“Why do you still use this? It’s worn out and you have your phone to store your contacts,” my brother said to my mom a few months ago.My mother smiled, “This was given to me from my dad when I was around your age, and I’ll never let go of it,” she replied, holding it firmly in her hands.My mother’s blue colored address book has been by her side as long as I can remember. It has flowers on the cover and is loosely bound together with scotch tape. Faded letters of the alphabet run across the edge of the book, and some pages are partially torn from constant use. This is one of my mother’s most precious item. When she emigrated with her siblings to New York from India, she was only eighteen years old. She was allowed to bring only a small amount of personal possessions with her on the plane, and one of those things was the address book. Flipping through the pages, memories of people from a life of more than thirty years in the United States come to her mind. Over the years, she and her book have gone a long way. The book is a record of family, friends, and coworkers who have influenced her life. Now, almost each and every page is filled with a name, number, and address.This object especially is important to me because it reminds me of how hard she worked to get to where she is today. She carries it around with dignity in honor of her father and her accomplishments. I’m glad that she still keeps it with her.

– Surya Thomas

Relationship:  Child of im/migrant Child of im/migrant