There was one thing that kept me connected to home—Haitian food. Almost every Saturday, my mom would cook mayi moulen ak fey in the morning. Then in the afternoon griot and diri nwa kole ak pwa, like she did back in Haiti. The smell of fried of pork, spicy pikliz filled the air and brought me back warm memories of family gatherings and celebrations. No matter how far we are from Haiti, those meals reminded me of my haitian identity. That taste of home gave me strength and comfort on the hardest days of my life. My story is not just about my departure from my hometown; it is a testimony of hope and strength that inspires every immigrant to make a new beginning. It reminds us that even in unfamiliar places, dreams can flourish if we remain determined and courageous.

– MK.D

Relationship:  Im/migrant who arrived as a child Im/migrant who arrived as a child