Sorry

You never know how good you have it until you hear
your mom talking about seeing people die in front of her eyes.

Often my mom would try to come to the United States from El Salvador,
and on her 5^th attempt she made it,
but little did she know that she was carrying me.

Sometimes, I would think about my dad, the guy I never met,
a guy I don’t know anything about,
not a name, color of hair, eyes, nothing.
I would always think about stuff like
how my life would probably be different
or maybe even be here right now writing this.

Everyday, I would think about getting home
and not finding my mom there.
I would think about how lucky I am to be a citizen,
to not be scared about getting deported
and to actually have a chance to have a good future.

Luck. That’s what I call it.
I’m lucky that I didn’t have to do what my older siblings had to.
I never had to wake up early in the morning to plant crops, wash clothes,
then go home and cook for the family.

I don’t really know what else to write for my story,
because I don’t think that I have lived long enough to do so.
I don’t really think I have a story or
that my story is even interesting.

Never give up. That’s what my grandma told me
when I came back to the United States from El Salvador,
after I went to visit her with my uncle.
Most of my family pressures me to always have good grades,
never get in trouble, and to be the first from the family
to go to college and be successful.
If I ever do anything bad, I feel like I’m doing my family bad.

Never let anyone put you down. Always have hope,
no matter how hard the obstacles in life can be.
Life is always going to be hard, but it’s for a reason,
it’s to make you into the person you are now,
to make you into a better person.