Tag: Immigrant Challenges

• Feb 17, 2026 Hot Sauce! – Day Recap: The Epiphany that Pissed Me Off

  PERSONAL

  Who will I be tomorrow?

  I woke up like I was late for an “all year round” party.

  my memory mocked me because
  I lost some of my fragments,
  I nourished myself with rice and sardines soup mixed with eggs —
  [–ever heard of it before?– it’s rich and nutritious –]
  then I got ready for a life-changing appointment
  that would bring back my spark for real
  
  I stood like I sold my soul to the music gods,
  I hummed some songs that I recently wrote,
  catchy melody, bop pop — playful lyrics —
  about childhood nostalgia
  and wallowing back in the 80s and 90s
  as I was fixing myself —
  I knew who I was
  
  then my ever caring and thoughtful landlady
  brought me a big chunk of banana bread,
  I was a princess, I owned a little kingdom
  
  until I felt compelled to check on a so-called friend,
  who blasted about a series of ridiculous interviews
  she had to fight through for a job position:
  kitchen help at a sushi shop!
  “WTF! This is a commoner’s job! Why do they
  make me feel like I’m applying to become a
  goddamn President?”
  I listened as I questioned my moral duties —
  the ‘friendship business’ was too much for
  my blood pressure to endure so —
  goodbye
  
  went to see a master who gave me
  my dignity back —
  I was a superstar ‘again’, much like in my twenties,
  nah, that’d be quantum leaping as dreamers would say,
  okay then, soul stripping must now begin
  
  received a message from the wicked witch
  of a distant past — asking for her ugly garments back,
  the ones I wore that weakened my magical powers,
  no response yet as I would rather orb my way in and out
  to protect my divinity —
  I was an archangel that just won the race against
  the dark forces
  
  did a little bit of grocery shopping,
  showed humanity, was also shown the same,
  went home richer with an eye-catching smile
  that calmed some spirits down,
  damn it, I was such a beautiful human
  
  got home, devoured supper,
  caught up some crushing news,
  listened to —
  
  silence, seclusion, peace
  all I wanted —
  
  no need for desperation anymore,
  make it seamless, that’s what makes it hard
  to figure out —
  but it’s all worth it for sure
  
  I am a hermit.
  I am a poet.
  I am a writer.
  
  That’s who I was and will always be.
  According to my stunning memory.

  No, I didn’t wake up late. I woke up way too early.
  Being broken was far more important than ‘feeling’ whole.
  Oh yeah? “Will you exclaim that one last time?”
  Being broken is far more important than ‘feeling’ whole!

  [It is why “you are what you do.”]
  [Sorry if such an epiphany pissed you off, though.]

  ***
  
  

  February 18, 2026

  Breakthrough, Broken, Epiphany, Gen X Life, Immigrant Challenges, Life, Life Lessons, Wisdom

  ---

• The White-Collar Who Trips Before Me

  humanity

  The White-Collar Who Trips Before Me

  The class system in society gets real in front of us sometimes.

  my work requires me to move my bones,
  my muscles, and my spirit enormously
  until the only essence that’s left is
  hearing how my breath whispers
  gratitude to the Source for still keeping
  me alive and gifting me the power
  to feel, write, and heal.
  
  Breathe.
  
  yes, they see me, they feel me,
  some say hello, some walk past me,
  others pretend I don’t exist,
  others pause for a little
  heartwarming exchange.
  
  Breathe.
  
  in between runs, I do my tasks in the lobby;
  it’s a routine, it’s sincere, I give it my all,
  I’m attached to it, it’s soulful in a way
  as I get to think and examine the rush
  around me–
  the atmosphere, the chatters, all the
  superficial corporate games, humans
  being humans in the midst of survival.
  
  Breathe.
  
  one of those tasks is the escalator;
  I would politely instruct the incoming
  traffic to go right ahead first, but if
  they’re still far back, I get on with
  my job… some exchange lunch updates,
  some whine about work and their mates,
  others wear their faces long, and there
  are those who seem lost.
  
  Breathe.
  
  but they know I’m there, minding my
  own business quietly… giving them their
  own space, giving them their way,
  giving them their time… there’s mutual
  respect, though tension is thrown at me
  sometimes and perhaps even discomfort;
  “This is supposed to be a place for people
  of intellect, for those who actually run and
  shape the world, for power and authority.
  We cannot stand seeing you around here.
  Go away!”–is what I would hear time
  and time again–at least it’s what my
  instincts would hear on some odd
  occasions.
  
  Breathe.
  
  what I hear from his mind,
  “Oh no! No no no no! You can’t treat
  me like that! I’m way much better
  in life than you are! You’re old, Asian,
  a woman, with a job that you’re only
  qualified for because you’re dumb!
  Get out of my way! Get away!
  Get away!”
  
  Breathe.
  
  so he sprints up the escalator,
  wheezing–
  
  Breathe.
  
  –trips on his way up that his dignity
  crumbles right before me.
  
  Breathe.
  
  And I stay calm.
  So calm.
  Unbelievably calm.
  Regardless of what I see and hear;
  I’m as calm as the quiet lake,
  the sleeping owl,
  the kindest forest.
  
  Wild.
  Breathe.

  February 10, 2026

  Immigrant Challenges, Low-Respect Job, Toxic Work Environment, White Collar Job, Work Scenario

  ---

• Father, Help Me Go Home

  personal

  Father, Help Me Go Home

  It took a lot of courage for me to write this. When it comes to my father (who passed in 2008), my heart just cannot breathe.

  I’m scared to write about you
  for my heart is too fragile
  and too vulnerable
  to whisper truths about
  who you were in my life;
  the sacrifices you made,
  the pain I caused,
  the way I lived my life out of your sight,
  the horrific secrets I kept while you were
  still breathing,
  the guilt, the shame, oh, especially the guilt!
  God, have mercy on my soul!
  I wanted to go with you, be with you,
  and be raised by you all over again.
  if only I could bring back time,
  if only I could have listened more,
  if only I could have told you about my
  fanfares; the unimaginable adventures,
  the lies I told myself and about myself,
  the tears I shared with nature,
  the laugh I shared with people who never cared…
  oh, if only you could hear me,
  if only I could hold you,
  if only I could still talk to you,
  if only I could play scrabble with you!
  Did you know how long I had pretended
  that your full presence was still with me?
  How I couldn’t wait to confine myself in a
  tiny room, believing we were having a blast
  engaging in a whatnot conversation
  over coffee?
  How I would look for huge brown butterflies
  in the strangest places just so I
  would know you were fine?
  
  Oh, father, I have so much to tell you
  once my time is up.
  I cannot wait to be with you!
  What’s heaven like?
  
  In the meantime, help me wash away the guilt!
  Help me become an accomplished
  human through your beautiful essence,
  through your resilient spirit.
  Help me, oh, help me… go home!
  
  Please, father, help me, oh, help me…
  … go home.

  January 15, 2026

  Death, Father, Immigrant Challenges, Immigrant Life, Life

  ---

• I’m Glad

  personal

  I’m Glad

  I stayed away from distractions and noise to write this; a simple poem about gratitude.

  I’m glad I got beaten up
  I learned how to fight back
  through lashing out with
  brave words and unforgiving phrases
  I understood my strength.
  
  I’m glad I failed all the time
  I looked for my truest self
  raging from one place to another
  the disturbing, the kind, the stoic
  I saw it all, I felt it all, I lived through it all.
  
  I’m glad I grieved more than one should
  I discovered life and defended it
  all had a special case to win
  society, as I knew it, was a walking cemetery
  I could not be fooled anymore.
  I cannot be fooled anymore.
  
  if you were as smart and wise as you’d insist
  tell me when your life started
  tell me when your life ended
  tell me, please tell me
  when you met life again
  have you met life again?
  
  my human reputation
  if God were to judge it
  is the longest maze
  of both heaven and hell
  “Sounds about right,” He says.
  Sounds about right.
  
  I’m alright.
  I’m still alive.

  January 1, 2026

  Identity, Immigrant Challenges, Life, Life Lessons, Wisdom

  ---

• The Daily

  PERSONAL

  The Daily

  My typical day; outrageous, fun, strange… why not?

  “I surrender all…”
  I talk to myself through hymns
  or songs about love and nothing
  “I’m dying… yet I’m still fighting…”
  my heartbeat tells me
  all living things can hear my
  soliloquies
  
  people’s blood curdles
  over the silliest things
  who has hurt them?
  who has harmed their innocence?
  
  whereas, I, I summon myself
  each time noise and human implosion
  get in my way
  as I pull my cart to serve
  then get smashed by
  the elevator doors in the head
  as shameful act of humanity
  presents itself before me
  
  also, going through glass doors
  dragging a vacuum for a routine
  a man with a cheap brown coat,
  generic yet proud,
  squishes his presence to outwit me
  with utmost revulsion, I say,
  “Oh, you low-life king, you!”
  Oh! you low-life king, you!
  
  I’m stuffed with small talks everyday
  meaningless, superficial, didactic
  though I prefer it than Janes and Johns
  whose morals have rotten away
  due to personal miseries
  whose cheap coats and debauched collars
  shall burn with them to death
  in time
  
  so I talk to myself through hymns
  or songs about love and nothing
  “I surrender all…”
  “I’m dying… yet I’m still fighting…”
  I surrender all.

  December 30, 2025

  Daily Life, Immigrant Challenges, Immigrant Story, Life, Life Lessons

  ---

• The Uncanny Insect

  personal

  The Uncanny Insect

  This uncanny insect revealed itself in my room one night, so I wrote about our encounter out of fascination. But then… something else came about… a metaphorical nuisance about “me” and “the others”.

  an uncanny insect crawls its way
  towards my winter jacket,
  its identity unknown
  it’s as wide as a roach
  it must have a hundred legs
  hairy, beige, bold
  it’s on a mission
  
  my clever peripheral vision
  catches it like the sharp eye of a wild owl
  I bounce out of the bed,
  grab my black bedroom slipper
  then —
  “God, forgive me, but I must kill it!
  I’ve never seen such a creature before!
  It’s alien to me!”
  God replies, “It could be me in disguise.”
  “But… no… it can’t be… it can’t be!” I cry.
  
  and just as the unknown insect
  is about to invade my winter jacket
  I hammer it down with my
  black bedroom slipper.
  it sticks to the wall for a bit,
  then falls to its death.
  
  I stand there in stunned silence,
  panting, thinking of how I must
  punish myself for doing the
  unprecedented deed.
  
  I hear God’s laughter
  gnarling into my ears.
  “I have sinned, haven’t I?” I mutter.
  “You all sin all the time,” God says.
  “What’s to worry about?”
  
  but I can justify it, truly, immensely.
  out of extreme fear.
  “That foreign creature could have bitten and
  poisoned me once I put my winter jacket on!”
  
  but then again —
  
  oh, well. life goes on.
  I plunge back in bed
  and pretend like it
  has never happened.
  
  and as I’m about to shut my eyes to sleep,
  another one crawls its way towards my
  winter jacket.
  same uncanny insect; identity unknown,
  alien, foreign creature.
  
  I lay still and smirk at it
  “Where have you all been hiding?”
  Damn.
  And by the way, how can I ever get rid of
  you all?

  December 25, 2025

  Immigrant Challenges, Immigrant Story, Life, Life Lessons, Oppression

  ---

• For as long as I am away from home

  personal

  For as long as I am away from home

  I was lounging in bed, then hurriedly typed this down. I was right over the edge. Such a hypocrite.

  I do not feel real, I do not feel alive
  I want to get out and meet more of life
  this fatigue ravishing down my strength
  keeps me stuck in bed while listening to
  a storm
  
  I have grand plans for every weekend
  a church visit, musical theatre is on the list
  recording a new song or purchasing my
  dream piano keyboard
  yet, I end up getting ready for another
  week to burn
  
  I am a phoney, I am a hypocrite
  having all these grand plans worming
  around my head
  how can I ever get them to move
  when my body aches, and my gifts have
  nothing to prove
  
  I attempt to close my eyes to visualize
  a happy future and a pleasant sunrise
  yet, I see and hear nothing, God only knows
  what I have been longing
  I have joined the restless crowd,
  doom scrolling
  
  I do not feel real, I do not feel alive
  writing poetry holds my hand to survive
  though, truth, at times, eludes .
  for you may think I play a victim
  in this timeline, and I fear to be
  misunderstood
  
  I do not feel real, I do not feel alive
  humans, are you still inclined?
  to make use of yourselves and die
  over and over again
  are we awakened? or hanging on the
  dead end
  
  I do not feel real, I do not feel alive
  am I just in too much pain or scared to meet
  more of life?
  I wish God could just walk with me
  and pull me out of this strife
  for as long as I am away from home,
  I will never feel real, I will never feel alive.

  December 11, 2025

  Immigrant Challenges, Life, Life Lessons, Numb, Wisdom

  ---

• Corpses at a Work Party

  humanity

  Corpses at a Work Party

  My big boss throws parties once in a while where awards and certificates are also given to the deserved few. During my first attendance, something inside of me had ignited. It was a brutal awakening that I could not shake off in any way… leading me to write this poem.

  “Welcome to your funeral!”
  the boss proclaims,
  his board members
  grin at us
  like the grim reapers
  as we enter.
  
  A bountiful feast awaits.
  scrumptious meals;
  dishes and drinks
  we have never
  heard of before,
  colourful desserts with
  odd shapes and designs,
  arresting mood,
  enticing celebration.
  
  Even tables and chairs
  look inviting.
  All of a sudden,
  their meaning extends
  towards our existence.
  
  “Welcome to your funeral!”
  the boss proclaims again.
  We take our spots,
  exchange murmurs,
  crack up a little,
  introduce ourselves to each other,
  ponder on our time
  as we wait for the
  ceremony.
  
  Some receive monetary awards,
  others revel in appreciation certificates,
  the newbies smile and nod,
  the forgotten wince and tear up a bit.
  Whereas, I, observing and feeling,
  am detached from what I’m seeing.
  Must I owe them my life
  for surviving?
  Haven’t they heard what
  the boss has proclaimed?
  
  “Welcome to your funeral!”
  Or is it just my insanity
  playing tricks on me
  to stay in reality.
  
  Our names are carved
  in tombstones.
  The drinks, the dishes, the desserts
  are poisons.
  There are no rewards without
  a life sacrifice.
  There are no certificates without
  blood shedding.
  There are no celebrations without
  the devil’s fights.
  There are no bosses and grim reapers without
  the ignorant begging.
  
  I look at us;
  gobbling down
  the main dishes, the drinks, the desserts.
  the newbies, the forgotten, the awardees
  go home everyday
  as corpses
  to their families,
  to their lone shelters,
  to life
  that had already forewarned
  about its cruelty
  the moment we greeted
  our first day.
  
  Welcome to your funeral.
  Welcome to your funeral.
  It is what it is.
  The sad things is,
  no one grieves.
  

  November 13, 2025

  Death, Immigrant Challenges, Immigrant Story, Life, Life Lessons

  ---

• White Countries

  humanity

  White Countries

  Hey! Would you turn your societies and cultures into “white”? Now, here’s what a person of colour would say to that.

  White countries!
  
  go ahead
  turn your societies and cultures
  into white
  the most glistening white
  they can ever get
  make sure all corners
  down to agricultures,
  garments, entertainment,
  gadgets, livelihoods
  must fall under
  the white codes,
  laws and regulations
  
  things you enjoy,
  from food to travels,
  must be stamped
  white codes only.
  therefore, you are
  forbidden to visit
  communities and countries
  that glow with colours,
  where rainbows are
  free to appear,
  where different skin tones
  are celebrated,
  where vibrant life
  happens and erupts
  with joy and acceptance
  
  you want white countries?
  yes, sure, you can have them!
  fight for them, fight,
  on behalf of your
  isolated, ignorant, arrogant
  white souls
  tarnished by
  beautiful colours!
  proclaimed by
  your dim-witted
  teachings
  
  make sure you stay
  in your white lands
  labor on your own white soils
  do not even dare
  DO NOT EVEN DARE!
  to steal colours’ ideas away
  and make them your own
  do not even attempt
  to get on a plane
  to unwind in Asia,
  Africa, the Caribbeans
  do not consume
  products that originated
  from colourful lands,
  made by colourful hands
  conceived by colourful minds
  DO NOT EVEN DARE!
  
  as it does not align
  with white codes
  as you shall break
  white laws and regulations
  as it is against your
  white countries’
  constitutions
  
  so be content
  stay in your white countries
  stay isolated
  stay ignorant
  stay arrogant
  no beautiful colours
  praise you
  no free rainbows
  acknowledge you
  no colourful societies and cultures
  want to be like you
  
  you’re depressing and bland
  angry, sold souls
  you are your own evil
  you are your own enemy
  you hail your superiority?
  how about you
  ostracizing yourself
  from humanity?
  
  White countries!
  go ahead
  turn your societies and cultures
  into white
  the most glistening white
  they can ever get
  
  but don’t you ever
  DARE!
  seek beautiful colours
  to fill the voids
  creeping into your
  depressing lands!
  
  don’t you ever
  dare.
  
  

  November 8, 2025

  Discrimination, Immigrant Challenges, Life Today, Ostracized Countries, White Countries

  ---

• What’s Your Worth?

  Dreams

  What’s Your Worth?

  One Saturday afternoon nap flew me into this bizarre dream.

  My father, a hero
  picked me up
  from the land
  I was lost in.
  He drove a
  new tricycle
  that could
  almost fly.
  We zoomed
  by trenches,
  zinged through
  angry trees,
  zigzagged down
  rough roads
  by a scintillating
  lake that almost
  lured us into
  an untimely
  end.

  I wondered why
  it was just the
  two of us.
  He said not to
  worry as he would
  pick up my sister
  half way.
  Confused; my
  sister was
  safe and happy
  back home.
  I missed her.
  He missed her, too.
  But the trip
  must go on,
  a trip towards
  a destination
  that was only
  meant for me.
  
  We arrived in
  a provincial town,
  foreign to me.
  He said I must
  wait patiently
  for his
  return as he
  was on his way
  to pick up
  my sister.
  I trusted him,
  of course.
  But I wondered
  where the trip
  would end though.
  
  Where exactly?
  And where was I?
  
  He said he
  struggled really
  hard to get there.
  There were
  impossible obstacles
  along the way.
  Natural disasters,
  creepy woods,
  broken roads.
  Until he found
  his place and
  made it his own.
  For the first time,
  he rose to
  prominence
  without doing
  anything heroic
  at all.
  Just his
  heart and soul.
  
  So I lingered
  around there
  to wait.
  I spotted shacks
  of shops nearby,
  ancient houses
  made of bamboos;
  in one of them a box
  of 80s television was
  on, with a hazy
  reception.
  Some local men
  sauntered by,
  unbothered,
  dressed in 80s
  fashion.
  
  I got hungry.
  I had three
  food items
  stuffed in a
  weird basket.
  In one translucent
  box was a croissant;
  painted on it was
  a face of an
  unknown woman.
  In the other was
  something that
  was not edible.
  I could not eat it
  or I would die.
  Then I had
  fried meat;
  it was a bird
  inside a turtle shell,
  and it was supposed
  to be good, and I
  wondered how it
  got there since I
  could never eat
  meat at all.
  
  So I waited
  and waited
  —
  
  A local bus
  turned up
  in a blink of
  an eye,
  transporting
  school kids.
  They were
  jolly and hyped up
  to get home.
  Though I noticed
  the boys
  swooped out
  from inside
  and the girls
  were riding
  on the
  vehicle’s exterior,
  yet they still
  managed to
  get home
  unharmed
  unscratched,
  relieved and happy.
  I was about to
  scold the driver
  but something
  in me went numb.
  
  Then I succumbed
  to hunger.
  A group of sweet delicacy
  merchants
  occupied the
  Main Street.
  I had not even
  a cent on me
  until my father
  arrived.
  So I wandered
  around to
  check it all out;
  one busy lady
  caught my eye.
  She would simply
  swing by to grab
  anything she liked
  and the merchants
  would just shrug
  it off and say,
  “Okay.”
  
  I thought to myself,
  “How is that okay?”
  
  I waited and waited
  some more.
  Until reality
  brought me back.
  
  From wherever I was.
  From losing my father again.
  From a treacherous trip.
  From the strangest town
  I had ever been to.
  
  Somewhere, someday,
  I will understand it.
  
  But what if I won’t?
  
  Well, as my guide says,
  “All humans are going
  to die not knowing their
  worth.”
  
  Now, how I wish
  my father did.
  
  I wish he did.

  October 25, 2025

  Adventure in a Dream, Death, Immigrant Challenges, Immigrant Story, Life Lessons

  ---

• Enough of Sleep

  dreams

  Enough of Sleep

  This poem snuck out from a dream during my afternoon nap. Weird.

  Enough of sleep
  for her
  No more lounging
  for tears
  
  Living for nothing
  empty the jars
  Sin, no one is pure
  
  Opening the mind
  finding the right key
  meeting an unknown
  
  Standing behind me
  stout, ugly
  silhouetted identity
  
  A bright diner
  floating in the abyss
  Joy, laugh until dawn
  
  Crowd… lost…
  swarming in from
  nowhere
  
  Entertainment
  blasts on, stimulating
  more grief, escape
  
  From above
  witnessing the grand
  fear pushes me back
  
  A white woman
  stands behind,
  bearing her class
  
  Leading the way
  floating down
  a flight of stairs
  
  Into the crowd
  roaring, on high
  suddenly dismissed
  
  Up I go
  A sneak, a bull
  Only to find
  
  Three broken doors
  with one catching
  my hand on hold
  while the other two
  creak and groan
  
  Sin more
  dream more
  God is asleep
  Nothing to hide
  Nothing to keep
  
  Enough of sleep
  for her
  
  No more lounging
  for tears

  October 21, 2025

  Health, Immigrant Challenges, Life in a Dream, Rest, Sickness

  ---

• The Almighty Secret

  personal

  The Almighty Secret

  Pain; a eureka moment! I wrote this poem as a tribute to my love for poetry.

  It took me a long, long while to discover an almighty secret; the places where I lived, visited, and created. The folks who broke me to pieces and those who were kind enough to put me back together. The ventures I risked, making a fool out of myself.
  
  Love betrayed me, one got away. Others cursed my destiny. As the drumbeat went on, a new era was born. While I longed to sulk in the dark to nurse a dream that had been torn.
  
  The almighty secret had no meaning to the world. Yet, the world crept its way into it for whatever it was worth. For I knew deep down in my devilish soul that I was bigger than life, though I was obscure.
  
  Thank goodness for hell, I would disappear at night. Into realms and spheres led by spirit guides. God spoke His truth and I refused to abide. I must get lost to learn about goodbyes.
  
  The almighty secret released me from a human dream. It was way much better than what I had imagined. God let me loose to ignite my fire. The mind, oh, the mind, I had nowhere to hide.
  
  Let me go, let me be happy. For I had already found a company. The mind, oh, the mind, the staggering mind. Thank you for killing my time while getting hurt helped me find —
  
  The almighty secret to romance with; a little legacy begging me to forgive. It burns, it scorns, it dances, it never returns. Once discovered, everyday I shall mourn.
  
  The almighty secret; this. An escape; a little peace, a little kiss. The mind, oh, the mind. I am yours, you are mine. No matter what you bring to me, whether grief or joy, will always be kind.
  
  The mind, oh, the mind. Take me away, I am not fine.
  
  Take me away… Take me away… for I will always be undefined.

  October 4, 2025

  Creativity, Immigrant Challenges, Mental State, Mind, Wisdom in Art

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• I Know How I Will Die

  Ramblings

  I Know How I Will Die

  This rambling was inspired by all the anti-immigrant sentiments I had heard and read. Ignorance simply astounds me. Sometimes a kind and understanding heart also reaches its limits.

  Do not worry. For I know how I will die.
  
  All these white foxes patrolling around my whereabouts, all these elite entities desperate to wipe me out, all these powerful books written by false prophets — will not kill me.
  
  I laugh at hate, I mock the ignorant, I empathize with those whose morality is influenced by religions and governments that preach about ethnic, cultural, and societal cleansing.
  
  Opinions that do not have the heart for the common good, whether heard or not, will always be challenged by time. How loud and stupid do they sound? How in hell do they have the soul to keep on fighting the most unhinged fight of all in the history of humankind? Does it have the power to last? Answer me! Answer me!
  
  I, on the other hand, face the savages everyday to answer birdbrained questions just for a pass. When your moral principles are threatened, when life becomes vulnerable – all for toiling away on a foreign soil – all for existing – then let me ask you this – what kind of God does your country worship to?
  
  You worry about my presence. You worry about how I integrate into your society. You worry about my hard work. You worry about how I live my life here. You worry about what I wear, how much I earn, how I speak, how I respond, and what I eat. You worry about nonsensical things that define being a citizen of the world.
  
  So you go out there for outrageous protests. You spit in my face, make fun of how I look, shove me out! Or at times, hit a bullet right into my heart.
  
  But do not worry. For I know how I will die.
  
  My strength has already waned. The dreams you have proclaimed are nothing but lies. Now I have been working on mine.
  
  Though I shall not last long anymore. I am ill. I am hopeless. I am almost useless.
  
  So my brothers and sister, do not worry.
  
  Now you know how I will die.

  September 30, 2025

  Death, Immigrant Challenges, Immigrant Life, Oppression, Racism

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