I remember the moment I came to America. I was 6 years old, living in Guatemala. I was with my mom, and together we traveled by car and on foot. I will never forget that day — it was really hard and really scary. First, we gathered what we could carry, which wasn't much because my mom was pregnant. We made our way to the meeting point, but that was where things got harder. We had to split up and go separate ways. My mom and I stayed together because she was pregnant and couldn't carry my baby sister at the same time. My sister had to go with my stepdad instead. My mom and I passed through several places along the way. One that I will never forget felt like being inside a box — it was freezing cold, and the only thing they gave us to eat was grape juice and burritos. I think that is why I still love that juice to this day. When I feel thirsty, my mind goes right back to that moment — it was the first thing anyone gave us, and it meant everything. It was hard for me as a little girl, and I cannot imagine what it was like for my baby sister. She was only 2 years old at the time, and whenever she was hungry for her bottle, we had to give her water with sugar because we had no milk. In the end, my mom and I were the first ones to arrive in America. By the second day, my sister and stepdad made it too. But when my sister saw me, she didn't recognize me — and that broke my heart. After everything we had just been through, that was the moment that hit me the hardest. Adapting to our new home was not easy, but we were finally together again, and that was what mattered most