The more elaborate my mother’s garden grew, the more elided was the strenuousness of her efforts.
This right to return offered to Jews makes me think about who is entitled to join Europe and who is not.
If I approached my immigration experience the same way people approach a start-up, maybe I could optimize the amount of time it took me to integrate.
I was enjoying what exists of this place today—be it Croatia or Yugoslavia—without the need for comparison.
My husband’s grandfather wrote an immigration guide called “Before You Leave for America.” We could have used one in reverse—for moving to Bulgaria.
As her family saw it, my mother’s life in London was one of comfort. But she also struggled. Both of these things were true.
Though no place is home upon arrival, I make it my home by the time I leave.
Time amplifies division; I fear that we’re never going to be a big family again, that my newborn son will never consider his cousins to be siblings like I did.
At home, in Goiânia, I didn’t have to be Brazilian; I could just be me.
What might have happened if we had stayed?