ALEC & SUSAN

Growing up in Trinidad and Tobago was a roller coaster of highs and lows. Some days were filled with laughter echoing through the yard while music drifted from nearby houses and the smell of fried bake and saltfish carried through the warm morning air. Other days felt unbearably heavy. After my father left, poverty stopped feeling temporary and settled into our lives like an uninvited guest that refused to leave. Empty cupboards, overdue bills, and watching my mother stretch every dollar until it nearly tore apart became part of our normal. Telling my mom I was leaving to build a better life—to help her and my siblings—was one of the hardest conversations I had ever faced. I still remember the way her eyes filled with tears before she tried to hide them from me, forcing a smile she didn’t truly feel. My younger siblings clung to me that night as though holding on tighter might somehow stop me from leaving. But it was just as painful for me. I had never been away from them. Never stepped beyond the only world I knew. The thought of traveling alone to a foreign country felt terrifying, but staying behind felt even worse. I couldn’t keep watching my mother struggle herself to exhaustion while pretending she was fine. So I chose fear. It took months of endless work, sacrifice, and fundraising before my visa was finally approved. Every small victory came attached to another obstacle waiting around the corner. Even after receiving the approval, there was still the matter of paying for a plane ticket to the United States. Another six months passed before I finally scraped together enough money. By the time the day of my flight arrived, my emotions tangled together so tightly I could barely breathe. Excitement fluttered inside me alongside a deep aching sadness that settled heavily in my chest. My uncle had agreed to let me stay with him for one year, but after that, I would be completely on my own. One year. That deadline echoed constantly in the back of my mind. Still, I refused to let fear weaken my resolve. I had not sacrificed this much just to fail. The moment I stepped out into the freezing air at John F. Kennedy International Airport, snowflakes danced wildly around me beneath the bright city lights. The cold hit me like a slap, stealing the breath from my lungs, but I could hardly care. Everything felt alive. Cars rushed endlessly along crowded roads, their headlights glowing against the swirling snow while towering buildings stretched toward the dark sky like giants. The city pulsed with energy so intense it made my heart race. Even without a proper coat, excitement warmed me from the inside out. The drive to my uncle’s apartment in Brooklyn took nearly an hour. I stared out the window the entire way, completely mesmerized by the endless rows of buildings, glowing storefronts, and strangers bundled tightly against the cold. By the time we reached the apartment building, exhaustion was beginning to creep into my bones. Thank goodness there was an elevator. The apartment itself was small and cramped, but I tried not to judge. After dropping my bags near the sofa that would now become my bed, my uncle wasted little time laying down his rules. I would sleep on the couch. And if he brought a woman home, I had to wait outside until she left. The words settled over me slowly. This is going to be a long year. Still, I swallowed my discomfort because I had nowhere else to go. “I am 22-year-old Susan Thomas from Sangre Grande, famously known as ‘Sandy Grande.’ Situated in the Northeast, it is a convenient thirty-five-minute drive away from Port of Spain, the capital city.” Back home, everyone knew everyone. The streets carried familiar voices, familiar laughter. Here, everything felt enormous and anonymous. “I am a hardworking and dedicated individual who takes pride in going the extra mile. I am currently seeking a nanny position where I can apply my skills and become a reliable part of a family, and establish my independence.” Those words became my silent promise to myself every morning. One morning, I woke to complete silence and pale light spilling through the window. Outside, the entire world had turned white. Snow blanketed the streets, rooftops, and parked cars in thick layers that sparkled beneath the morning light. I had never seen anything so beautiful in my life. Curious, I opened the window slightly. The icy wind rushed inside instantly, sharp enough to sting my skin. I reached out carefully, laughing softly when the snow melted immediately against my fingertips. It felt magical. Thinking my uncle was already at work, I decided to surprise him. I cleaned the apartment from top to bottom and spent the afternoon preparing a hot meal, hoping maybe it would make things feel more welcoming between us. But when he finally returned home, he wasn’t alone. A woman followed closely behind him. The look he gave me was cold and unmistakable. Leave. Without a word, I grabbed my things and stepped out into the hallway, accidentally leaving my jacket behind in my rush. The door shut firmly behind me. The hallway was freezing. For three hours, I sat there shivering beneath the dim lighting, listening to muffled laughter and footsteps from inside the apartment while the cold slowly seeped into my bones. By the time the woman finally left and I slipped back inside, exhaustion weighed heavily on me. I rushed straight into a hot shower, desperate to thaw my frozen hands and aching feet. Steam curled around me while frustration burned silently beneath the surface. But when I walked into the kitchen afterward, hoping at least to eat the dinner I had prepared, all I found were dirty dishes stacked carelessly in the sink. Not a single plate had been saved for me. I stared at the mess quietly before releasing a tired sigh. After cleaning the kitchen, I prepared for bed on an empty stomach. “It will be better tomorrow,” I whispered into the darkness, clinging desperately to hope before sleep finally claimed me. The next day, the falling snow forced me to move carefully through unfamiliar streets. My boots slipped against icy sidewalks while freezing wind whipped against my face. Eventually, I found myself standing inside a tiny corner store, pretending to browse while secretly searching for courage. I needed work. I needed connections. I needed someone willing to give me a chance. After an entire week of trying, I finally gathered enough nerve to speak to the guy behind the counter. Before he could even finish explaining how little the job paid, I accepted immediately. Anything was better than nothing. The months that followed blurred together in exhaustion. Long workdays mixed with sleepless nights and countless hours spent sitting silently in apartment hallways waiting for my uncle’s guests to leave. Eventually, I admitted to my boss that I was desperately searching for a nanny position. “I have a friend who is currently in search of a live-in nanny with weekends free.” Hope flickered instantly inside me. Despite my hesitation about living with strangers again, I agreed quickly. “I could still work on weekends.” Two days after my interview—and thanks to my boss’s glowing recommendation—I officially started the position. That first Monday felt overwhelming. Nerves twisted inside my stomach while excitement buzzed through me at the same time. But caring for baby Jack came naturally. His tiny giggles, sleepy smiles, and chubby hands reaching toward me made the days easier than I ever expected. Slowly, the family began to feel comforting in a way my uncle’s apartment never had. Still, with only three months left before I had to leave my uncle’s place permanently, panic constantly lingered beneath the surface. I had nowhere to go. No plan. Apparently, my anxiety showed more than I realized because one weekend, Jacob finally pulled me aside. “What’s the matter? You haven’t been yourself lately.” The kindness in his voice nearly broke me. When I admitted I was facing homelessness, relief flooded through me after he immediately promised to help. For the first time in months, I didn’t feel completely alone. Over the following weeks, I grew even closer to the family while watching baby Jack take his first shaky little steps across the living room floor. Then one weekend, Jacob approached me carefully. “I need you to keep an open mind about a new housing lead.” My stomach tightened immediately. “It is a room for rent in a shared house.” “Do I have to share the bathroom with others?” “Yes. Only with the people on the same floor and also the kitchen.” The idea horrified me at first. Who lives like this with strangers? But desperation has a way of silencing pride. “When can I see the place?” “Tomorrow.” The next day, I stepped inside expecting the worst. Instead, I was shocked. The house was spotless. Quiet. Organized. And when Mrs. Johnson explained it was an all-girls building, some of my fear immediately disappeared. The room itself felt bigger than anything I had imagined. A neatly made bed sat beside a dresser topped with a mirror. There was even a nightstand and closet space. For the first time since arriving in America, something finally felt like it could belong to me. I accepted immediately. After signing the lease and handing over the deposit, reality crashed over me all at once. I was officially on my own. The feeling was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. That evening, I packed my entire life into a few bags and left my uncle’s apartment behind. I even bought myself a new cell phone to celebrate the fresh start. When I finally told my uncle I had already moved out, shock spread visibly across his face. “I didn’t think you would be able to find your way this quickly,” he admitted. “Well, I was extremely determined to make it on my own.” For once, I stood there feeling strong instead of small. When I handed him the key and walked away without looking back, freedom surged through me so powerfully it nearly brought tears to my eyes. The cold air hit my face as I stepped outside, but for the first time since arriving in New York, I finally felt like my life truly belonged to me. Every two weeks, I sent money home to my mother. Her letters became treasures I reread constantly, especially when she described how much easier life had become for the family because of my sacrifices. Those words made every hardship worth enduring. That entire weekend, happiness followed me everywhere. I worked with a smile I couldn’t contain, lighter somehow, freer. When Jacob finally asked, “What’s behind this mood?” I laughed softly before answering honestly. “Adulthood is actually going well—I’m finally doing exactly what I set out to do.”