We Come From Immigrant Households

Whenever asked about sacrifice, I point to my home.

Nothing too flashy or too dull, but one that is warm.

Under my roof live people who have moulded their lives to pain.

A father who starts his day before sunrise and ends it after sunset.

A mother who continues to love, despite how much the world has hurt her.

From seeing aching backs to broken hearts, I’ve been raised.

Joy within these four walls has always been experienced vicariously through me.

I am a child of parents who left behind lives of comfort and familiarity.

Though now I might share stories of “humble beginnings”... 

Only I know, truly how much was lost to get here.

By: Ishaan Cheema