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When I walk through a place like Ellis Island, I feel more connected to it. I’m not just looking at pictures or reading about it; I’m actually there, experiencing everything firsthand. This makes the history come alive for me. Online tours are not the same as walking through the halls at Ellis Island and reflecting on all those people that came before you. To walk on Ellis Island is to walk a couple hundred feet in what immigrants back then experienced, it is much more immersive. Walking also allows me to notice things I might miss otherwise. I can hear the sounds around me, feel the breeze, and see the details of the buildings. I can feel the seasickness and nausea I'd felt and think about how people had managed it for weeks and months when I could hardly stand the rocking of the boat for thirty minutes. It made me reflect on the hardships people had faced to be where I am now, without a second thought as to how lucky I am. These sensory experiences help me understand how places affect our feelings and thoughts. As I walk, I have the space to think about identity and privilege. There's a sense of belonging because I know that while my family's immigration to the U.S. had not been nearly as grueling, it was similar. My parents gave up many of the same things these people written into this walls did: family, comfort, happiness. Additionally, I felt grateful to be walking in my feet. A hundred years ago, I might have been one of the little girls, holding fast to her parents house, praying to be approved into the country. While at the museum, I found out that there were in fact Bengalis who came to Ellis Island in the later part of the 19th century and many of these narratives were erased. To think that my people had landed on Ellis Island so far back and made up the Bengali Harlem, is both invigorating and powerful. To know that they are so rarely discussed is disheartening, and it is yet another example of the erasure of identity and privilege. I also recognize that I have the privilege of both knowledge and physical access. I had the money to be able to enter Ellis Island through ferry, and once I did, I had the power of knowledge and the awareness of the rich history behind Ellis Island. Understanding the challenges and hopes immigrants had once faced made the walk that much more relatable and meaningful.

To end things off, walking with family members or friends who share similar backgrounds can create a sense of community. It creates discussions about struggles and how we've overcome such struggles. Additionally, engaging with so many different people from all these backgrounds can help open you up to more perspectives and takes on people's identities and privileges they may or may not have compared to you.

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I know that Ellis Island was the primary immigration station in the U.S. from 1892 to 1954, where over 12 million immigrants passed through. I learned this information from various sources, including history books, documentaries, and articles as well as the museum that is on Ellis Island. However, I might not know the personal stories of individual immigrants or the emotional experiences tied to their arrival. To learn more, I could explore more oral histories or read first-person narratives from the pictures I took on my phone. I could also look into interviews given by descendants of people who came to Ellis Island.

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Ellis Island isn’t very easily accessible, while admission is free, the ferry is not. The ferry starts at about $25 per person and goes up to $88 depending on whether of not you want a more in depth tour. Some people may also not have enough time to travel there. The ferry takes about 30 minutes from NYC to Ellis Island. It stops in the middle at the Statue of Liberty to let people off and others on. It’s a lengthy and busy process and not everyone might have the patience for it, especially not people with children. Other people might not know about importance of Ellis Island or might face language barriers which may prevent them from being able to understand the rich history behind the site and immerse themselves in the experience. The stories of immigrants who were excluded or turned away back then still resonate today. These stories highlight ongoing issues of privilege and identity that we still see today. It’s a reminder that just like how back then, certain people were denied access to the U.S. through Ellis Island, certain communities still cannot go go see it due to socioeconomic factors.

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Ellis Island is special because it was once a major entry point for millions of immigrants coming to the United States. It's an incredibly substantial part of history. Unlike other tourist spots, it represents hope and the stories of people starting new lives. When you first get on the ferry from the city, it's crowded and everyone is buzzing with excitement, whether you're an NYC local or a tourist. As the ferry begins to move, you catch a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty where the ferry stops to let people off. People stare with wonderment at the Statue of Liberty and click away with their cameras. The old buildings of the New York skyline add to the powerful sentiment attached to the landmark. Next, the ferry continues to Ellis Island and lets people off. On Ellis Island, there’s this sense of awe at how historical it all feels. You think of the millions of people that have passed through every single hall, you take pictures of every exhibition because it brings you closer to what the immigrants once felt.

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As I walk around the grounds of Ellis Island, I notice the light breeze, the sound of the horn from the ferry, people getting on and off. I can see the beautiful city skyline. I can hear the shouts of tour guides sharing stories. Inside, it is a lot more quiet. Murmurs fill the air as people discuss what it is they're looking at. The voice from the audio guides waft through the air. As I walk from exhibition to exhibition, I'm filled with sadness and curiosity. From exhibitions showing what people packed in their suitcases, to others showcasing the unfair labeling of immigrants with chalk (with X and P to indicate health issues), to the individual accounts of the people that once passed through, it was nothing short of heartbreaking. All of this in search of a better life, for better opportunities, for their children. To begin a generation that would last lifetimes. I felt reflective as I connected to the past through excerpts and vocal narrations. While I’m here absorbing this history, I think about how many people are unable to experience this place firsthand. Not everyone has the means to travel here, and some may not even know about Ellis Island’s significance. The contrast between my ability to learn and explore versus the barriers others face only seeks to further the ongoing issues of access and privilege today.

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As I enter Ellis Island, I'm struck by the grand architecture of the old buildings. The main hall is gaping, it is large with arched windows and chandeliers. I take in all the signage and grab an audio guide. Looking around, I see a diverse crowd. There are families with young children, groups of tourists, and even some school groups on field trips. Some are taking pictures, while others are reading the informational displays. Everyone seems to have a different motivation for visiting—some might be exploring their own heritage, while others are just curious tourists, and some others are simply curious about this important part of American history. The mix of backgrounds serve as a reminder of how far we've progressed over the last century.

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Observations: The ground feels steady, no more of the unsteady rocking of the boat. I no longer feel as nauseous or seasick. My head no longer hurts and I am no longer dizzy. A rush of fresh air brushes my face and tickles my nose. The wind that I felt whipping through my fingers on the top floor of the ferry has also ceased to exist. People also get off with me and it is no longer as loud, light chatters filling the air as people file in to see what's left of Ellis Island. The historical significance of this moment is so insanely profound. Many immigrants stood where I stood a century ago, filled with uncertainty. Our emotions parallel each other. While I only feel a sense of curiosity and a rush of excitement, they must've felt exhaustion, uncertainty, and a tinge of hope. This awareness makes me light-headed, to have so much privilege that I can stand on a place that was built on exclusion and be welcomed so warmly, whereas a century ago I might have been shunned or sent away.