Blog #2: Journal

March, 1849

   Aye mates, my name is Kaleb O’Connor and I am from Louisburg, Ireland. I am ten years old and I live with my dad, my mum and my twin sister Annika. Things are not doing great here; an Gorta Mór (The Irish Famine) is invading the whole country. Thousands have already died because of the weird diseases and starvation. Last month, our grandparents died, along with three of my cousins and my uncle and aunt. I miss them a lot. Mum told us that the only choice we have to live is to immigrate. The only problem is that they can’t afford four boat tickets; they only can afford mine and Annika’s. They told us that we can go there, because we’re young and strong, and we can stay with my mum’s aunt.  We can work there, so we can bring our parents later. We’re leaving for the place of dreams in two months.

May, 1849

   We are now at the Port. We already said our goodbyes. In tears, mum told us “Be brave my children, we’ll see each other again”, and then we got into the boat. It is indeed a long journey, and not in the best conditions, but we have to survive in order to live a better life. Two weeks and we’re still on the boat, today is our birthday, and some of the other kids got us some candy. We miss our parents so much. A couple of months have already passed and when we were losing our hope, there it is, on the Ellis Island, the big green lady, our freedom, what we came here for.

October, 1849

   Life in New York is really tough. Annika and I got jobs at a factory, and we go to school at the same time. We still do not have a lot of friends, just another girl who is also Irish and a French kid. I don’t know why Americans don’t like us; we have not done anything wrong to them. Yesterday we got a letter from our parents, they’re hoping that we will get the money soon, because things in Ireland are getting worse, more people are dying and they do not know if they will survive. Annika and I decided to drop from school so we can work all day and gain more money. I thought America was the land of dreams, but I was wrong.

February, 1850

   Work is so hard, even for eleven year-old twins. This morning Annika was so tired, that she did not wore her ponytail, and our superiors clearly told us that every girl should at least wear a ponytail for safety reasons. While we were working, a machine grabbed her hair and cut it, along with some parts of her hair. Her painful screams were heard everywhere, and didn’t stopped for hours. I was crying for help, but it was too late, she was not coming back. How I am going to tell mum and dad? I asked myself, as some workers threw her body away. Wait, they are really just throwing her body away? And we are still going to work? These people are animals, they don’t care about us! Why did we ever left Ireland? I got home, and I told my aunt what happened. She was already crying, how did she knew before I got home? Apparently, she was crying for another reason, it was a letter she got early. She lends me the letter, and as I read it, my eyes were tearful again. Dad died three months ago from starvation, and mum got a mortal disease that will end her life soon. I am all alone, all by myself, my whole family is dead, and where is the American Dream?

The End