20 Years Ago

Twenty years ago, I arrived in this country—an 18-year-old immigrant, full of hope, joy, and promise. A new country, a new language, a new life. I embraced the challenge with everything I had.

That first winter was brutal. I remember getting on the school bus, feeling completely out of place. My gloves, my “winter” jacket, and “boots” weren’t meant for Minnesota weather. I stared out the window, wondering if I belonged here. The school bus wasn’t like in the movies—it was cold, wet, and the ride felt endless. The bullies and the fights, though? Those were very real.

Lunchtime was no easier. On my first day, I sat next to a garbage can—not because there wasn’t space, but because I was too nervous to sit with anyone. I barely spoke the language. I wasn’t hungry, but I had the sandwich my mom had made me, just like the ones we’d pack back in Mexico. It all felt surreal.

That same day, I was assigned a “buddy”—the captain of the soccer team, a guy named Ryan. I’ll never forget him. He spotted me sitting by the dumpster (lol), came over, and asked if I wanted to sit with his group at lunch. I said yes right away. My English was broken, but for the first time, I felt seen. That small act of kindness brought back the hope, the joy. I felt like maybe everything was going to be OK.

The world can be a beautiful place because of people like Ryan. He saw me at my most vulnerable and chose to reach out—when he didn’t have to. Even though I could barely speak English, he welcomed me in and introduced me to the “cool kids,” asking for nothing in return.

I still remember you, Ryan. Thank you for seeing me. Thank you for sticking up for me.