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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 56

A first-world problem: the app on my iPhone wouldn’t update the schedule for the bus I had to take earlier tonight. I took the next best bus route. When two people got off, I realized they were the last two people for the night.

Just the bus driver and me, and I had typical commuter questions. I was in the mood for polite and light conversation–beats the sibling bickering at home. It was a short ride, and I got off surprised. The driver said, “thanks for talking with me.” She was so sincere, like I had done something special. And in a way, I had, though the option of sitting on the bus in quite silence wasn’t really an option.

I don’t carry around headphones: I like making myself available. I like observing people on the bus or listening to the driver and a passenger talking. It’s interesting the bits you learn about people in this way. Like I know some bus drivers have a spouse, who share the same profession, and wait for each other at the end of the day. Like I know talk about football is a favorite topic. Like I know some bus drivers can tell where you’re going by what you’re carrying or wearing. And some of them really, really can’t stand when phones are on speaker. And some of them smile at every baby that gets on the bus. Every time.

And they’re all better drivers than me, except for the ones that occasionally honk too much. Nowadays, I get the chance to drive myself… I’m a mess. I’m usually under the influence of being disorientated. It takes me repeated trials to get a route embedded in my memory.

And so, I’m grateful for kind people who drive buses.

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