My wonderful journey

Well here I am. A lot of people have asked me what it was like coming here and becoming the famous Justin Bieber. And I am here to tell you it wasn't easy. At the age of 9, my parents decided to try and go to America in order to provide me a better life. Canadian life was very difficult and getting to the United States would be even worse. The first day we decided to actually start heading to the border, a huge snow storm decided to roll in and slowed down our travels. We ended up only getting about a quarter of the distance we wanted to travel that day. There was an old hotel complex where we ended up spending the night. I remember the nasty room with stained sheets, a disgusting toilet, and a terrible smell that stuck of death. The next day my dad almost fought the apartment owner because we didn't have enough to pay the room, (he pretended we didn't so we could still have money for the journey). The owner let us go and we were again on our way. A few days past and we finally made it to the border. It was packed. I can still feel how hard my mom was squeezing my hand trying to make sure that I didn't get lost. I also remember how claustrophobic I kept getting being by so many people and I kept telling my mother it was getting hard to breath and all she would tell me is, “Don’t worry Justin, I love you so much please we are almost to a better life." And the sad part was I believed her. We weren't doing anything illegal, we had our papers and just wanted to pass. The security guards were giving us some trouble trying to say I didn't look like my parents. He kept asking me to shake my head once if I was being kidnapped. But anyways, we finally got past and were able to grab a ride from some very nice people, I forget their names today. I entered the United States from the North West above Washington. The goal was for my family and me to reach California. I enrolled in Sunnyside Elementary; I was one of the most awkward looking fifth graders around. My peers, teachers, and parents saw I didn't fit in. So, my dad decided to take me to get the most American hair cut ever, a bowl cut. From then on that was the only haircut I paid for. I still got bullied from time to time for being Canadian with my awkward accent and odd looks. My dad obtained a job at a shoe factory and my mom helped clean hotel rooms. I would come back from school around three and wouldn't see my parents till about maybe eight thirty. That was our life for awhile; I always felt out of place and always wanted my parents by my side. After about three weeks in America, on January 24, my dad didn't come home from work. My mom and I were very scared, and then around ten we received a call from the local hospital informing us that my dad was there. We rushed over and as soon as we entered, policemen were there at the door. They told us they found my father beaten up on the side of the road. They asked us if we had any enemies or people we recently had conflicts with but we were very nice people and usually kept to ourselves. But when we told them we were Canadian they looked at each other and told us Canadians weren't the most welcomed people here. So they figured that my dad was beaten on the side of the street for being an immigrant. Now my family and I lived in fear of being beaten or killed for not being of this country. This continued until maybe late May when my mom came home one day with a suitcase. She told us she found it in a room she was cleaning and no one claimed it so she took it. When we opened it, three white packets were sitting there as well as $20,000 dollars. We didn't know what to do. We were shocked, happy, and scared all at the same time. We ditched the white packets, (later I found out it was five pounds of cocaine), took the money, and left for Oregon. We were able to get a cheap car from this man named Jason who seemed eager to get rid of the car. I could see why, it barely turned on and was very dirty. We drove for about three hours south till we made it into Oregon. Again we settled down and waited till we were ready to move. My parents decided to enroll me in a private school with the hopes that I could obtain a quicker education. I wasn't a dumb kid I just was still learning the basics in America. Both my parents ended up working at the airport in the North West part of Oregon and had to take the bus because the car was on the brink of exploding literally. I woke up every morning and put my little uniform on then waited for the bus. I met a girl named Susie who seemed to have an interest in me. Come to think of it, in Oregon they were actually a lot nicer to me then Washington people were. They studied me like an exotic animal; I guess they didn't get too many Canadians here. I was able to get to my last day of school graduating into the sixth grade. During the summer I got a job helping deliver papers. It wasn't hard work but it was in fact boring. I did that for about three months and then it was time to move again. My parents and I were paid weekly and actually made some decent money, I always wondered why we ever left but apparently California was still the goal. The car was repaired a little and we left mid August. After six hours on the road we were in the city of California, Los Angeles. It was a very big city with plenty of people. My mom worked in a dinner as a waitress and my dad in the same place but as a cook. With the money we had, we rented an apartment in the east side and I also went to school about 4 blocks down. This school seemed like a prison for eleven year olds. Oh that's right my birthday was coming up, August twenty eighth. On my birthday I remember only getting a cupcake my dad stole from the dinner he worked at. My candle was a match stuck into the cupcake and my presents were hugs and kisses from my parents. But that was all I ever wanted or needed. A couple of months past by and I found myself in the Thanksgiving parade for my school. I played Christopher Columbus and had to actually sing in front of people. That night I remember looking out to the crowd seeing my parent’s wave and blow kisses at me wishing me good luck. About mid way in the play, my part came up and I began to sing. I always enjoyed singing but never did it in public. After I finished, the crowd roared with applause and I remember having the stupidest look on my face because of how accepted I felt. When the show was done I was with my parents hearing them tell me how proud they were of me and how great I did. That's when a kid named Jason and his dad approached us."That is a mighty fine voice you have there," he said “Carl Johnson" then he shook my dad’s hand. He sat with us and talked to my parents about what kind of gift I possessed. I actually didn't hear any of this conversation because I was too busy playing shoot the monster with Jason. (My parents tell me the conversation later on). The three adults shook hands and my parents approached me with the biggest smiles on their faces. They bought me a big cake and a huge dog teddy bear. But I didn't understand what all this praise was coming from, till they finally told me that Jason's dad was a record producer and wanted me to sing in his studio. We left for Hollywood where we were supplied a very nice apartment with cable television a beautiful view and my very own room. A few days I was in the studio of Mr. Johnson, singing to my heart’s content and my lungs limit. That's how I ended up here, my first year in America, I was one of the luckiest people in the world. I started out as an immigrant from Canada and ended up as a semi-successful pop artist. But I was one of the lucky ones, without Mr. Johnson being at the school play I don't know where I would be today.