Adventures of a Forced Migrant Contact Me
San Francisco looks like heaven from the skies.
I’m leaving my home for a new one.
Home has always been a site of violence and repression but also one where I’m loved and cared for the most. I’m going to do my hardest to make sure that this new home will be new start for us.
Here’s to laying some new roots while the benevolent pro-family, pro-immigrant, pro-queer Obama Administration tries to uproot me from my multiple homes.
I hit one today. It went flying out of the ballpark. But I couldn’t have done it without a few good friends and catching a break. It’s a team effort after all.
We walked into this apartment in May after checking out a dozen more.
I fell in love with it instantly. So did she. We wanted to make it our home right then and there. It was slick with a lot of swag and attitude. And it was the next best thing to one of the extravagant lofts we had viewed earlier. It’s in a vibrant and hip community in Washington D.C., and a 15-20 minute bike ride to law school.
After weeks of paperwork, credit and background checks, we can finally call this our new home:
I’m going to be an American and figure out how to pay for it later.
Unapologetic. Unashamed. Unafraid.