Then she teaches me a trick. With her pencil, she circles the i in the word guilt. “I want you never to forget the i in guilt,” she says. Then she looks into my eyes. “I want you to repeat after me, I am important.” I repeat the words, “I am important.” “Yes, you are. You and your hopes and dreams.” Her own eyes grow misty as she continues. “As immigrants, we are burdened with a lot of guilt. For leaving our loved ones. Leaving our home. Sacrificing so much, or watching our parents sacrifice so much. But I want you never to forget the i in guilt.” She reaches for my hand. “It’s in there for a
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