The document is a diary from January 15th to January 27th 1892 written by Arousiaj Dadian Boyajion, a 15-year-old boy who recently immigrated to America from Turkey. He describes the difficult voyage to Ellis Island and the health inspections that took place. He is initially housed by his uncle in Manhattan but struggles to find permanent housing and a job. He eventually finds work in a tailor shop but finds the conditions difficult. While grateful for the opportunities in America, he faces challenges adjusting to the new way of life and experiences both positives and negatives as an immigrant in New York City.

1. January 15, 1892,<br />Hi , my name is Arousiaj Dadian Boyajion. Im 15 years old. I’m a young boy with brown hair, black eyes, and I’m thin. I’m from turkey, Europe. At my homeland many people were telling interesting and fascinating stories about the quot;
GOLDEN LANDquot;
called America. My family and i 1 brother and 2 sisters and my mother and father. We left our homeland. My parents felt that a better life was waiting for us in America. My family was having problems with not enough food. In the mid-1800s a bad disease killed many of our crops. We had planted and a famine resulted. My parents told me that they felt that we had to move to a place that provided a better life and future for me and my brother and sisters. <br />January 16th 1892, <br />As the ship began docking, we could look out and see the Statue of Liberty, standing proudly. People soon to be citizens of America gathered around the left of the boat gasping and grinning. However, I was smiling a fake smile. I didn’t know what she was or what she meant. How was I supposed to know? I was puzzled, but glad we were finally here. My mind began a plethora of thoughts or where I would stay and what I was going to say to people.<br />January 17th 1892, <br />I walked with confidence in an upright shoulder position, as I began walking forward to the steerage-line I muttered to myself a little, annoyed at the fact that I was in steerage and not in a higher class. Afterwards, I received a numbered tag and unclear instruction to join another very, long line. The man yelled a number. It sort of annoyed me the way the director spoke and I said something in Russian in a scowling voice. Then, I asked him where exactly to go and I move toward him widening my eyes showing him what I meant. After physically showing him what I meant, he understands and clearly pointed to me where to go. It was extremely weird how he acted like he didn’t know what I was talking about. But, I calmed down and walked to the line thinking about reflecting about my voyage here.<br />January 21st, 1892<br />The doctors and everybody else that were supposed to interrogate us were dressed in uniforms. There also was ladies in white we call them. They were very nice. I mean, they talked to the children. They stroked their hair. And they touched their cheeks and held our hands. When they gave us milk, if the child was pretty, some nurses would kiss the child on the cheek. They were really very nice. All kinds of nationalities was at Ellis Island and the first meal we got was fish and milk, big pitchers of milk and white bread, the first time I saw white bread and butter. There was so much milk, and I drank it because we didn't have enough milk in my country and I said, “My God, we're going to have a good time here. We're going to have plenty to eat.”<br />January 22nd 1892,<br />Well when we were getting looked at by the doctors . They said that my sister developed warts on the back of her hand so they put a chalk 'X' on the back of her coat. The Xs were put aside to see whether they had to be reexamined or deported. If they deported my sister we couldn't let her go. So I was thinking to myself, where would she go if they deported her? Some kind man, I don't know who he was, told my sister to turn her coat around. She had a nice plush coat with a silk lining, and they turned her coat around, then they checked her out. To see whether they would deported her or not. So as we waited, they let me sister stay and didn’t deported her.<br />January 23rd 1892,<br />At Ellis Island there was nothing to do. You just had to sit around. You could walk up and down among the crowds and wait for the man to come with chewing gum or an apple, but you couldn't go anyplace. Even prisoners go out into the yard. But we were kept in a place that was all enclosed. I could walk up and down, back and forth, and up and down, and back and forth. That was the extent of my exercise. The enclosed space smelled bad after a while. <br />January 24th 1892,<br />Thank you, God! I am finally off that wretched island. IT feels-well felt- really awesome to reach America and victoriously pass those vicious tests at Ellis Island. Anyway, everyone seems so nervous and emotional about coming and being here in America. However, I feel challenged- challenged in a good, positive, enriching way. The reason for me feeling challenged is because of my goal of adapting as much as possible to this New World.I was picked up by me Uncle’s brother, Olga Schnitzel. He is currently twenty-five years old. For the next two days, I will be staying at his house, and will be living elsewhere soon, hopefully. By ‘elsewhere’, I mean that, within those two days I will be finding an apartment- a nice one with golden staircases, maids, and a prepared, fresh feast. Well, that is what I wish and I know for sure America has. I hope to find an apartment nearby the Triangle Factory on the Lower East Side in Manhattan. Olga and his family live in the Lower East Side of Manhattan as well. I am looking for a job in the Kosher- Food Eatery Business (as Olg told me). There is a bright future ahead, I can just tell.<br />January 25th 1892,<br />The big city of New York has welcomed me with (slightly) outstretched arms! IT has been, so far, a great experience. There has been one or two experiences - only a few- that hasn’t supported the ‘Big City’ factor. The first was after I told, and insisted, to Brother Olga that I would find a home. After hours of continuous begging and pleading for a tailor job, I received one but could not find a home. It was getting really late and had no home. As a result, I walked and traveled the streets until I grew too tired to walk anymore and fell to the gray- cemented, and fell asleep. After a few hours of shuteye, I awoke to the sun’s wink of golden sunlight- the only golden thing here in America. Knowing that the job was a couple blocks away, bound to get lost , I took off into the progressive daylight still making it early enough to start. Before I entered the tall building, , I flashbacked to the humongous buildings and that stood unattractively before me. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, based on the letters Olg sent me from back home. When I saw the owner approaching the building, I asked him in my most fluent voice, of American English, for a place- or small area to live.<br />January 26th 1892<br /> After making a scene out of my plead, he gave in and let me sleep in a VERY small room. As I looked around the room, I realized you could fit ten or less bodies in the room. It had one couch and a small wood-chipped table. It also had this “thing” and usually shaped thing called the “phone”. As I touched it, it made a sound, and I jerked backwards. I was satisfied enough. I liked it less but it was convenient and more satisfying than my life & home in Russia. Within the next couple of days, I bought a little something for myself with the (currently) daily paycheck and bought books, a hat, and tasty Kosher food. Life as a New Yorker was far better than the hell, beating, discrimination, prosecution, and slight poverty in Russia.<br />January 27th 1892,<br />Working at this tailor shop was hard work. It was not fun, which I expected but I found it appalling of the job to be very hard and tiring. I work several hours a day. For the next couple of months, I will be working overtime to pay off for my place. Currently, I am renovating the place. However, I just thank Jesus for keeping me safe and my family safe back in Russia. Some, not all, of my family were poor, and we tried to help them out as much as we could. My experience so far has been 50-50. However, when I rethink my declaration, I think my experience has been 60-40. 60% represents the positive, good things that has happened in my life like receiving pay, a job, an okay home, and doing entertaining things. The 40% covers my encounterance of poverty, that experience of begging, pleading, slight hunger, tired working, and rude co-workers and employer. Life in America, both positive and bad, has caused adjustments. The pay skyscrapers, tall buildings and the machinery. Also, I felt I was excited and thankful that I was in America. However, I didn’t like how people- old people snickered and scowled at us “people” who ate at the kosher eateries. Overall, my experience has been bittersweet- like pumpkin cake.<br />