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    Spring backward. #photoaday #flowerstagram #firstdayofspring #spring #lastofwinter ❄️❤️ So yesterday, I ran a poetry workshop at a middle school and hearing the words from these youth, I feel a lot better about the world. One boy wrote a poem & was very shy about reading it. I offered to read it for him. To my surprise, he wrote about people wanting freedom and not being “illegal.” I hope he finds the courage some day to read the poem because these days, hate voices itself louder than love. Our kids deserve better role models. I didn’t grow up thinking about my immigration status, but I think many children have to now. 💔I’m at a very low point in my hope bank. I’m taking notes on how to say goodbye to a country. I think one way is love and one way is poetry.
#loveislouder #happyworldpoetryday This Sunday I made it to church at a Unitarian Universalist congregation. I arrived as a panelist for an immigration and human rights discussion. My audience was majority White. I started with a poem and then my college journey narrative. It is a heavy feeling to be a person who potentially faces deportation or undocumented status and to stand in front of an audience that though sympathetic, cannot imagine what your world is like. They listened to me and the other panelists very actively. One of the panelists, Klara Bilgin, showed us this poster-size cover of Time magazine’s March issue with her own addition “Why America?” At the end I was surprised that most people had comments rather than questions. When we say immigration is a controversial issue or a “hot topic,” it’s true. I got to see it today by people commenting on their experience traveling abroad without borders or their observations of how much labor is expected of undocumented immigrants. Many of them were proposing solutions. I wish Congress were as productive as these people were in their 15 or so minutes to comment and ask questions. #rageatCongress #votesmart #speakup Little sister poem. Be woke.❤️ #ajamonet #poem
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1,000 miles: step 41

Yet another summer to begin waving good-bye to–and even though fall is my favorite time of year, I’m finding that I already miss this summer. And not because it was particularly nice. I miss it because it was a dash of dreadful, and I thought there would be so much more… Life can disappoint every once in a while.

I’ve learned a lot about people in these past months. Some of the obvious things: ways in which people change and stay constant. Ways in which they come and go, parting the air and refreshing your oxygen.

But the hardest lesson to learn came through working in the retail business. Turns out large crowds and speedy, friendly conversations isn’t my calling. Even when books are involved. Especially when books are involved.

When I told my manager “this isn’t working out for me,” she completely understood. Honestly, she was surprised I hadn’t had some sort of melt down up until then. According to an ex-coworker, I’m like one of those boxes labeled “fragile”–and I’ve suspected, for some time now, human being is just a guise. I survived though.

Now, I have to wonder if I’ll survive my actual calling years into the future. Whether or not I will be able to handle a classroom of students if I couldn’t tolerate them outside the classroom… whether or not it will matter to me how underpaid teachers are after earning minimum wage this summer.

And as always, I must remind myself my calling is today, this day, this now… such as textbook readings that need to get done.  Or even better, enjoying a twist of pop music for the bajillionth time.

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