I arrived by boat still with the sand in the pockets of the God I left behind. I am sorry for those who after thirty years still give the coast for the same mistakes and promises. Time does not heal everything. The sores are braided in our soul like child hair in the wind. The wounds are black, like crude. The pain may be deep but we have reached the shore without falling into the deep ocean. Foreigners? Me too. And always will be. Illegal? So was I.