Feb 2
Mother whose visa application was pending says she will send girl back to US soon accompanied by another relative
seen from Austria
seen from Thailand
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Indonesia
seen from United States
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from Indonesia
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Russia
Mother whose visa application was pending says she will send girl back to US soon accompanied by another relative
Chang, Victoria. (2021). Dear Memory: Letters on Writing, Silence and Grief. Milkweed Editions.
Being brought over to the US from Japan at the age of 5 was detrimental to my self image. In Japan, I was treated as a ‘cute child’ (meaning ‘a normal kid’) but when I was brought over to the states, I was bullied constantly for having a “flat face”, “short, disgusting legs”, etc… Always being compared to impossible white beauty standards, I grew up to have a LOT of internalized racism towards my looks. (I am still working very hard with many issues of “straddling two worlds🇯🇵🇺🇸” with my therapist)
However, on my trip to Kyoto this time, my Mom wanted me to do a ‘maiko (geisha apprentice) transformation photoshoot’. I was reluctant about it because I hate seeing myself in pictures, and I didn’t want to do something so touristy. But, since I sometimes draw geisha/maiko for thank you cards, I thought I could get some pose references or insight into how things would move.
This was a blessing in disguise because for the first time in my life, it made me look at myself completely outside western beauty standards. I was looking at myself for what I am: a Japanese woman. Although I knew it in my head, it *FINALLY* CLICKED THAT I WAS ALWAYS STRIVING TO BE SOMETHING THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO ACHIEVE, BECAUSE I AM NOT WHITE.
so to all the people that bullied me and convinced me I was ugly and therefore worthless because I couldn’t fit into your beauty standards, i say…
FUCK YOU, I’M GORGEOUS!
Can someone explain to me why people want to abolish birthright citizenship, the right to be a citizen if you were born here.
I have a couple questions regarding it..
Most children born to illegal immigrants in the US aren't "anchor babies".. Why do you think people come to the us just to have babies and wait 21+ years to get a green card?
If this were abolished would it apply to children who have one undocumented parent or is one parent being a citizen enough to grant citizenship to the child? Why or why not?
If the child is born in the us stateless where do they go?
What about children and adults who were born here and have lived their whole lives here, would we be allowed to stay?
Liam Conejo Ramos and his father were taken into custody by immigration authorities in Minnesota as the pair were on their way home from the
Ten years ago, the image of the lifeless body of two-year-old Alan Kurdi washed up on the shores of Turkey broke our hearts. It also broke o
The boy, referred to as the pseudonym Romeo, was deported along with his seven-year-old sister and their 25-year-old mother on April 25, acc
a child in a house in a forest in a town
I am standing in the middle of a cold room in a two-story house in the middle of the woods. Outside it is snowing, and the day begins to turn into night. The sun is setting, and yet there is no sun to speak of. The air is chilled in a way that makes goosebumps travel along my arms, and it makes a cold, empty feeling of loneliness seep into my chest.
Outside the house is a backyard where two little children are playing with the snow. Outside the backyard is the deep, dark expanse of the forest, and outside of the forest is a small European town that does not want me. I stand in the bedroom of the two-story house in a backyard in a forest in a town and the empty feeling in my chest grows so deep that my hands are shaking and my lungs can not expand and I am scared that this is forever.
I hear the stairs creaking. I know no one is coming, so I imagine it is a ghost. I turn around and the ghost is me, and as I stare at myself I realize that a ghost is all I have, and I have not spoken in two days, and if a ghost is the only thing that will listen then it is better to talk to it than to stare into the empty window from which I can not see the sun.
I open my mouth, and words come out, and they are hoarse and tired but I am saying them out loud, and the ghost will listen. I tell the ghost about the show I started watching. I tell it about the boy who pushed me down in the hallway at school. I tell it about the snow and the sun and the forest and the town and when I have no more words left to speak, I turn around and realize that the ghost is gone. The ghost was never there to begin with. It is only me, and the creaky stairs in a house in a backyard in a forest in a town, and I am lonelier than ever, now.