My Journey to a Better Life 

“My Journey to a Better Life” is the true story about my life as a young man who left his home in 1968, and headed to work on the sugarcane plantations in Belle Glade, Florida, U.S.A. I started on that journey to fulfill the dreams of a brand new life that would compensate for hardships of childhood. 


Leaving that beautiful tropical island behind also meant seizing an opportunity to emerge from ashes like the phoenix, and fly away to find a new way of life. That new life was many miles away, in a foreign land of the rich and famous - America.


This is the story of my coming of age without the guidance of a father, while escaping physical punishment from my mother. I battled a sometimes vicious world where all that glittered was not silver or gold, and maturing entailed huge risks, strong faith, and high stakes. 


Through it all, I ran, I prayed, I cried, and sometimes, I laughed. On this journey to a better life, I felt despair, envisioned hope, and learned survival. Yet, my regrets are few. “HANDEL - My Journey to a Better Life” is my story.

 

Excerpt from My Journey to a Better Life

“Officer, did you say my signature?”


“Yes sir.”


I asked the immigration officer to repeat his request; I couldn’t believe my ears! I had no idea what the signature on the document looked like. Although I had looked at the ID card several times, there was no way that I had the ability to do an accurate replica of the signature.


My guts churned, threatening to dispel its contents. My mouth produced a sour taste as the officer handed me a pen. My hand was visibly nervous. I had no recollection of what the signature on the travel document looked like, and from my nervous reaction, it was difficult to write even my signature.


The immigration officer stared at my tense face, and then at my trembling hand as I held the pen. He seemed confident that he had discovered an impostor. It would mean that he was competent in carrying out his duties for the Canadian authorities. 


I had no idea if I would be able to replicate the signature on the ID card. As I placed the tip of the pen on the paper, beads of perspiration formed on my forehead. It seemed impossible to make a duplicate of something that I had no conscious memory of. With patience, the immigration officer stood there awaiting my response. 


My hand was shaking from nervousness and fear. If only that officer had known my story, and had understood that I was drowning in desperation, maybe he would have found it in his heart to grant me entrance to a new life in Canada. 


I couldn’t force myself to tell him the truth, because I had known that the repercussions could be ruinous.  As I was about to write the signature, it occurred to me that my fate was literally in my hands! As I held the pen that fateful day, at the Canadian border, my whole life seemed to flash before me.