国をのがれてわき上がる故郷への思い

Longing for the homeland I fled

I was born in a country called Nicaragua. As a child, I never imagined I would live abroad.

I have many cherished memories of my hometown. During a festival called “Primicia,” I used to walk through the streets at night, singing along with my neighbors. I miss playing with small fireworks that cost just 5 pesos, afternoons spent sitting in a rocking chair at my grandmother’s house, the taste of freshly made tortillas and cheese, and even the loud Mass music that could be heard throughout the neighborhood at 4 a.m.

My friend Miranda once said, “I think the reason we miss home isn’t so much because we’re attached to the place itself, but because of the feelings we’ve poured into that word.” Those words really touched me.

Living abroad means I can’t be there for my family’s important milestone moments. My brother’s graduation, watching my nieces and nephews grow up, the death of the dog I’d had for 12 years—I couldn’t be there for any of them.

Now, I can “know” what my family is doing through smartphones and video calls. But through a screen, I can’t “feel” their warmth. I miss everything about being in my own country. But what can I do if I can’t be there?

Life in a foreign country isn’t easy either. Discrimination, injustice, unstable jobs—I struggle with various hardships every day. For those of us who had to leave our homeland, the only thing we managed to save was our lives.

Still, now that I’m 27, I think to myself: I’m looking toward the future with love and hope. Because we have that right.

To everyone living far from home, I hope you find love and peace, that your life takes a turn for the better, and that you come to accept that your decision was the right one. Because choosing to live is always the right choice.