I guess you could say my home has never had one single location. In fact, it is not limited to one town, city, or country. I was born in Italy, and when I was five years old, my mother decided to move to Managua, Nicaragua. Learning Spanish at a young age, adapting, and learning my Latino cultural heritage was truly a beautiful experience.

Two years passed and my family decided to move to the United States of America in upstate New York. I remember my first day of school, my first friend, assimilating new sports and music into my life, and the first snowfall, like it was yesterday. I had a good childhood, as I remember being outside with my friends on our bikes most of the time. However, coming to America was a new exposure, not like anything I ever had encountered before. Also, the tedious, demanding immigration process forces immigrant families like mine to struggle in order to gain their rights in this country. As a child, I was saddened to see other families being able to do things that my family wasn’t allowed to do, from being able to travel during holidays to visit family, being included in our government, or having access to health care and medical appointments. Nonetheless, I was still very grateful for what I had because I knew that my family in Nicaragua didn’t have the minimum of what we had now.

As the years passed, I was set on a pathway that was drilled into me. I tried to fit the “American standards” because I was ashamed that I was different from most of my classmates due to my accent, the food I brought to school, and the shows I watched and music I listened to. Luckily, I had met friends from Russia, Puerto Rico, and Yemen who were going through similar experiences: fitting in at school, learning the language, and dealing with the positive and negative baggage that comes with migrating to a new country.

During the summer of my 15th birthday, my father asked me to come and stay with him in Italy, as it had been years since I had last seen him, so I flew over and stayed for a year. One crazy thing about life is that we really don’t always have control of where it goes, but we constantly change to adapt to our present. Italy was the landmark of my life that I will never regret. I moved in with my dad in northern Italy, Piedmont. Not only did I get to reunite with my Italian family, work at my dad’s restaurant as a waitress, build my mother tongue, and enjoy what Italy has to offer in its cuisine, music, and arts, but I also formed a strong connection with my father whom I had missed dearly. Reconnecting with my dad was like finding a missing puzzle piece for my soul. By learning things about him, I learned things about myself, too.

A year flew by, and I had to return to New York. Returning to America was different than coming for the first time. Though I was already familiar with my city, school, friends, and my old life, I came back with a different set of eyes. I had found my passion in philosophy, architecture, and a deeper connection to music. I had always thought my answer would be found in America, but it is brutal to limit yourself like this. I am eager to travel the world, learn cultures and history through the language and people of the country, exchange stories with strangers, play my instruments in the streets of Paris, study architecture abroad, and more! I have grown up in America, and it has watched me grow up. From the first time I came here to now, I have matured. I grew and changed thanks to my family and environment. I call this my metamorphosis.

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