Category Archives: Immigration Experience

Being Split

Being Split
By Preston Young, age 10, New York.

Illustration by Preston Young, 10, New York.

Being split,
Korean and Taiwanese,
I can’t process two different cultures,
It’s hard for me.

On Korean New Year,
I bow to elders and eat Duk Bok Ki (rice cakes).
On Chinese New Year,
I get red envelopes and eat dim sum with herbal tea.
I call my Korean grandparents Halmoni and Haraboji;
Ah ma, I call to my grandma who is Taiwanese.

The Taiwanese flag has red, white and blue.
The South Korean flag has those colors too.
The American flag has them too, oooh!

Being split,
Korean and Taiwanese,
Sometimes people don’t understand me.
When my friends talk about their one culture,
I want one of my other cultures to be unseen.

I try to tell my friends over and over;
I scream and I shout and whisper over their shoulder.
They never understand when I say,
I am both Korean and Taiwanese!
They look confused and annoyed like fleas.

Sometimes I wonder if being Korean and Taiwanese is right for me.
I sit there and think until I can finally see,
I am special with being multicultural,
Being Korean, Taiwanese, and American,
Can all fit in my soul.

Being split,
Korean, Taiwanese, and American is hard.
But the three cultures,
Are forever in my heart!

By Preston Young, age 10, New York. Preston adds: “My mom is Korean and my dad is Taiwanese. I was born in the USA. I speak English but I am learning how to write, read and speak Korean because my friends at school can speak fluently, and I want to be able to communicate with them. My dream is to become an author and entertain kids. I was inspired to write this poem because when I am in school people always assume that I am full Korean or full Taiwanese. Sometimes people think I’m Chinese but I always correct them. I wanted to express how I feel and what that makes me feel like. I made a collage out of construction paper and some magazine clippings with markers to show my feelings about being split in three different cultures.”

The Presidency

There have been 45 presidents of the United States. The current one, number 46, has a similarity to all but one of his predecessors. They are all White, and all 46 are male. Asian Americans have been in the country since the 1800s, and have come nowhere close to the presidency. Could someone of Eastern Asian ethnicity ever become president of the United States?

Loyalty is an act of faith in which you do not betray or desert your cause no matter the circumstances. I believe most of the issues faced by Asian Americans are to do with loyalty. When using a search engine to research, the question, “Are Asian Americans loyal to the United States?” it distributes a plethora of discussion posts, disagreements, newspaper articles and more. For example, in a survey conducted by the Asian American Foundation of over 4,000 U.S. citizens, 32 percent agreed with: Asian Americans are more loyal to their perceived country of origin than to the U.S. I find this response disgusting and shocking. These questions and polls are not done on Irish Americans, Italian Americans, Norwegian Americans or African Americans; who whilst facing an uphill struggle in many areas, they would not be questioned if they are serving another country. Where does the questioning of loyalty of this specific ethnic group come from?

As an Asian American, I have not felt any urging for ongoing loyalty toward any country other than the U.S. In fact, Asian Americans have contributed to the United States as much as others. So what causes this unique form of discrimination? I believe one of these reasons is fear. For decades, the U.S. has been the world’s global superpower, with no country since the fall of the Soviet Union coming close. Over the course of recent years though, China has grown and empowered their economy, as well as modernized their military to the extent where there is a possibility of them overtaking the U.S. in a decade. Politicians, media pundits, and some American people are fearful of losing their global hegemony. I believe this fear has spilled into affecting Asian Americans citizens. The buildup of tension between China and the U.S has led to a buildup of tension against Chinese and other Eastern Asian ethnicity.

The coronavirus began November of 2019, and has only escalated this recurring issue. When the matter is brought up to classmates, all point directly to China as the one to blame. About 1.4 billion people populate the country of China, fingers pointed to every single one. During the coronavirus pandemic, the quantity of Asian American hate crimes increased rapidly. People of various Eastern Asian ethnicities were affected by this as well. The differences between Asian and American cultures itself is a leading cause, as we human beings tend to point fingers at those most different to us. For example, there is a mass of cuisine differences between Asians and Americans. Asian cuisine is based mostly on older type traditional recipes, including foods considered exotic to others. American cuisine is based highly on dishes from other ethnicities, although are home to modern dishes.

In addition to these previous points, whilst all nations have fostered racism, The United States has had government policies introduced specifically pushing these racist policies. When schools were divided into white and black, Asian Americans found themselves questioning where they belong. Asian Americans were not mentioned in the laws themselves, as if they were forgotten and the law makers didn’t know they existed. This sense of idea of being an “other” or not being a part of the nation itself I believe still carries on to modern society.

In conclusion, I do not believe an Asian American could ever become president. As much as we as the Asian American community continue to integrate ourselves with the nation, humans will always find a way to exclude parts of our people and treat them as outsiders. Asian Americans are constantly challenged on our trustworthiness, loyalty, and dedication to this country. Attempts to prove ourselves feel disregarded by the same continuous subgroup of people. I truly hope to be proven wrong in my lifetime.

Author’s Note:

In the past few weeks, the political climate has changed. Vice President Kamala Harris has become the Democratic Party’s nominee for the President of the country. She is half African American, and half Indian. Despite this sudden change, I still stand by my previous assertion. My piece is focused on Eastern Asian ethnicities, and their uniquely questioned loyalty to the nation. Kamala’s nomination is what I believe to be a step forward in our nation, due to her being female as well as a woman of color. However, due to the still-rising tensions with China, as well as the Coronavirus-19 pandemic, I still believe an East Asian American could not currently be elected the president.

—Abigail Lee, Age 12, Grade 7, Illinois. She writes: “I have a passion for writing. I enjoy reading realistic drama stories. I am socially conscious about Asian American discrimination in our country, in particular since the Coronavirus Pandemic. I am an Asian American, born as well as raised in Illinois. My essay focuses on my belief that an East Asian American could never become president due to racial discrimination.”

Embracing the Unknown

By Maggie D., Washington.

Her smile was as great
Big and beautiful as
A sunrise above the
Grand Canyon
Gripping the
Stars and Stripes
The Pledge of Allegiance
Was softly spoken
Without a hint of hesitation
Her human spirit
Held onto a future
Hope
Of making her free
From the tyranny
She once experienced
With a salute to her
Deepest desires of what
She was about to
Become

—Maggie D., retired educator and African American poet, Washington.

Name the Past for Our Future

Name the Past for Our Future:

On the Armenian Genocide

By Laurel Aronian, age 17, Connecticut.

In 1915, the Armenian Genocide commenced—the systematic mass murder of 1.5 million Armenians by the Ottoman government. I wrote this poem as a representation of the ongoing effects of the genocide on Armenians; even survivors found their lives uprooted as they were forced to move to other countries and begin from nothing. This poem not only serves to comment on my ancestors’ abrupt relocation from their homeland but also as a reflection on how my opportunity to visit Armenia in 2019 allowed me to return to the place my ancestors unwillingly left behind—metaphorically restoring them to their native land and simultaneously instilling in me an appreciation for a culture and history that I will carry forward.

“The Land Ahead”

Soot swirls around our footsteps,
the dust from our lives before.
Before, when we lived in the stony
cliffs of the Caucasus.

With my family who sent me
on my own.
To start a new life.
A life away from those who had taken
it from us.

The land that my family had lived
on for hundreds of years was seized.
Bitlis, Diyarbekir, Erzurum, where I had
played in the long grass of the mountains with my brothers.

Luck is what saved me from the massacres.
I do not know
what happened to my brothers,
who I had left
behind me.

The rocky road ahead is also littered
with dust.
It obscures my vision on all sides.
I do not know what is ahead of me
or what I have left behind.

The smell of gasoline is strong
as I board the plane.
I have left my home for the flight,
but will return in a jet
moving as swift as an Eagle.

The sign above is in letters
I can’t read
Թռիչք դեպի Հայաստան տերմինալ 4A
Only one word is clear to me,
Հայաստան, Hayastan, where my
second great-grandfather is from
and where I
am going.

Back in his day,
there were no planes,
when he traveled to the US
Alone.

Did he know that his
great, great-granddaughter would be going to his homeland?
His homeland where he had to leave
his home.

He left his country in the hope
that one day
the part of him in me
could return.

By Laurel Aronian, age 17, Connecticut. She adds: “I love to write in all genres (poetry, prose, journalism). I also enjoy taking photos and creating art. I have a passion for music and perform as a singer-songwriter and accompany on guitar. When I’m not writing or making music, I play competitive chess. My pieces also reflect the awe of nature, earth stewardship, and our planet’s majesty and magic.”

PS: Laurel entered the poem for our 2023 Youth Honor Awards last year at the age of 16.

United States v. Wong Kim Ark

By Fanny Wong, New York

In October 1895, Wong Kim Ark was lucky he didn’t get sick and die on his ten-week journey on the steamship Coptic from China to San Francisco. The third-class hold was crowded and poorly ventilated. He was eager to return to his small apartment on Sacramento Street in the city he loved. He missed everything about his city—San Francisco, even its fog.

At age 22, Wong had already visited China several times. So when he arrived at the dock, he was shocked to find out that he would not be allowed to land. How could the Collector of Customs, Mr. John Wise, not allow him to land? True, this man was known to be against Chinese immigration. But Wong’s identification paper was in good order. He even had three white residents vouch he was born in the city and was a good resident.

Wise had detained Wong on the grounds that he was not an U.S. citizen. And, Wong became a prisoner on the ship.

Wong Kim Ark, courtesy of the National Archives

Wong was born in San Francisco in 1873 to parents of Chinese descent. Around 1881, the parents had returned to China after a 20-year stay in San Francisco. However, Wong had chosen to stay in the United States, and now he found himself in a dire situation after another trip to China.

Fortunately, an aid association, The Chinese Consolidated Benevolent Association, was ready to help him. Its lawyers argued that his rights as a citizen were being violated. The Fourteenth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution, ratified in 1868, stated, “All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and the State wherein they reside…”

The U.S. Solicitor General, Mr. Holmes Conrad, disagreed and appealed the case all the way to the Supreme Court. He argued that Wong’s parents were subjects of the emperor of China and by extension Wong was also the subject of the emperor.

When the case was argued in 1897, the Supreme Court justices were, Stephen Field, John Harland, Horace Gray, Melville Fuller, David Brewer, Henry Brown and Rufus Peckham. The justices debated whether American citizenship should be based on the principle of “right of blood” (jus sanguinis) or “right of the soil” (jus soli). The Supreme Court did not agree with the Solicitor General and ruled in favor of Wong. Justice Horace Gray wrote the opinion on behalf of a 6-2 majority. The court established the concept of jus soli—the citizenship of children born in the United States to non-citizens.

The cloud over his citizenship had disappeared forever!

Wong’s landmark case set a very important precedent. It remains today the definitive interpretation of the 14th Amendment’s birthright provision. It affects all the children born to legal and illegal immigrant parents. It is reasonable to say that Wong never expected his case to have such long lasting and important consequence. Immigrants may not know his name, but they certainly know the rights of their children born in the United States.

—By Fanny Wong, Chinese American author and long-time contributor to Skipping Stones, New York.

Notes
1868: The 14th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution ratified.
1882: The Chinese Exclusion Act signed by President Arthur. It restricted entry and immigration of Chinese labor, both skilled and unskilled, into the United States.

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I Have Two Names

By Joy (Peixin) Yin, grade 7, Mexico.

I have two names; a Chinese name and an American one. My Chinese name is Peixin (沛心) . It means “pure heart.” My American name is Joy. My parents named me that because they want me to be happy.

My Chinese name is the one that is official. It’s written all over my legal documents. On first days of school, when the teacher calls roll, I’m always last, because my last name is Yin (尹). But I always need to correct them, “I go by Joy, though.” Sometimes, the teacher forgets and keeps calling me Peixin. And sometimes, I hear laughs and giggles from my classmates. I feel guilty to say, that sometimes, I feel a bit ashamed for having a Chinese name. So, when someone asks me, “What’s your name?” I always tell them to call me Joy. When the substitute pauses while taking attendance, it’s always me. When I write my name on my computer or phone, it always gets autocorrected. It’s almost as if the universe hates my name.

My American name is what they call me. When my family moved to the U.S., my parents gave me my American name so it would be easier for people to remember me, and for it to not be awkward and embarrassing for me every time someone pronounced my Chinese name wrong. My American friends all know me as Joy. I feel connected to the name; I feel like it’s me. Yet, I always get reminded of my real name.

But after three years of living in my hometown in China again, my feelings towards my name have changed. In China, my classmates and teachers all called me Peixin (pronouncing it perfectly!), and I was normal for once. In school, I was able to improve my Mandarin as well (a hard process, but worth it!). During that time, I also felt more connected to my culture, and learned more about it, although I sort of missed my American name and identity.

By now, I’ve accepted the fact that both of my names are part of my identity. Different parts of it. And I’ve embraced my Chinese name more. Especially after I saw many Asians at my new international school use only their Asian names.

My two names are two parts of my identity—living together in harmony, forever and always.

—Joy (Peixin) Yin, grade 7, Mexico. She adds: “Born in Wuhan, China, I have also lived in California for five years. I speak and write Mandarin Chinese and English but I am also trying my best to learn Mexican Spanish. I have never been a sports person. Instead, I’ve always loved reading and writing. I’m currently 13 years old, and attending an international school in Mexico City.”

Polly Bemis: A Pioneer Chinese Woman in the Northwest

Polly Bemis

Pioneer Chinese Woman in the Northwest

By Fanny Wong, New York

In 1872, on a pier in Portland, Oregon, an eighteen-year-old Chinese girl waited. She had been smuggled to America, far away from her village in China.

My father was so poor he sold me for two bags of seeds for the next planting!

The girl closed her eyes and saw the image of bamboo that grew near her old home.

I am like a bamboo. A bamboo bends in the wind. I will bend but not break.

“Gong Heng!” A Chinese man called out.

The girl’s eyes flew open.

“I’m taking you to your master in Warren, Idaho,” said the man.

For nine days, the man led the pack train of mules on mountainous trails to the mining town. For nine days, Gong Heng gazed in wonder at the majestic Northwest wilderness. It helped soothe her worries.

What’s going to happen to me?

In Warren, the mules plodded down a rutted street to a saloon. A stranger hoisted the girl from the mule and announced to the people around, “This is Polly.”

Gong Heng wondered who they were talking about. Soon, she realized that Polly was her new name in this strange new land.

I was born in the year of the ox. I am stubborn and hard working. I will survive and I will go home.

Polly’s owner was an old Chinese man.He put her to work in the saloon. Men came to gawk at the one Chinese girl in town, and stayed to drink and play cards. She served drinks, cleaned tables, and swept floors. Her presence made her master’s saloon different from the others in town, including the one next door, owned by kind Charlie Bemis.

Sometimes Charlie heard trouble brewing in her master’s saloon. He would march over to break up a fight and stay to talk to the cheerful young girl who worked so hard and always had a smile on her face.

Soon Polly, a fast learner, could understand and speak some English.

One night, Polly swept the saloon after the last customer had left. Something on the floor caught her eye. It glittered. It gleamed. It was a gold nugget. She slipped it into her pocket.

A miner must have dropped it when he paid for his drinks with gold dust or a nugget.I may find some more.

On rare nights, she did spy gold dust, flakes and even nuggets. Even though she knew it would take years to scrounge enough gold to buy her freedom, there was hope on the saloon floor.

Month after month passed. Polly was always doing something to save money to buy her freedom. Charlie taught her how to work with gold. Polly made trinkets out of nuggets and sold them. She learned to make bread, stew, sauerkraut, fruit preserves, and other foods the miners liked.

“I learn right along,” she said to Charlie, pointing to her head.

Then everything changed. Polly’s master died. The girl who had been sold for two bags of seeds was now a free woman.

What’s going to happen to me?

Polly had a big decision to make.

Should I buy passage back to China with my money? A Chinese friend wrote letters for me but I haven’t received any answer from my parents. Have they forgotten me? Where do I belong?

Even though there was a lot of discrimination against Chinese people in America, life in China for a young woman from a poor family was even worse. Polly made up her mind to stay. But what would she do? Where would she live?

At that time, a Chinese person could not buy property. Charlie could, with Polly’s money. He bought a boarding house for her. Before long, Polly’s boarding house was a popular place for people who passed through or miners who stayed longer. She was a good listener to their tales of woe and troubles.

Soon, Polly had woes of her own. Mining towns were violent places. Charlie got shot in the cheek.

“Will he make it?” Polly’s voice shook.

“I’m sorry, Polly. I’ve done all I could,” the doctor said. “Just make him comfortable till the end.”

It was then that Polly realized Charlie meant more to her than just a friend.

“Charlie won’t die. You see, I take care of him.”

Week after week, Polly nursed Charlie back to health. She packed herbs over the wound. She made nutritious soups to help him get strong. With Charlie’s recovery, Polly gained respect from the community for her loyalty and nursing skill.

Everyone in Warren knew Polly. Women were few and they were generally not respected. But this Chinese woman was trustworthy, kind and cheerful.

Charlie and Polly were married after his recovery. Soon after, Charlie took her by boat eighteen miles up the Salmon River. The land Charlie wanted to buy at the bottom of the canyon was flat enough to make a homestead.

“Well, what do you think?” Charlie asked.

“I love this wild place,” Polly said. “Need hard work.”

With her blessing, Polly and Charlie became the first to settle by the Salmon River. They kept chickens, a dog, a cow, and a few horses. Using farming skills learned from her childhood in China, she nurtured the soil and coaxed cabbage, beans, corn, and fruit trees to grow strong and bountiful.

Polly hauled water from the river. She fed the animals. She chopped wood. Although life was not easy on this rugged patch of land, she was content. The babble of the river and the wildlife around her soothed her.

Charlie and Polly lived an isolated life until Peter Klinkhammer and Charlie Shepp settled across the river. The new neighbors became best friends. They took Polly’s produce as well as their own to Warren to sell and buy necessities, such as coffee, soap, thread and fishing gear.

She made friends with prospectors who passed her homestead. “I feed you a good meal.”

This five-foot tall Chinese pioneer, brown and wrinkled from the sun and age, became a folk legend. Journalists and visitors traveled to see this feisty woman who told them her improbable life story.

One day, in the summer of her 28th year on their homestead, Polly was fishing on the banks of the river.

Fire! She saw smoke licking out the upstairs window of the room where Charlie was bedridden. Her heart raced as fast as her feet to save Charlie.

“Hurry, Peter!” she shouted to her neighbor as he crossed the river on a boat. Peter and Polly carried Charlie down the stairs through the smoke.

After the fire, Charlie and Polly stayed with the neighbors. Sadly, Charlie died several months later. Lost in grief, Polly again wondered. What’s going to happen to me?

She closed her eyes and saw the image of the bamboo that grew in her village.

I am like a bamboo. A bamboo is strong and it bends in the wind. I will bend but not break!

“Can you build me a small cabin right where the old one was?” Polly asked her neighbors.

“American soil in my fingernails; here to stay.”

Polly’s neighbors built her a small cabin on the same spot of the burned home. She lived there alone for ten years, a pioneer to the end.

Polly had found her place in the world in the wilderness of the Northwest. A girl who was sold for two bags of seeds became a pioneer woman!

Author’s Note:

Gong Heng was born in China in 1853. Her farming family was rich enough that Gong Heng’s feet were bound. At that time, foot binding was still practiced in China. Women with small feet were thought be feminine. Girls as young as five or six, from well-to-do families, had bindings on their feet to prevent them from growing. It was a painful process and the feet became grossly deformed.

When Gong Heng’s family fell into hard times, her mother released the binding so the girl could help in farming. Her feet were already deformed and never grew to full size. As a result, her gait was an unusual rolling one.

During the late 19^thcentury, many Chinese women were brought to the United States, mostly against their will. Gong Heng was one of them. When she was a young teenager, a prolonged drought ruined the harvests, and the countryside was overrun by bandits. In desperation, her family sold her to a group of bandits for two bags of seeds for the next planting. She was their slave until she was sold to a woman who smuggled her to the United States.

A Chinese man in Warren, Idaho, probably bought Gong Heng sight unseen through a middleman. Now known as Polly in Warren, she was very resourceful and hard working. She learned the cooking styles and customs of White folks. She was renowned for her kindness and nursing skills. To the White residents and miners of Warren, Polly was an eyeopener. They were accustomed to the poor Chinese miners who lived in shacks in another part of the town. Polly was feisty, cheerful and intelligent. Unlike the dancing girls in the saloons, she was a woman they respected.

Still, America didn’t seem like home to her until her husband, Charlie Bemis, bought a small piece of land by the Salmon River in 1922. It was there that Polly became a pioneer woman, living off the land and making it a home.

At the age of 80, Polly suffered a stroke. Her neighbors took her to a hospital in Grangeville 87 miles away. But she died and was buried in Grangeville. Fifty-four years later, her remains were exhumed and reburied next to her home on the Salmon River.

Polly never could become a citizen of the United States, even by marriage. In 1943, ten years after her death, the law that denied naturalization to Chinese immigrants was repealed.

At the time of her death, she was well-known in Idaho. Journalists wrote about her. Polly’s restored cabin is now listed in the National Register of Historic Places, and she was inducted into the Idaho Hall of Fame in 1996. Her belongings are displayed in the Idaho State Museum. Polly had become a legend.

Bibliography

Elsensohn, M. Alfreda, Idaho Chinese Lore, Idaho Corporation Of Benedictine Sisters Cottonwood, Idaho. 1993

Wegars, Priscilla, Polly Bemis, Caxton Press, Caldwell, Idaho. 2020

http://americansall.org/legacy-story-individual/polly-bemis (accessed 2-9-2021)

My Life Experiences

My Life Experiences: In and Out of Afghanistan

By Fatimah Habibi, age 18, Connecticut.

To observe and experience so many terrible things at such a young age had a lasting effect on me. When my brother was kidnapped, I was just seven years old. I may not have known as much at the time because I was so young, but when I saw my family, I knew something wasn’t right. Everyone at home cried for a week, and it appeared as though someone had passed away. He was discovered by the police after the week was over, and they took him to the station. As he saw our family when he got home, he started crying. My parents were crying as well. It “felt like I had been gone forever,” he said. After that, life became more difficult for everyone in my family; we were unable to attend school for almost six months and no longer could leave the house. As long as we stayed in Afghanistan, there was no easy moment. For the protection of my brothers and ourselves, we were forced to make the decision to leave our homeland. Every time I watched my brother or other children playing in the park or outside, I wanted to join them and have fun just like they did. I was happy to hear of my family’s decision since I had always thought that once we left Afghanistan, I would be allowed to play freely in the park like they did without anyone objecting.

I was around age nine when we moved to India, and it was quite traumatic and terrible to leave my entire family behind. It was a good feeling of freedom, but I also faced a lot of challenges like at first, it was very hard for me to learn their language, culture, food, and the most important and shocking thing was their religion (Hinduism).

It was my first time to see a lot of people of different colors and different beliefs. This was something totally new for me. However, on the other hand, I felt as though I had started a new life. I could do whatever I wanted without anyone bothering me. I attended school there fearlessly and learned a lot, including Hindi, English, and a ton of other things. There, I knew what exactly life is and how it felt to be a free woman.

I made a lot of friends, and had a normal childhood. I was really satisfied in India, and I lived there for almost three years. However, after spending three years in India we went back to my country to see my uncles, aunts, and grandfather. We stayed about a month in Afghanistan, and when we tried to go back to India, sadly, my Grandfather passed away. We were unable to go back, so we stayed in Afghanistan. There were no easy moments as we stayed in Afghanistan again, especially for me. I was used to wearing whatever I wanted and going outside whenever I wanted; but in Afghanistan, I couldn’t do any of that which was very hard for me. Going to school with fear and then returning home and spending the entire day at home is not simple.

For our freedom and education, we had to leave Afghanistan once again. We traveled to Turkey and stayed there for a year. I was very tired of being forced to move from one country to another and didn’t want to do it again until we came to the United States.

I experienced a lot of difficulties. People treated us differently because we were strangers, which obviously had a big impact on our mental health. I don’t know why, but as I went outside, the people looked weird. But after a year, I began to get used to it. We lived in Turkey for two years before coming to America. At first, I had the impression that because we were immigrants, everyone would treat us differently, the school and people would be like in Turkey. After a few months, I started going to school and there were really nice, respectable people there. I have come to the conclusion that everyone is the same, regardless of their origin or belief. Everyone follows the same process. In the years that followed, I finally understood how to live and now I feel very free.

The United States offered me and my family a chance at a brighter future. We were able to take advantage of the many opportunities available to us, from education to employment. I was able to pursue my studies at a good high school with plans to attend college and study what I want. My journey from Afghanistan to the United States was not only a physical one, but also a mental and emotional one. I had to learn how to cope with the new culture, language, and people I encountered in my new home. I also had to learn how to adjust to the freedom and independence that I was granted—the freedom and independence that I did not have in my country.

My experience as an immigrant in the United States has been an enlightening one. I have been able to gain an appreciation for a culture different from my own and to gain an understanding of the difficulties that come with the process of acclimating to a new environment. I have also been able to gain a greater sense of appreciation for the many freedoms and opportunities available to me here. I may have left my homeland behind, but I will never forget the strength and courage it took to make such a big move. I will always carry with me the lessons I learned, and the experiences I had during my journey from Afghanistan to the United States. Finally, I have arrived at the place I had planned for myself. I am able to live independently and attend school. I have the opportunity to pursue my dreams in the U.S. and make them come true. I’m a senior in high school now, and intend to go to university to pursue a career that I hope to have and love in the future.

By Fatimah Habibi, age 18, h.s. senior, Connecticut.

Fatimah adds: “I was born and raised in Afghanistan. My cultural background is Afghan and I was raised in a household that placed a strong emphasis on our cultural traditions and customs. One of the traditions that is most important to me is the celebration of Eid al-Fitr, which marks the end of Ramadan. During this holiday, my family and I gather together to pray, give gifts, and share meals. It is a time for us to feel connected to our culture and to pass on our traditions to future generations.

I was also taught about the history and values of my culture, which has had a big impact on my worldview and how I approach life. For instance, the importance of family and community is something that is very important to me and something that I try to incorporate into my daily actions. My cultural background and traditions have played a significant role in shaping who I am and have given me a sense of belonging and connection to my heritage.

The most popular and my favorite dish in my country is called Qabili palau. This is how we make it.

Ingredients:

2 cups of basmati rice
4 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 pound lamb or beef, cut into small pieces
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon turmeric
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
1/2 teaspoon garam masala
1/2 cup raisins
1/2 cup slivered almonds
1/2 cup chopped fresh parsley

Recipe:

Rinse the rice in a fine mesh sieve until the water runs clear.
In a large pot, heat the oil over medium heat. Add chopped onion and cook until it is soft and translucent, about 5 minutes.
Add the lamb or beef to the pot and cook until it is brown on all sides, about 10 minutes.
Add the salt, pepper, turmeric, cumin, coriander, and garam masala to the pot and stir to coat the meat evenly.
Add 3 cups of water to the pot and bring to a boil.
Add the washed rice to the pot, stirring to combine. Reduce the heat to low, cover the pot, and simmer for 20 minutes, or until the rice is tender and the water has been absorbed.
Stir in the raisins, almonds, and parsley. Cover the pot and cook for an additional 5 minutes.
Remove the pot from the heat and let it sit, covered, for 10 minutes. Fluff the rice with a fork and serve. Enjoy!

Editor’s Note: If you are a vegetarian, like many people are in India, you can choose to skip the meat—lamb or beef, etc. The rice pilaf dish will still be very tasty.