11 years. That’s how it long me to get a green card. I was sitting in COMP140 on a Tuesday afternoon when I got a text from my dad saying that our green card application had finally been processed and approved.

I moved to the United States when I was seven. I left everything behind, as did my parents. I arrived in New Orleans, got off the plane, and went to my dad’s friend’s house. We pranced around the living room sofas, as six- and seven-year olds are wont to do. I’d never seen a house that big before. Or a bathroom with tiles that shiny. My dad’s friend said I could choose whether I wanted to drink apple juice OR chocolate milk OR soda. My seven-year-old head was spinning. Is this what’s possible? Is this what it feels like to live in America?

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