My clammy hands grip the plastic chair I was told to sit in.

I look down at the floor to avoid the four pairs of eyes staring at me with such great curiosity. They laugh among themselves, almost a minute goes by I just want to leave. Then I hear a voice, So whats your name? one of them said. Muang Khailah I said shyly. What is it? Muang Khailah I must have repeated myself ten times before they understood me. They introduced themselves and explained to me why I was there, but I didnt care to listen. Pity and fear filled their eyes, they were just like the others. When did you move to America? they asked. September of 2009 I replied. Where did you move from? Thailand Do you miss home? Yes Question after question I began to feel interrogated. They sensed I was uncomfortable so they began asking general questions. Whats your favorite sport?

Basketball They tried connecting with me, but they would never accomplish that because our lives were nowhere near similar. What was your childhood like? My lips trembled at the thought and sweat rushed to my palms. The sweat slowly dripped into the cracks of the maroon plasticAnd then there I was. Cold dirt in between my toes, I looked down at the glistening water and jumped. I fell slowly, adrenaline ran through my body. I opened up my arms enjoying every carefree second until I dove into the surface with a smile and let the water consume me. As I arose to the surface I felt a dangerous presenceThen I heard a scream. I quickly swam to shore as I emerged from the water I let my paranoia take over. I stopped thinking and started running. I used my full leg span with each step, every second counted. Minutes later I arrived to crying women and children. I didnt have to ask what had happened, I already knew. I could taste the gun powder in the air, my village had been attacked again. I ran to comfort my two sisters, they were too young to understand the difficulties in life. My two brothers were sitting with my grandmother they were used to the attacks, but I could see right through their fake expressions. Their noses twitched while inhaling in the tainted air, holding back bottled up tears. I saw a group of villagers crowding by a tree, I walked over only to find out that my dear friend and his family had been killed. I angrily walked away and stepped into my wooden house and saw that they had taken all the rice we had grown, our food supply was completely gone. And all I could think about was not my friend, but my mother and how she would react to yet another attack.

After my father left, my mother was left to care for five growing children with only the help of her tired mother. We never saw much of her, she was always working since the most important thing for her was to be able to nurture her children. My relationship with my grandmother had grown because of this. We were very close, I always counted on her. The next morning I woke up all my siblings and we started our journey to school. Unlike most teenagers, I quite enjoyed school. It was peaceful and I got to feel like a true child for eight hours a day. During the breaks in between classes I played soccer with my friends. Kicking the ball between my bare feet I felt the woven grass seams and was reminded of the hours and hard work my grandmother had put into making me this wonderful birthday gift. When our break ended we returned to our classes, luckily I had writing next. I loved to write, I could send my self into a peaceful state where life was perfect. But life wasnt perfect and school was now over so I began my long walk back to my village. Hours later I arrived to my house and was greeted by my grandmother. Something was wrong, I could feel it in the cold breeze. She told me that my mother had news and was waiting for me in her bedroom. I talked to your father today, he is in America. Pack your bags were leaving tonight My mother said. Without any further thoughts I went to my room and placed my valuables and my soccer ball in my school bag. I was ready, or so I thought. My mother began loading the car with our bags, we didnt have much so it was a light load. She told us to say our goodbyes to the village. I took one last walk to the ocean. I buried my feet in the sand and just sat there. I admired the soft waves for the last time. As the night approached questions began popping up in my head,

I wondered what life in America would be like. Would I finally get the childhood I wished for? I dragged my fingers through the sand and spent my last hour thinking about my new life. I later returned to tears and dismal faces. Why was my grandmother crying? And then it hit meshe wasnt coming. I guess I wasnt ready, my heart shattered into a million pieces. I ran to her and embraced her in my arms for the last time. We stood there for ten minutes that passed by like mere seconds. Of course I didnt let go willingly, I was forcefully pulled away by my mothers exhausted hands. It was time to go. That was two years ago, my memories of my grandmother are slowly fading. And it kills me inside knowing that I may never feel her warm embrace or see her beautiful face again. But my mothers smile has helped me adjust to life in America. Overall, I appreciate my new life and all the wonderful opportunities I now have. But like I said before life isnt perfect and I have to accept that.