it seemed tiny enough to pick up with two fingers. Then it disappeared from view as we flew above the clouds, and for a split second, I felt as if I was floating! We finally dipped back under the blanket of clouds and I saw the beautiful deep blue of the ocean, shining with flashes of white as sunlight glinted off of it. It was, without a doubt, the most amazing sight I had ever laid my eyes upon.

After the shock wore off, I slept for a few hours and Ms. Julie woke me up to eat lunch. I peeled back the plastic cover of the prepared boxed to reveal a sandwich stuffed with meat, cheese, and vegetables, mixed fruit, thick, creamy milk, and even a plastic wrapped cookie, warm to the touch, for dessert, a luxury that I was completely unused to. Actually, I was and still am unaccustomed to the entire concept of having three full meals a day, sometimes even with snacks in between. On the streets in India, the only ways for me to get food were scrounging in garbage cans for leftovers, begging from strangers, or when I was truly desperate, even stealing from the market. I recall one miraculous day when I found two hundred rupees, enough to buy an entire meal. But, even if I had been one of those fortunate people in India who could afford daily meals, this food would still be unusual, completely different from the typical Indian meal.

The air around the markets and small restaurants in India was always thick with the pungent aroma of spices, making my stomach rumble with hunger.  Also, on the rare occasion that some generous person offered me food, it was usually rice or a mix of legumes and vegetables, and filled with a blend of spices usually including turmeric, coriander, and cumin. In comparison to my experience of Indian food, in the infrequent instances I received a meal, American food is less flavorful, with more bread than rice and legumes, and contains more raw, fresh foods products unlike Indian meals, where every single item is cooked.. Honestly, I was just so happy to receive a meal that although American food will take some getting used to, I did not really have a preference of cuisine. This is why I was astounded and appalled by the sound of people around me complaining that the bread was soggy or the cheese didn’t taste good. Shouldn’t they be happy that they were given food at all? Soon after, we departed the plane, picked up a quick but tasty dinner, and boarded another. I remember drifting off to sleep, and waking up to discover that we were now in America! Ms. Julie told me that we had arrived at Ronald Reagan National Airport.

Now, I walk towards the glass doors that open to the outdoors, not weighed down by a bag or suitcase. I don’t have any belongings because when I lived on the streets, my sole objective in life was survival; personal possessions were a luxury I could not afford. As I approach it, it suddenly opens, and I jump back, startled. I look around, confused, since I didn’t see anyone slide open the door; then, I realize that I am looking at what is called an automatic door. I start off walking hesitantly, slightly behind Ms. Julie, taking my first steps onto American ground. I look around me and behold Washington, D.C., capital city of the United States of America. As I see all the lights and colors of the magnificent buildings, and hear the friendly chattering of people walking through the city, I feel nervous and excited all at once.

I have heard stories of big cities lit up by electricity, but back in India the only light we had was from the blazing hot sun beating down on us for hours. Here, every single building is flooded with electricity and the advertisements and notices glow with florescent light. Ms. Julie tells me that we’ll take the underground metro to the hotel we’ll be staying in until I get to meet my new family, so we’ll have to walk for awhile. I’m used to walking everywhere so this is nothing new for me; cars, buses, trains, and especially planes seem miraculous to me, but here in America they are taken for granted.

We reach the metro station and the sheer number of signs overwhelms me. This time, there are also posters and signs on the walls with colorful lines intersecting each other and words in miniscule writing. Ms. Julie picks up one of these papers, which she refers to as a map. During my brief period of education, I only looked at maps of the entire world, so I don’t recognize this one. Then, she goes over to a machine by the wall, presses a series of buttons, and slides a small plastic card through a slot. I am surprised when two pieces of paper come out and I look around, trying to determine whether or not this is normal. I see the same thing happening with every other person, and I realize that although I have never seen technology before today, here it is just a consistent part of everyday life. Ms. Julie steps up to yet another machine, hands me my ticket, inserts her own, and steps forward as the metal bar, formerly blocking her path, rises. I copy her actions exactly and a brief thrill shoots through me at using technology for the very first time.

When we board the metro, it is so packed with people that we stand in the middle of the aisle. I look around and am amazed to see that there are so many different types of people, of different ethnicities and speaking different languages, all in the same place. Next to me, there is a woman with blond hair and bright blue eyes dressed in the pale blue uniform of a doctor. As I look behind me, I see three teenagers conversing rapidly in another language, one that I don’t recognize. In front of me is a man with dark skin and hair, sleeping. I also see several happy families and laughing children with parents and siblings. I hope that one day I too will experience that closeness with the family I will meet tomorrow.

Jolted out of my thoughts as the metro starts moving, I am almost thrown off my feet, but I regain my balance. The ride seems to finish in a few moments and a crowd of people rush to get off at the stop. I join the mass of people and start exiting until Ms. Julie grabs my arm and pulls me back, saying that our stop isn’t for a while but at least we won’t have to transfer onto a different color metro line. I hear the announcer call our stop, Smithsonian, and as we exit, Ms. Julie tells me that we’ll walk a few more blocks to the hotel.

As we walk, I finally see the monuments that I heard so much about during my months of school classes. They are even more incredible than I imagined: grand buildings and towering sculptures made out of pristine white stone. I stop walking, captivated by the magnificent Washington Monument that seems to stretch miles into the air and the precise details of the Lincoln Memorial, with the reflecting pool glistening in between. Finally, Ms. Julie calls that we have to keep walking, jerking me out of my reverie, and only then do I realize I have been standing there in awe for several minutes.

We keep walking and a big building with the word “Safeway” emblazoned on the front draws my attention. A family of five walks out pushing a cart filled with plastic bags containing packages of a huge variety of food. Everything from vibrant red strawberries that look as if they would explode in your mouth, to a freshly baked chocolate cake with an intricate design of pink and blue, is piled in their cart. I glance through the window and see people pushing carts through rows and rows of food. I look away and back again, thinking this cannot be possible; I must have imagined it. I can’t believe how much food there is here, while in India I had to scrounge through trashcans and garbage dumps swarmed with flies, searching for the tiniest morsels. The gnawing pain of hunger was always present, and more often than not, I went to sleep hungry.

We enter a large building with slanting words written on top, which read “State Plaza Hotel,” as Ms. Julie tells me. She speaks with a person behind the front desk who hands her a card. I then follow her to our room on the first floor, room 126, and she inserts the card in a slot in the door. A light buzzes green and Ms. Julie pushes open the door. I am blown away by what I see inside. There are two beds with mattresses and blankets and pillows! When I walk into the bathroom I see a shower and sink. When I turn the handle, heated water gushes out of the faucet. There is also a working toilet, refrigerator and television. I can’t believe there is all this for just one night. Ms. Julie hefts her huge blue suitcase onto her bed and says it’s time for dinner in the dining area of the hotel.

As we arrive, I see dozens of tables covered by immaculate white tablecloths. At the center of each table sits a flickering candle in a glass candleholder, adding to the elegance of the atmosphere. In front of each tall backed chair is a table setting for one person, complete with a silver knife, spoon, and fork, a tall thin glass, and a cloth napkin folded in the shape of a rose. I then turn my attention to the food, set up on a long row of tables, even more impressive than the décor. Ms. Julie hands me a plate and heads over to the line of people with me trailing in her wake. I peer down at the tables from the back of the line.

To start off, there is a selection of fresh lettuce, with an immeasurable number of toppings and dressings to complete your salad. Next comes an assortment of soups, some thick and creamy and some simply a thin broth. Their savory aromas mix together and waft into the air, making my mouth water. The pastas and noodles, with their unique shapes and sizes are next; there is a multitude of flavorful sauces, from the cheesy Alfredo to the marinara sprinkled with basil leaves. Various meat dishes, including crispy chicken, and tender steak fill the following table. The buffet ends with a huge table filled with fresh fruits, buttery, flaky pastries, infinite numbers of different cakes and brownies, and every flavor of ice cream imaginable; the list goes on and on.

When my turn comes, there are so many options it is impossible to choose. Eventually, I heap what looks like the tastiest food from every table onto my plate and sit down with Ms. Julie. I take a bite of warm, buttery ravioli and sigh as I absorb the divine flavor. I take a forkful of salad next, tasting the contrasting flavors of the crisp, salty croutons, bitter greens, and sweet strawberries slices on top. Then, I eat a spoon of rich chocolate ice cream, topped with colorful sprinkles and cookie crumbs. The taste is heavenly and the ice cream melts in my mouth, flooding it with a delicious chocolaty flavor. I have never tasted anything like it! We ate a small breakfast and lunch earlier today, the amount of food available never failing to amaze me, but even those were nothing compared to this. I finish all the food on my plate and go back for seconds, feeling as if I am in paradise.

After we finish dinner, we head back to the room and I take a shower for the first time in my life, in awe again when hot running water pours out of the showerhead. Back in India, I had to go months without bathing and if I did get a chance to clean myself, it was simply rinsing off in the river. Showers and soap and shampoo are a novelty to me. I step out of the shower, wrap myself in a fluffy white towel, and change into the fresh clothes Ms. Julie gives me. This is the cleanest I have been in my entire life. Ms. Julie then tells me to go to sleep since we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, when I will meet my family. Instinctively, I curl up on the ground to sleep, but then realize that I can sleep in a bed today. It’s not until I crawl under the sheets that I realize how tired I really am. Even though I am unaccustomed to this luxury, I fall asleep eventually, filled with an anxious but eager anticipation of tomorrow.