What I would be giving up…

I had to give up my sense of self. I had to give up my direction. I had to give up the bond with my siblings. I had to let go of the languages that once danced so effortlessly on my tongue. I had to release my hopes and dreams into the vast unknown. I had to say goodbye to my favorite meals, the ones that tasted like home. I had to part with friends and peers who knew me best. I had to sever the connection with my cousins and extended family. I had to surrender my dignity, piece by painful piece. My cultural identity? That, too, slipped from my grasp. My cultural history became a distant echo. The familiar smells that anchored me to home dissolved into memory. And my budding community—a foundation just beginning to take shape—was left behind.

They say, “Your new life will cost you your old one,” and I’ve learned the weight of that truth. They also say, “If God takes away, He will replace with double.” I’ve found some truth in that as well.

Although I haven’t made new friends in six long years, I’ve built a network of people I deeply respect. My cultural identity now hangs by a thread, but I’ve found innovative ways to preserve and share who I am with the world. I’ve grown accustomed to new tastes and smells, reshaping my sense of home in small but meaningful ways. The universe, ever generous, has helped me hold onto fragments of the familiar while embracing the unknown.

New hopes and dreams now fill my waking hours, layering my life with purpose and possibility. Am I happy? Yes. Am I content? Absolutely. Has the journey been easy? Not even close—it’s been a battle, often feeling like I was teetering on the edge of the impossible.

But then again, the word “impossible” itself whispers a secret: I’m possible.

Excerpt: My Journey from Africa to the America’s…Novel by Patrick Chuka