I had always associated aliens with Star Trek and thought of them as strange-looking creatures with pointy ears and wriggly eyebrows. I certainly did not think of myself belonging to this particular group, and yet here I was, 5 years old, being classified as one. “I see you have never been to this country before,” the official stated. My parents nodded, anxiously waiting for more questions. Then the immigration officer smiled and said, “Welcome to America.”

This was my introduction to the dichotomy that exists in American culture between the official and political rhetoric and the behavior of individual citizens toward immigrants. I experienced it again and again over the years as we settled in the much-maligned suburbia.

We were welcomed by our neighbors in Dunwoody, an Atlanta suburb, with cake and flowers and offers of help. When my parents couldn’t handle the lawn mower, some of the neighbors came over and taught us how to use it. I remember with fondness our next-door neighbor who became a great friend and shared our ups and downs.

At school, there was great curiosity about where I came from. I was encouraged to bring my country’s flag and talk about my religion and customs, yet I was never made to feel different or apart in any way. The kids soon introduced me to peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches and hot dogs. I learned how to play baseball and became an avid fan of the Atlanta Braves.

I knew very little English when I arrived, but my teachers quickly brought me up to scratch. Within a year, I had joined the Discovery Program for gifted children at the local school. I’ve met many creative and dedicated teachers while I’ve been here. I was taught about DNA, Mendel’s laws, genotype and phenotype by one of them. She used discarded computer packing material to show us how the amino acids and the sugar and phosphate groups fit together. This was in second grade.

Before coming here, I’d worried secretly about the tough American kids that I had heard about. Instead, I made many friends quickly and easily and soon became an old hand at birthday parties and sleep-overs. After four happy years in Georgia, I was sad when we had to move to Connecticut. My best friend took a plane ride to spend time with me during his next school break. In our new hometown, I was welcomed as the kid with the Southern drawl and was soon accepted in my new school as the class authority on all matters of the South. Before I had time to miss my Georgia classmates, I’d made another group of friends.

As a newcomer, one of the first things I noticed about this country was the openness. Not only is the landscape vast and unlimited but the people themselves are open and free. Americans are not afraid to smile at a stranger, open up a conversation on a bus or train. They generally talk and laugh easily. There are no fences around their person or their houses.

The other thing I observed was the optimism. Everybody seemed to think that the future was better than the present. I met people who had undergone major surgery or had lost their jobs, but all of them carried with them the notion that things would improve. In fact, the general attitude seemed to be that of Scarlett O’Hara – tomorrow is another day and it is usually better. Hope does spring eternal in the American breast.

The third aspect that I became aware of was the tremendous opportunity America offered. You need not belong to a certain group, have certain credentials or a certain education to make it here. A small idea, a different twist on things, a minor invention can bring you success. Anyone can aspire to anything. American society encourages personal ambition and fosters dreams.

America has given me great gifts – a good education, great friends, a happy childhood-but the things I value the most are the candor, the youthful optimism and the unlimited opportunity that characterize this nation.

The land of Proposition 187 still opens its arms to people from all over the world. The politicians may cite grim statistics about the influx of immigrants, but the individual American still hesitates to question the right of any person to be here. This country and its people share their resources and wealth with citizens from every other nation. With the increasing clamor for special rights and, to paraphrase George Will, “the race to become the latest victim group,” this generosity often goes unappreciated.

There are many countries around the world that do not allow a foreigner to own a business or property or to travel from city to city without proper documentation. America is still the melting pot that works. It is the only country where the pursuit of happiness is a constitutional right.

All of this may seem terribly cliched, but sometimes the obvious must be restated to be remembered. I see around me increasing signs of segmentation and cynicism in both the immigrant groups and the general population, fanned by the political tone of the ’90s. I hope this division does not grow and this country never loses its innocence and its uniqueness.

My father has a new assignment in Pakistan. As I prepare to leave the United States in a few days, I take with me the memories of happy days and good times. I hope I may return some day and in some small measure give back all that was generously given to me. America still has the power to engage and assimilate its immigrants.

I am an alien, but the funny thing is, in the six years I’ve lived here, I have never felt like one.