Today I went to the Migration Justice: Beyond Rhetoric conference. This conference talked about people who had migrated to the United States for a better life and how they adapted when they came. One of the people from the panel is from Honduras and had to cross the dessert in order to come to the States. He came from a very poor family in Honduras and their hope for a better life relied on coming to the U.S. This story was the one that touched me the most. His mother lived through the El Salvador’s revolution and had a very different childhood than normal. It got to me the most because I could kind of relate his story to my parent’s story. He said that he came at the age of 13 not knowing any english and it reminded me of when my parents’ story when they had to come to the U.S seeking exile from the Nicaraguan Civil War. My mom came at 16 not knowing english and my dad came when he was 20ish, not knowing any english either. He also talked about the hardships of going through the dessert, and even though my parents had the comfort of flying to the states, my mother’s nanny didn’t. Luckily she made it to the U.S safe, but her sister did not. His story brought back many flashbacks of experiences that my parents always tell me about.

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