This is Idaho
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“Where are you from?”
“Idaho.”
“Oh,” they say apologetically. “How’s that?”
It’s great. It might not have the Statue of Liberty, Silicon Valley, or the cornerstone of American politics, but it’s something I’ve grown to call home.
Idaho is where my immigrant journey came to a close—where goodbyes came long after hellos. It’s where I picked up too many passions to hold, bouncing through identities and beliefs like a child reaching for the stars. It’s also where I came to realize my values and defend them because we all need a home.
Idaho is where my parents established themselves. It’s where they finally escaped academia after too many long nights and experiments, my mom becoming a sonographer, my dad becoming an engineer.
Idaho is where I came to love. Food: croissants, sandwiches, sushi, pad see ew, tacos, cashews, dried mango. Reading: Surely You’re Joking Mr. Feynman, A Leg in Oklahoma City, Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet. Rock climbing: overhangs, shoes, pants—all of it.
And above all, Idaho is where I met my community. Teachers who inspired me to fight for a cause I would’ve never dreamed of, parents who’ve treated me like their own, and friends who shared laughs and shed tears with me on any occasion.
Idaho is where I’m from, and I’d never think to regret it.
