When I first moved to New York from San Juan to come study at Fordham University, I had never spent more than a month’s time away from home. I never truly understood what it was like to miss home, or to feel different or “other” to my surroundings. The first couple of years in New York were difficult in terms of asserting my own identity and carving out a space for it in my new community. I found myself in constant worry of wasting time that I should be spending with my family, in particular my grandmother who is now 85 years old. My grandmother is the rock of my being and the distance from her is something I’ve never experienced before, as she has always lived with us. The summer after my 2nd year of college, my grandmother began to knit me this blanket. Halfway through the summer my mother began to help knit it as well. I have now this object that is made from the hands of my grandmother and mother; it grounds me and makes me remember that no matter how far away or how long away from home I am, I am not alone. I had always felt as though my “migrant” story was not one worth sharing. It is impossible to compare my homesickness to the difficult and most times grueling paths that many have taken to come to this country. Mine in no way compares. But I came to this city alone, far away from my family that grows old, from my Island that grows wary, and my home.
– Beatriz Martinez-Godas