About ten years ago, a young couple and their young daughter traveled across Europe, across the Atlantic Ocean, and settled in the city of Rockville. Six months later, two more families joined them in this foreign land. A year passed and more joined this colony. They all came here, to the land of opportunity, to be free and to escape being under the control of the harsh Russian regime. Away from their families and longtime friends, these people confided in each other and formed a special bond. They took care of each others kids, they helped each other find jobs, and they supported each other monetarily and mentally whenever they could.

For as long as I remember, anywhere that I went in my apartment complex, I heard Russian being spoken. It was a community within a community. Everybody was in the same situation and had the same goals. The adults looked for well paying jobs and hoped to buy a nice house in the area. The older people stayed at home, read Russian newspapers and books, and reminisced about the good old times back on the Moldavanka. The children were expected to do well in school, to learn, to be successful, and when married, teach their offspring the Russian language and culture.

I am one of those children. I went to school, took ESOL, learned English, and did moderately well. Like most Russian children, I excel in math and in learning new languages. I translate letters and what the doctors say to my grandparents. I am the reason that they are here. The Russian community in this area is a giant family with the same memories, dreams, and hopes. I am here to pass on the legacy.