I am the daughter of an immigrant. Continue reading “Daughter of an Immigrant”
Two Years Ago
An article I wrote in the midst of my anger.
“No child left behind, that’s the American scheme” raps Macklemore in Ten Thousand Hours, words that to me, resonated as I drove by the high school I graduated from.
Continue reading “No Child Left Behind… But I Was: Building My Own Dream”
Give me 6-12 months in a new town or city, my mind will start to think about the next city to live in. It is a habit, something I cannot help. I noticed it the last move, between Oregon and Indiana. I absolutely adored the suburb I lived in outside of Portland, the friends I had made and the high school I went to (my teachers made going to school worthwhile). Then when we arrived to Indiana, I cried for months. Why had I agreed to move when I loved home so much?
“Where are you from?”
The hardest question for me to answer. I cringe when I hear those words, I start stuttering over noises that seem to be coming out of my mouth and I start running through all the of places that I have lived the past 19 years of my life (13 to be exact). Ever since I have moved to Paris, I seem to be hearing that phrase more often. Continue reading “I Am a Melting Pot”
I never know how to say goodbye. Either at times I choke up and cry or I try to sustain what I am feeling until I am out of sight. For a girl who has moved 13 times in her life, you would think that goodbyes would be easy. Continue reading “Au Revoir”