I’ve worn this black cross for as long as I can remember. Passed down through generations, it carries more than just history—it carries faith, sacrifice, and the journey of my family. I was born in the United States, surrounded by my Dominican Culture, where faith was our foundation. Sundays meant church, prayers before dinner, and my abuelo’s voice reminding me, “Nuestra fe nos sostiene.” But dreams require sacrifice, and leaving for New York meant leaving behind everything familiar. Before we left, my abuelo placed the cross around my neck. “Esto te mantendrá fuerte,” he said, fastening it with careful hands. That cross had been his, and his father’s before him. New York, a cold, rapid, brutal place. My accent made me different, my culture something I felt I had to hide. Some days, the cross felt heavy on my neck, a reminder of home that I could no longer touch. Other days, it felt like armor, protecting me from loneliness. That night, after a failed day of frustrations, I almost placed it down. But, as I held it, I heard my grandfather’s voice. “Esto te mantendrá fuerte.” Now I wear it with pride. The cross is much more than just a necklace; it is a testimony to where I come from and to the strength I carry within. My cross weighs heavy, but I embrace it.

– Jeren Cabrera

Relationship:  Im/migrant Im/migrant