Along the rocky shores of El Salvador, where the ocean never truly sleeps, conch shells lay half buried in the sand and not serving as a home anymore. Fishermen often have them tangled in their nets while children find and play with them. Some shells get left behind and kindly returned to the sea but others get chosen. Those who are chosen get carried away into the towns like surf city. Under shady porches and open markets, artists paint and trace bright flowers, towns, and crashing waves. Each one carefully paints a story of life. Visitors come and see them as souvenirs but locals know better. As I walk the streets of surf city where it’s filled with surfers and music, I find myself looking at the beautiful shells and wood carvings on display. My family stops and purchases the art work to keep it as a memory that we have visited this lively place. After leaving the home country of where my parents migrated from I listen to the shell's familiar sound of soothing waves. I look and admire it. The painting of carefree surfers and the beautiful warm sunsets of El Salvador's many beaches reminds me of each time I’ve visited. The shell is no longer just a shell, but a little piece of El Salvador that stays with me, that I have chosen. 

– Y

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