Storytelling Breaks Borders

Where are you from?

At 13, I moved permanently to the U.S. after my dad died in a motorcycle accident. Not only did I face grief as a child, but I battled a cultural and linguistic barrier that forced me to adapt quickly and redefine my concept of home. I struggled with identity, trying to answer the icebreaker: Where are you from? Philadelphia? The Dominican Republic? Over time, as I grieved my father and redrew the borders of my home, I discovered my lifelong goal of global citizenship.

Tell me a little bit about yourself.

"My favorite color is pink, I really like coffee, and my dad is dead" ... quite the conversation starter. Explaining my background used to feel like inviting someone to peer into my junk drawer; how much should I share and how will they take it? I found refuge in humor to make conversations lighter and to avoid the pitying looks. My life doesn't have simple answers, because to me, I had never connected the dots in my story.

Throughout the years the answers to these two questions have evolved. I used to say I came to the U.S. for a better education, scared to admit that Philly was more than temporary: it was my new home. I used to say my dad was not around since he was still living in the D.R., because I felt that saying he died out loud would solidify its truthfulness. I was too young to accept my new reality: an immigrant and novice member of the Dead Dads Club.

At a young age I learned that childhood does not prepare you for change. It comes rapidly; change does not care if you know the difference between an irregular or regular verb. But eventually, I discovered a secret tool to transform sudden changes into learning opportunities, not just a debilitating obstacle: community. While I navigated grief, a new culture, and the streets of my new home, I realized that I could always lean on the people around me.

Moving to the U.S., I was so focused on learning English that I pushed the priority of communicating my story aside. It was not until college that I had the space to develop truthful responses to these questions. I deserved to understand my identities. It was hard to admit, but being different—my uniqueness—is what helped me adapt to this new world and build a community to support me through grief.

I began telling my story over and over again until I grew to love my journey of adaptation. After many trips outside of home—both the D.R. and the U.S.—I witnessed the impact of my global citizenship while building communities overseas. While in college as an engineering student, I travelled through Madagascar for eight weeks. Despite being thousands of miles from home, people were amazed when I shared I was born on a tiny island in the Caribbean. Being so far from home made me proud to represent my Dominican roots. As an engineer, it is important for me to connect with people in communities I work in, so I would share my story to show that I'm more than just a stranger— I'm someone you can relate to and trust. Being truthful made me relatable and helped me navigate the uncertainty of change.

Fiaranantsoa, Madagascar

Where are you from?

Now a question I am eager to answer, even though I am still figuring out who am I as a person, I am a proud first-generation immigrant. I've become a citizen of the world, making home a feeling of belonging and extending its territorial boundaries.

Tell me a bit about yourself.

I am resilient, I am brave, I am a community builder who shares my story to connect with people wherever I go.