My name is Collette. I lived in Ireland when the famine began. Food was scarce, and I needed a better life with more oppurtunities.
I decided to immigrate to America to get a job. My old home was quite rural, so I was unprepared for the urban setting of my new life.
I arrived in a big city. Ireland hadn't reached this level of industrialization yet, and it was quite strange to be thrown into. There were a lot of immigrants like me looking for work. The city's population was largely foreign, and immigrants made up most of the workforce.
I found work at a textile factory. I wasn't paid much, but I still needed a place to live. I found an apartment in a large building, which I shared with five other immigrants. This level of urbanization wasn't yet present in Ireland.
I was in charge of shoveling coal into the furnace to make steam for the engines. It was crowded, hot, and uncomfortable in the factory.
I didn't like my new home much. Americans seemed to hate me because I was Irish. My wages were poor, I worked long hours, I ached all over daily, and my living space was tiny. But it was better than starving to death, so I suppose it wasn't that bad.