I never really thought about what it meant to be an immigrant until I became one. Well, technically, people like me are often called expats, which sounds much fancier, doesn’t it? Like you sip coffee on sunny terraces while casually “adjusting to European life.” But at the end of the day, we’re all doing the same thing, packing up our lives, moving across borders, and figuring it out from scratch.
There’s this unspoken divide between the words immigrant and expat. Historically, “immigrant” was used for people who moved for opportunity or necessity, while “expat” was reserved for those who moved for choice or adventure. The roots go back to Latin, ex meaning “out of,” and patria meaning “one’s country.” Immigrant, on the other hand, comes from immigrare, to move into a new land. But over time, these terms picked up social baggage. “Immigrant” started being tied to struggle. “Expat” started being tied to privilege.
And honestly, that’s kind of messed up.
Because there’s nothing wrong with being an immigrant. If anything, it’s brave. It’s strong. It’s the purest kind of courage to leave everything you know and start life in a new country. Whether you came for safety, opportunity, love, or just a fresh start, it takes guts.
Living abroad has opened my eyes to that in a way I never expected. Politics aside, everything done legally, of course, I have so much more appreciation for anyone who’s ever made the choice to start over somewhere new. Because now I get it. The paperwork, the language barriers, the uncertainty, it’s no small thing.
I’m still learning Spanish, slowly but surely. And the main reason I want to get better isn’t just to order food without pointing at the menu (though that’s a perk). It’s because I want to help. To step in and translate when someone’s struggling. To actually be part of the community, not just orbit around it. To make real friends, find more opportunities, and handle life on my own without needing someone to hold my hand through every process.
Back home, the word immigrant was often said with a certain tone. Like it was something less than, or something to whisper about. But it took me leaving my own country to realize why people want to come to the U.S. in the first place, and why so many of them deserve a lot more respect than they get.
At the end of the day, I’m just a person who doesn’t really like labels. Because one day, I could be considered an expat, and the next, an immigrant. Titles shift, people evolve, and the truth is, none of us stays the same. One day, I might feel strongly about something, and by tomorrow, I might see it differently. That’s called growth, not inconsistency.
The problem with labels is that they come with a script. If you’re this, you’re supposed to act that way. If you’re that, you’re expected to fit into a certain box. But if you know me, you know I don’t do boxes. Call me Limitless Loft, because I refuse to be defined by a word when I’m clearly a whole story.
So maybe it’s time we drop the names altogether and focus on what actually matters, the journey. The journey to here, the journey to there, the journey to everywhere. Because the labels fade, but the experiences, the lessons, and the people you meet along the way? That’s the real identity.
Honestly, there might be people who completely disagree with me, and that’s okay. I saw a video the other day that said travel expands your perspective, and it’s true. The people with the smallest minds usually have the loudest opinions. But once you go out, see the world, and meet people from all walks of life, you realize there’s room for everyone.
Oh, this table’s full? Pull up another chair. There’s space.
I’ve seen those videos and comments floating around online, the “go back to your country” kind of talk, and honestly, all you can do is take a step back. I’m trying to be a citizen of the world. I want to see as much of it as I can while I’m here.
If someone wants to spend their life sitting on the same front porch, staring at the same view, that’s their choice. But me? I want to see new skylines, eat strange food, learn new languages, and meet the people who remind me that the world is a lot bigger than my comfort zone. Let me be, and let me see the world. Because that’s where the real education, and the real empathy, live.
Whether you call yourself an immigrant or an expat, at the end of the day, it’s all the same heart. It’s the same leap of faith, the same mix of fear and excitement, the same deep hope that life can be better somewhere new. And that’s something worth admiring.
Love always,
American Girl Meets World
