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Editor's note: Claudio Correa writes about creating a new life for his family after being deported from the United States in November 2010. he Correas, who lived in American Fork, were deported to Argentina despite efforts to change their immigration status.

After many years of life as an immigrant in the United States, there are "customs" to rediscover walking through this great metropolis in Argentina.

A few days after arriving in Buenos Aires, I had to visit the city center to renew my passport. We were living in the city of Ramos Mejia, a middle-class suburb located about 30 minutes from the financial and commercial center.

The quickest way was to take a train for about 20 minutes and then the subway, leaving you just a few blocks from the office that processes the document.

The train is usually crowded well into the morning, so I decided to go around noon. I arrived at the station, got my ticket and boarded the train, taking care not to leave my backpack neglected, lest someone steal it. I also had on hand the coins needed for other travels and had to save my ticket to show when exiting the train.

Upon arrival, I headed for the exit and realized I could not find my ticket anywhere. People were walking slowly and showing their tickets, so I went to the end of the line to explain my problem to the guard. I explained that unfortunately I had lost my ticket and wanted to know how I could fix it. A little upset, the woman explained to me that all I could do was come back with the same train to the previous station, get my ticket there again and come back again to this station. Doing so would take me almost 20 minutes, but if that was the only solution, then it had to be done.

Again I arrived at the station where I had been previously. When I returned to the line with the ticket in hand, I saw that people wouldn't even show their ticket and some would avoid the line altogether and just hop over the turnstiles, avoiding any authority even the police had there. I must say, I was pleased to have done the right thing, but I felt mocked by a system that does not allow those who want to do things the right way or even punish those who do wrong.

After that, I started thinking about whether this was just because this country is "third world," or if it was a problem that large cities have in general. I really did not find a concrete answer at the time, but soon remembered that in large cities in the United States one can see things that are not so good.

I continued to think about it for a few more days and remembered that the greatest experiences we had in our years in Iowa and Utah were the times we moved into a new house and the neighbors came to meet us and brought cookies. That, for me, is what a first-world country is about. Or when I would shovel the snow off the sidewalk for my neighbor, and they would rise earlier on the next snowfall and return the favor by cleaning our driveway. Or greeting or be greeted by neighbors and being respected by cars when crossing a street. That is a first-world country; that is what makes the difference.

I finally realized that what our countries are in need of is not more technology, because you can get here what you can get almost anywhere. We need more honesty, more solidarity, and ultimately what our countries need to belong to the first world is more education.

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