Born in Iran to Afghan refugee parents, Raziye grew up feeling like an outsider. Though Iran was the only country she had ever known, she and her family were never fully accepted — never felt they fully belonged.

I am the child of an immigrant.
I remember being teased as a child in a north Georgia elementary school for having “slanty eyes” and looking different.

It wasn’t easy to leave home, but Christian had no choice. Honduras in 2014 was no place for a 16-year-old boy.

I am a proud Cuban, born and raised in Havana, but my journey to the Language Services Department of Catholic Charities began in the Netherlands. As a biochemistry student there, I never imagined that speaking English would be the way I made my living.

Their village had been overrun by the Taliban, whom Shaiq described as having “dirty beards, dead eyes…and guns.”

Today, Mohamed has a lot to smile about — you could call it a “smile of a thousand miles” — thanks in no small part…

Growing up in Cuba, the only dream I had was to leave.
There was nothing for me there: no work, no freedom, no opportunity, no anything for anybody in Cuba since the communist revolution in 1959.
My dream came true in 2015 when I made it to America.