Torn Between Two Worlds - Sora Journal - Sora Schools
Torn Between Two Worlds
By Stephanny Mirt
Page 1 of 3
The sun painted the sky in soft oranges and pinks every morning. The mountains stood tall, and the birds’ chirping was like music. My mom always reminded me how beautiful Venezuela was, and she was right, at least, it looked that way. I liked to imagine my home stayed as perfect as the sunrise it once created, but even at eight years old, I knew better.
It didn’t take long for the birds to fly away, chased off by the smoke and the gunshots fired by the very people who were supposed to protect us. I quickly ran for the door, hiding so they wouldn’t see me. I rushed inside and shut the door behind me.
“The lights still aren’t back on?” I asked, still out of breath.
“No, not yet,” my mom replied, pulling open the blinds.
It had been three days since we’d had electricity or water, but this was nothing out of the ordinary. The government called it “rationing,” but that was just their way of keeping us suppressed, preventing us from fighting back.
My mom didn’t speak about the hardships in anger, but with the calm resignation of someone who had learned to live with them. The shortages, the violence, the fear, it was everywhere. Everyone talked about it, but it had become a fact of life for us. For my mom, it was even more personal. As a doctor, she patched up wounds caused by the same bullets that echoed through our streets at all hours of the day. When shipments of medicine and supplies stopped coming, we faced even greater shortages. The lack of services affected everyone—schools, businesses, homes—and when schools shut down, my mom had no choice but to take me and my brother to work with her.
She taught us how to hide under the car seats, keep our heads down, and stay as quiet as possible. Sometimes, she’d even have a coloring book on the floor for me. It was her way of protecting us while driving through the chaos, as terrified as we were.
At the hospital, I would overhear my mom and her coworkers talking about their experiences during the protests. One day, I heard her friend Jenny telling a story about being chased off by the government military during a protest. She spoke of seeing people shot and detained, her voice shaking with the memory. Jenny also shared a terrifying story about how she and her sisters were attacked and robbed at gunpoint by three men. They didn’t just take money; food and basic necessities like toilet paper were also stolen. It made me realize how desperate people had become, willing to risk everything for things they could no longer afford or find. In a country where inflation had reached a breaking point, many were resorting to USD, even though the government didn’t allow it.
I remember hearing my neighbor, Señor Julio, talk about how, even though he was a mechanical engineer, he struggled to afford basic necessities, food, water, and his bills. There was no access to a new house or a car. When his air conditioning broke, he couldn’t afford to fix it.
As things worsened, my brother asked my mom one day if we could move to my aunt’s house in Florida. For the next three months, my mom worked tirelessly to find a flight from Colombia to Florida, since there were no flights leaving Venezuela for the U.S. She sold everything we owned to pay for it.
The journey was long, four days on the road to get from Venezuela to Colombia. I remember my mom telling me we were going to Disney, trying to comfort me so I wouldn’t be scared.
Once in the U.S., my mom struggled to find a job, and we struggled to get used to the way things worked. But despite all the hardships we faced, and all that we saw, I still dream of a day when I can return to my homeland.
***This story is inspired by the real-life struggles I've experienced as a first-generation immigrant, along with the pain and resilience I've witnessed in those closest to me. Writing this has given me the chance to not only share my own journey but to give a voice to the countless stories that often go unheard. Being able to express what it truly means to leave everything behind in search of a better life has been both healing and necessary.
What I hope people take from this story is that every immigrant carries their own battles, their own sacrifices stitched into their hearts. We are not a threat. We are not what they label us "the new terrorists" or some danger to society. We are human beings, just trying to survive in a world that often forgets our humanity.
No person should ever be seen as illegal, especially not on stolen land. We don't come to take. We come to rebuild the lives that were taken from us. Our stories deserve to be seen, heard, and respected not feared.***