My thoughts on belonging to the American experiment as First First-Generation Immigrant
Being American, at its core, is more than having English as a primary language. It’s the act of choosing a home—of investing in a place, loving it enough to critique it, believing in it, and working to make it better every single day. It’s carrying the hope that your presence expands what America can be, even when others struggle to see it…and others will struggle to see your value here. They will use our multicultural experience to question your abilities and qualifications, rather than relying on objective facts. And maybe that’s the quiet resilience of being a naturalized citizen: holding on to a sense of home that isn’t dependent on other people’s acceptance. Rooting yourself in the truth that you belong because you chose this country, you contribute to it, and you continue to shape it. Even when you’re othered, you know your story is woven into the fabric of this place and thus, an American Story. Because America isn’t just inherited—it’s also built, claimed, and lived in every day by people like you and me. By people with accents, by people with imperfect use of prepositions, by people unsure how to answer where home is, by people dissecting what parts of themselves are American and what parts remain from different lands, and by people who drive to multiple grocery stores to find ingredients for cultural dishes. People who struggle to remember the difference between a lemon (lima) and a lime (limón) and thus do not order lemonade because it never tastes quite right.
I know this will not be the last time we face trouble in Minnesota. As I think of ICE rampaging through my city this 2026, I am reminded that, to some, this will never be my home. The strongest response I have to this belief is to keep building the America I saw when I first arrived in the country. Build a loving home every day and in every interaction, no matter how unpleasant, because this is who Americans are; this is who we are. We, as a nation, are at a crossroads, trying to determine how to hold opposing thoughts together, and it's especially hard to do so when we don't even do it within our own heads.
Could it be that a fractured nation reflects fractured people struggling with large-scale social, political, and cultural divisions, igniting internal traumas, fear, and disconnection between individuals? When people feel broken—whether from economic insecurity, social isolation, or deep-seated anxiety—they often project that instability outward onto others. Thus, polarization, declining trust in institutions, and political extremism are fueled by personal despair, anger, and hopelessness. Fear and trauma further intensify these divisions, disrupting communication and encouraging the formation of echo chambers where opposing perspectives rarely meet. Thus, meaningful change requires more than policy reform; it calls for internal healing through rebuilding community, fostering empathy, and addressing the divided parts in our own selves. I truly believe this notion. This belief has informed the therapy I practice, a practice demanding the exploration of all parts of self–especially the ones we hide in darkness. The hidden components of ourselves come out in unpredictable ways—in emotional moments we cannot control—and shape our lives in ways that take power away from us. To regain power and control as individuals, and as a nation, we must understand our impact on the world as we weave our collection of small infinities: a tapestry of intention and meaning from every unique thread. A place that feels like home looks different from person to person, but taking part in building the totality of homes in this country: that is being American.
The picture in this blog is from when I became an American citizen in October 2024.
