Born at just seven months, I was scrawny and my arms resembled fragile branches that could easily break. People thought I was dying. That brittle baby grew into a gaunt little girl who never spoke and was afraid of everything. I was in that state when my mother left me for America.

I spent much of my childhood in emergency rooms (Even though my mother keeps saying otherwise, I remember every time I got sick and the pain I had to deal with). At school, I was the youngest, shortest, and smallest; I struggled to keep up, and boy did the smart kids let that slide? No, they did not. My mother’s strength and inspiration was the only thing that kept me going because I knew, soon or later I would go and live with her so I worked hard for it. When she made sacrifices and went to a strange country for a better income, it left me feeling very empty, alone, and confused, after all, I was only 7.

 One day, full of thoughts with no outlet to express them, I wrote my feelings down in a poem and hid it in a kitchen drawer. Sometime later, I found my grandma crying and clutching my poem. “You’re seven, it's not your job to worry this much” Grandma was sobbing, moved by my words. That's when I fell in love with writing. I saw how well I could express myself on paper when I couldn't talk about my feelings to anyone. I was a quiet observer throughout my childhood, which gave me the ability to read people. By watching closely, I saw what many missed. Inside I knew I was strong but on the outside, I was still a fragile kid. Everything changed when I moved to America.

When I moved, I was a scared little mouse from a small country. Still, I didn't care, because my mom was here. I thought I'd seen it all until my first year in middle school. The students were a lot bigger than me and mean to the new immigrant kid. That was the first time I saw how cruel people can be. Sadly, Because of my unfamiliarity with English, I was not doing well in school here as well but soon I noticed that. I wasn’t the only one struggling, as I finally saw how much my mother had been going through all these years alone. 

My mom worked late every night. Sometimes, I would catch her crying from exhaustion. I hated myself for every little wrinkle she had, every gray hair, and every teardrop, I hated that I was so young, so I decided I would be someone she could lean on now and when I grew up, my mother would not see struggles in her elder times, this is my goal, I started living for my family so that in the future I can replay them for rasing me into a such a good person, I will repay them and let them rest, have everything they ever wanted, even though I, sure all they want is health and peace. Realizing at a very young age how everyone was struggling, I decided to become more mature so that I would not be an added problem in their lives, I was just an ear for everyone. That is how I became a family member that everyone brings their troubles to. They say, “She can handle it.” Indeed, because all I want is to take a bit of everyone else’s pain away. 

Three years ago, I grew out of my health problems and reached a healthy weight. I learned English and kept writing, and now I could write in two languages very fluently, I could write till I’d suffocate, mixing languages, because writing is my true passion, something that was my friend. I have told things to the pen and paper that I would never be able to say out loud to anyone. On paper, I'm smarter than everyone around me, very sure of it, even though it's a little petty of me. I wanted to be a well-rounded kid and learned every other skill, got into dance, singing, theater, language learning, working out, and whatnot, I did everything, by myself, of course with the motivation and the gift of being seen by my mother. 

During Covid, a family member was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and I had to return to Georgia. I was the only one who could emotionally handle their outbursts, manic episodes, and hospitalizations. It was on me to be the strong one, because everyone else was scared, even the strongest person I know, my mom, but things happened horrible scary things, now my mom is more fierce dealing with everything than I am, nobody knows, but I grew very scared. 

When that crisis was resolved, I soon found myself facing a choice: return to the USA or stay with my loved ones. Ultimately, I made the same sacrifice my mom did in the hopes of gaining a better future and came back to the US, much to everyone's dislike, they didn't understand my intentions and got very angry with me, “if you loved your country so much, you would figure out a way to survive here as well, instead of leaving” I honestly wish they’d understood what I'm going through, but they do not, so I don't argues black. When I arrived, junior year passed so quickly, that it left me little time for adaptation. So many sleepless nights were spent in the hopes of achieving academic success, but because of the limited time, I felt I couldn’t show my full potential.

I have grown, and I’m proud to say that my family trusts me completely. At home, I’m often the translator. I am the first member of my family to graduate from American high school and attend college. It feels great that where I was once a sensitive, skinny, sad, and scared girl, now I’m taking on everything the world can throw at me. All with a smile on my face! And, I will continue to be determined, strong, independent, helpful, curious and the first to leave a legacy in my family.