For years I've been in poverty, war zones and never with enough food. But then I came to America. In America we had food clothes everything, but nothing at the same time. We didn't have much money and little food, we had next to no experience with technology too. A few years later when I was eleven in fifth grade I was still very thin my brother Haw short for Hawthorn had started kindergarten that year and even after three years of good food we were all still lean and Mama's eyes were still sunken. Mama had learned English by then and Haw was learning both Arabic and English. He switched between both when talking because he was so little but I thought it was adorable. "Haw! Time for school come on the bus will be here soon," I say picking Haw up with his tiny backpack. "Sis I don't wanna go," he said. "You have to it's fun you can ride the plane after school ok?" I say before getting on the bus. I haven't seen Amir in years and I miss him he would be fifteen now. I have a few friends not too many but I have enough. They all say I'm really pretty but I know I'm too small compared to everyone else I'm the smallest in class. I know I look different from when I first came to America. But I know I'm different in a bad way. People look at me with sympathy I know why, I'm a refugee and they feel bad for me. It's my birthday and Mama treats me to a new outfit. I'm eleven and Haw is five he was two when we left Syria. He doesn't remember the starvation or the fear I remember so well. I found a super cute outfit that Mama got for me with some saved up money. I help Mama pay the rent on the house by walking dogs and babysitting. I make a fair amount of money. I put half in a big jar and keep half for myself. We save up money for me to go to college one day. It's slow but I hope to be their one day. When I grow up I'm gonna be a doctor and ave peoples lives.
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