Born in a camp in Nepal, I was welcomed to the United States as a child. Loving this country does not mean ignoring its contradictions
It was a hot, dry afternoon, sometime in the spring of 2009. I was wearing an oversized T-shirt and a pair of shorts twice the size of my waist, held up with a piece of wire. I sat beneath a tree across from the bamboo office of the International Organization for Migration (IOM), waiting.
My heart pounded as sweat rolled down my face. Every few minutes I looked toward the dirt road, hoping to see the white van. Finally the blue IOM logo came into view, and within seconds, dozens of people were running toward it.
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Born in a camp in Nepal, I was welcomed to the United States as a child. Loving this country does not mean ignoring its contradictionsIt was a hot, dry afternoon, sometime in the spring of 2009. I was wearing an overs...
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