I remember the moment I left my country. I was 15 years old, living in Venezuela. I was with my father and my sister, and together we made the journey — walking long stretches and riding in a car during other parts of the trip. I will never forget that day, because it was the day I had to say goodbye to everything and everyone I loved. First, we left Venezuela and crossed into Colombia. From there, we faced one of the most grueling challenges of the entire journey — the Darién jungle. The hardest part was pushing through that jungle, step after step, with no guarantee that we would ever reach the other side. There were moments when I felt I couldn't take another step, when my body had nothing left to give and my spirit was wearing thin. After that, things did not get much easier. There was still a long road ahead before we would reach our destination. We kept going anyway. Finally, we arrived in Mexico, where we faced one last crossing — the Río Bravo — before setting foot in the United States. After this experience, I was able to reflect on everything people sacrifice in search of a better future, not only for themselves but for the families they leave behind. This story is important to me because it reflects everything I went through in pursuit of that better future. I hope my story shows you that despite all the adversity life throws at you, you should never give up — keep fighting for your dreams, and keep fighting for the people you love.

I remember the moment I left my country. I was 14 years old, living in Honduras. I was with my little sister, who was 12, and together we faced many challenges and experiences — some beautiful, but mostly difficult — as we made our way to the border to turn ourselves in to immigration. I will never forget that day, because it was an incredibly difficult decision for two kids as young as us. We had to leave our entire lives behind, but we did it for a better one. When we received the news that we were going to have to emigrate from Honduras to the United States — alone, just the two of us, from one moment to the next — it hit us hard. We had to prepare quickly, gathering only the most basic and essential things for what was going to be a very long and difficult trip. It was a secret from almost everyone. Even my father never found out we had left the country. The hardest part started right from the beginning, as if something didn't want us to leave. We were supposed to be taken to a meeting point where the person guiding us to the US border was waiting. That's when everything started to go wrong. The border authorities in Honduras detained my uncles, who were our guides, accusing my uncle of being a ringleader in child trafficking. Fortunately, he had connections with people in higher positions of authority, and we managed to get out of that trouble. By then it had gotten very late, and we thought we had lost our chance entirely — the meeting time had already passed. But somehow, everything was resolved and we were able to leave. I felt so sad watching everyone go through those problems, because the only thought in my mind was, "I'm not going to see my mom yet." That feeling was mixed with guilt — like I had betrayed my dad by leaving without saying a word or saying goodbye. I won't deny that I was scared. But I held onto one thing: after three years apart, I was going to hug my mom again.

I still remember the smell of arepas on the morning my life changed. I was 13 years old when my mother and I, along with a group of people we barely knew, began the journey of leaving our country. I did not fully understand what was happening, but I could feel it — in my mother's silence, in the way the adults moved fast, like something was pushing them forward. The journey was not easy. There were storms along the way, and a long, tiring walk that tested every step. The hardest moment came when we were left behind on a mountain trail, with night almost upon us. I was scared. The jungle felt heavy and dark, full of sounds I did not know. But somehow, we kept going. We found our way out — tired and shaken, but safe. That experience never left me. I learned that even when things fall apart, even when the path disappears and the light fades, you keep walking. You carry your fear with you and you move forward anyway. That is what my mother showed me. That is what I will always carry — along with the memory of home, and the simpl