I feel my mother’s tight grip on my hand and watch my father’s back as he is running down an enormous hall, pushing his way through the crowd. It has been such a long flight. Almost twelve hours of crowded seats, awful food and that dreadful lift off and landing when your ears get clogged. But now we are finally here. My heart sinks as I discover that this is no vacation; we’re here to stay. We get out of the airport only to find out that the streets are worse than the crowded airport. The pavement is covered in trash, the buildings are tall and grey and it so cold outside, in September! The people here are nothing like the people back home. Nobody smiles, everyone looks unhappy, and not one person has stopped to pinch my cheeks and tell me how cute I look. I am in New York City at the age of four, and I hate it here