Coming Home

I left my mother at 5. I’ve been on my way back home ever since. It was 2001. April 16th. The day that my life changed forever. I awoke just to learn I was moving to the U.S. The American dream was upon me for sure. But as a child, I was also leaving my mom. At the Port-Au-Prince airport, I was screaming ‘mommy!’, as I couldn’t bear to leave her behind. My dad was with me, but having only one parent with you when you’re used to both was a sad truth to accept.

I would grow up in New York, USA, visiting my mom every year in Haiti until she joined my dad and I. My mother was eventually with me, and I never lost my culture. Speaking Creole at home everyday was helpful as well. I never lost my first language.

In 2017, I was reunited with the soil of my country. I went to the countryside, where I was born, and for the first time, I truly saw my roots. I met some family and family friends who used to watch me as a baby. It was a surreal experience. I was coming home.

This year I’ve had many experiences that have been pointing me back to see Haiti again. I’ve met Haitians in Senegal, Thailand, and Vietnam this year. They’ve shown me the strength of our culture. I sat down with a Haitian friend this week in Vietnam. His family is from Cayes, Haiti - just like me and my family are. We spoke about our dreams and aspirations. And he was inspired by my story to keep going. He told me I got this. He even sent me a book written by a Haitian author. Yesterday I sat with someone and we exchanged stories. I told him that growing up in Haiti before moving to America was a time capsule special moment. I’m coming home.