What do I want more than anything? It isn't teddy bears, Barbies or clothing. If I could have one wish come true, I would go back home—to the place where I could speak, where I had friends, where I belonged.
Not this place of concrete jails with a teacher that glares at me when I reply, "no se" (I don't know).
Each morning is a death row march not ending in execution but with having my head submerged in sounds without meaning.
I hate it here. I want to go back to the fresh air and smiling people, but I don't have a say.
I know that my wish won't come true. I'm stuck here in the land of unknowns, drowning in a foreign language, alone and without hope.
Liza
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