I always dreamed of going to America. I was three years old when my aunt, who just came a US citizen through marriage filled out the immigration sponsorship papers. My younger siblings were not born yet. It wasn't until fourteen years later, my family immigrated to Brooklyn, NY. Every Chinese New Year, people would wish me to be going to America soon. I wished, hoped, and prayed it, too. Whenever my violent narcissistic father beat my siblings or my mom or me, I prayed that we would go to America soon. Whenever I felt hungry, I prayed that we would go to America soon. Whenever I felt stuck, hopeless, or anxious, I prayed that we would go to America soon. It was a far-fetched dream yet I held on. That holding on saved my life. I learned that if there was no salvation in my life at the moment, I have got to dream. So long as the dream lives, I will live.