Perspective: The high price for the migrant
A migrant carries a backpack full of dreams and goals, for which he will fight against all odds to achieve. The baggage is heavy, the path is long, and the obstacles can be deceiving, but he knows that giving up would mean carrying the heavy load in vain.
The border appears in the distance and in tears that evaporate in the heat of the desert, his blurry sight takes a second glimpse to what is left behind. There, not just unemployment, hunger, and need are abandoned but also a childhood full of street games, a mother’s warmth, a son’s affection, a wife’s embrace, and the companionship of friends who wave goodbye with the expectation of a promising future awaiting on the other side of the border. There are no promises but the hope to see each other again someday, although sometimes that day never comes.
Recently, I witnessed the story of an immigrant mother that lost her son to covid. The last time she held her son in her arms, he was just a boy. Fifteen years later, his life fading away on a hospital bed, before the impotence of his mother who must resign herself to say goodbye over the phone to her everlasting boy, now a grown man.
This is the story of thousands of migrants in the United States. It is not an isolated case, but a prevalent one in the immigrant’s community. Underneath the skin of a migrant, hides the pain of separation from a loved one and the anticipation of the American dream that charges a high price of admission.