I was eleven years old, riding in a cramped bus
On bumpy roads to Myanmar,
Then waiting with my mother
For a visa to America
While my father worked too hard
Without enough sleep and anxious
For the reunion with his family.
What can I say to express
these images with words on this page?
From Myanmar to America, it was my first time
Riding in one those giant strange flying vehicles.
Where I used to live, seeing an airplane
Always made me smile,
Something from another world