This entry is part of the inaugural My Miami Migration Short Essay Contest. The program, created by Cátedra Vargas Llosa, was designed to engage young people in South Florida in the art of writing while reflecting on their migration experiences.
“Immigration isn’t a two-way street; it’s a labyrinth. It’s winding and endless, with walls of uncertainty and echoes of homes left behind.” – Panamanian American author Cristina Henriquez
The topic of immigration and its realities is often unseen by many people. Few truly experience migration. While I may write as if immigration is a positive subject, it carries unseen challenges, obstacles, and pain. From my perspective, however, I have always felt it as beneficial. Everything I experienced shaped who I am, and for that, I am forever grateful.
My story began early—so early that I was not even aware of my family’s transfer to another country. Born to a Venezuelan mother and an Italian father, I moved to Miami with my family at just six months old.
Leaving my native country so young and living in a Spanish-speaking household while the outside world spoke English left me confused. I was told I barely spoke until I was five. Starting school helped me pick up English while practicing Spanish at home. That routine held steady for five years until it was time to renew our visa.
My father’s worker visa allowed us to stay in the U.S., but as a child, I did not fully understand its importance. Every five years, the visa required renewal, which meant leaving the U.S. and visiting the American embassy in our home country. Unfortunately, the U.S. embassy in Venezuela had closed due to political tension. Fortunately, my father, sister, and I had Italian citizenship, allowing us to apply in Rome.
The trip to Italy was beautiful. I saw monuments and landmarks but did not comprehend what was unfolding. At the embassy, our visa application was rejected. My parents got anxious—my father scratched his head in frustration, and my mother called everyone, saying, “We’re not coming home.” I did not understand the gravity of the situation. I thought it was just a setback. It was not. This was not something easily fixed.
We had to live outside the U.S. Asa family, we could choose Venezuela or a European Union country. We chose Sicily, settling in a small town where relatives helped us adjust. Those years were rough. Secluded in a traditional village, we endured family fights and cultural challenges, but I believe it was for the best. Those struggles taught me everything I needed to know about my family and myself.
After three years in Balestrate, we decided to move to Spain, a Spanish-speaking country. Initially, we settled in a small town, but later moved to Madrid. Moving so often was exhausting. In four years, I attended four schools and lived in four cities. Life finally stabilized when we reapplied for the visa and got accepted. I did not know how to react—I had grown so accustomed to living abroad that it felt normal.
Returning to the U.S. was bittersweet. It was not clear whether it was the right choice for me, but it was necessary for my father’s business.
And that is what has brought me to where I am today. While my parents and sister often reflect on that time as a dark chapter in our lives, I see it differently. The people we met, the new languages my sister and I learned, and the challenges we overcame shaped us in ways I would not trade for anything. Our memories and experiences define who we are and help us grow. With that in mind, I know that whatever I face in the future, I will embrace it as an opportunity to learn and evolve.