When I was nine my mother would take my sister and I to church every Sunday. I always dreaded having to wake up early to make it to early mass but my mother loved going to mass at 9am. My sister and I would fuss and make pretend we couldn’t wake up to avoid going. Eventually we started going to mass at 11am, and we would go for lunch as a family afterwards. That I enjoyed a lot, and it became less difficult to get us both out of bed to get to mass. We made friends with another family and we often all sat together. I did my best not to talk to anyone while the pastor was talking so that others could listen. But as we got older we chatted a bit more. One day, my friend David had said something really idiotic during mass and I couldn’t help but giggle. Someone behind me tapped my shoulder, so I turned around slowly. I hadn’t paid any attention to who had sat behind me so I was surprised when I turned and saw someone I didn’t know. The person that sat behind me was a man, skinny with gray hair and a lot of wrinkles on his face. The wrinkles on his forehead turned into a U and he had his eyebrows furrowed. He looked annoyed, and angry that he was sitting behind a group of teenagers. He said to me and only me in a hushed angered voice “You are the oldest out of all of them! Why are you talking during mass, that is rude and disrespectful and the devils work!” I couldn’t say anything back, I was blown away by him referring to the devil while we were in the house of God. I felt that should be illegal and that he was wrong for saying that. I wanted to cry because he had basically called me out for being the devil, and I was not the oldest one. I was the tallest one but David was the oldest one, in fact he was the one that had said the joke to make me laugh. I was so angry for getting in trouble and felt that I had been blamed when it wasn’t even my fault! He should’ve disciplined David.

After mass was over, I ran down the stairs outside of the church to where my mom was so I could tell her what the old man had said to me. As I spoke my mom’s faced looked humored, I wasn’t sure what was so funny about my story. She bent down and her toasty warm hands held my face. In the sweetest voice she said “Jennyfer, he might’ve been wrong for saying you’re the devils work, but sweetie, you shouldn’t have been chatting in the first place. I hope that this sticks with you and you stop talking while mass is going on”. I could feel my cheeks getting hot, I was flabbergasted by her choice in words. I half expected her to take my side, but here she was saying I was at fault. I swore at thirteen that I would never go back to church, not because I got lectured but because I felt humiliated that my own mother wouldn’t take my side

“On the count of three we will call the elevators down, go in and pick a random floor level. If we pick the same floor number, it’s because we are meant to be, and if not then. . .” His voice went from excitement to a soft sad melody. I placed my hands over my ears, I couldn’t bear to hear what his next words would be.

“Hey” his voice had softened, he pulled me in and I was pressed up against his chest. I inhaled in his heavenly scent as is his hazelnut eyes looked down at me so sweetly, “I know it’s a tough decision, but we both agreed” he sighed. In less than a week I would be off to Penn state and he would be staying. He didn’t believe in long distance relationships working out so if we ended up on different floors it would be a mutual break up. If it was mutual then why could I feel my heart ready to jump out and run.

I nodded shyly, I could feel tears puddling at my eyes and I quickly swiped them away with the sleeves of my rough coat. We were recreating a scene from our favorite movie, Serendipity, when Sara and Jonathan choose an elevator floor to see if they could exchange numbers. Instead we were deciding the fate of our relationship. The elevator up button felt icy cold on my fingertips, maybe it was a sign of bad luck but both elevators on opposite ends opened at the same time. I stepped inside and turned around to get one last look at him, he was wearing the navy-blue cashmere sweater I had gotten him last Christmas, but now I could only remember how soft it had felt in my hands. The doors started closing, I walked over towards the middle to get one last look at him as they closed.

I looked at the elevator floor buttons, thirty-six floors, and I had to pick one. My fingers quickly flew over all of them until they finally landed on a random number. Floor twenty-three lit up a bright yellow orange as the rest stayed a ghostly white. The smell of caramelized almonds filled my nostrils as I took a deep breath in. I guess someone with Nuts for Nuts had been inside before me. I could feel a huge smile creeping on my heart as I remembered how much he loves caramelize almonds. I took it as a good sign. I swore the elevator ride was going too slow and so I began to pace across the small elevator. What if he was already there, what if he picked a different floor. Could he be regretting this as much as I was? I looked up to see what floor we were on, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…

*DING*

To the public, we were married  

but behind closed doors, you beat me.  

Could not guarantee me safety  

your emotions often varied  

take a look at me now, buried,  

tucked under dirt, they’ll find me here.  

First slip up? Being insincere  

because the world knows you did it  

baby, you were so dishonest  

and you can’t make me disappear.

Home. It is always a comforting word to hear, especially after having a dreadful day at work or an exhausting day at work. But where do you call home, when suddenly you aren’t sure if you can call home your home?  

The headlines read “Trump Ends DACA”, my stomach dropped, and a thousand thoughts started racing through my mind. What does that mean for the hundreds of thousands of DACA recipients that are currently in school or working in the fields? No, what does that mean for me? Do I still have a job, how am I going to work, better yet how am I going to continue school? I do not know how much time had passed until I finally got the courage to open it up, I was hoping it was a joke. My eyes began scrolling through every sentence trying to get a grip of what would be my new reality. With a sigh of relief but a ton of guilt weighing heavily on me I realized I was not being affected. Even though it did read “Trump Ends DACA” the article was talking about him ending the program for new applicants for DACA. DACA was a program started by Obama that allowed undocumented children that were brought into American at an early age to work legally. And even though I was not being affected, I felt guilty because I knew of people that would be at a loss now that the program would only be in effect for renewals and not new applicants.  

Scrolling the entire day through Instagram, I couldn’t help but repost and continue to advocate for a change in this immigration policy. I made posts to encourage those who could, to raise their voice towards this injustice, I had to write my feelings out and hope I was being heard. I am grateful today that this is no longer the case, yet I can’t help but think where home would be if things had turned out differently.