Sorry

I was just a little girl when I learned to hide my emotions so well that no one could see the storm inside me. I didn’t want anyone to know how much I hurt. I carried my sadness in silence, hoping that if I stayed quiet enough, maybe the weight would disappear. But it never did.

Life taught me how to adapt, to take on responsibilities that weren’t mine to bear. For a while, I carried the weight my mother had always carried. She came to the United States before me, leaving me behind with my brother, who was in the military at the time. He couldn’t take care of me, but I made sure to send him food and whatever I could to help. My mom had to leave me with a promise: ‘You’ll be with me again one day.’ She trusted me and believed I could handle being without her for a while. I was very young, but I carried her words with me, knowing that I would eventually join her. Even though my brother wasn’t always around, I did what I could to keep things together at home. I stepped into her shoes, trying my best to fill them even though I felt like a child pretending to be an adult. I had to be strong, even when I didn’t feel strong.

Throughout my life, I’ve had to say goodbye more times than I can count. I’ve had to let go of people I loved most, even when it broke me. I even had to say goodbye to my father. One by one, it felt like everyone I cared about left me, leaving behind an emptiness I didn’t know how to fill. But one day, it was me who left. It was my turn to say goodbye; to my country, to my home, and to the life I had always known. 

Leaving my country was like leaving a piece of myself behind. The place where I had laughed, cried, and dreamed became part of my past. I didn’t want to go, but I had to. I had to leave behind everything I knew; my friends, my family, the streets that felt like they belonged to me. I didn’t have a choice, and I’ll never forget how heavy my heart felt when I had to say to my grandma: “I love you, I hope one day I’ll see you again”. 

Coming to America was like stepping into a new world. It was strange, unfamiliar, and overwhelming. Nothing felt like home. I didn’t understand the language; the words felt foreign in my mouth, and I couldn’t express myself the way I wanted to. At school, I felt like I didn’t belong. My grades reflected how lost I felt, how out of place I was. Every day was a battle, and I often wondered if I would ever feel okay again.

But even in the hardest moments, I refused to give up. I reminded myself why I was here, why I had left everything behind. I kept going because I knew that staying still wasn’t an option. Slowly, I found my way. 

I’ve had to let go of people I wanted to keep forever, and every goodbye has left its mark on me. It’s painful to love something or someone so deeply, only to watch it slip away. But even after all the goodbyes, I hold on to hope. I hope that one day, I won’t have to say goodbye anymore. I hope for a time when I can finally feel at peace, when I don’t have to fear losing what I love most.

My family and I worked so hard so my grandma and my brother could be here. Two years after I left, I was finally able to hug them again, and in that moment, I felt truly happy. For the first time in a long time, it felt like my home had followed me to this country. Since then, I’ve been able to live in peace. I’m still trying my best, and though it was difficult at first, now I speak the language, and all my family is here. That’s what matters most.

It’s not just about leaving the country we loved, it’s about saying goodbye to the people we care about. For some, it might be different, maybe even easier. But not for me. I am built of memories, of the people who surround me and give meaning to my life. That’s who I am. I can’t imagine living without any of them. And that’s why it hurts me so much to say adiós.

I’ve learned that healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It doesn’t mean pretending the pain never happened. Healing means learning to carry your story with you, letting it shape you but not break you. It means finding joy in the small moments, in the people who stay, in the hope that tomorrow can be better.

My story isn’t about who or what I left behind, it’s about who I’ve become in the process. It’s about surviving, fighting, and refusing to let go of hope. And one day, I hope it will be about finding a place where I don’t have to say goodbye anymore.