Before anything else, I want to say this plainly: I condemn the actions of ICE and remain committed to creating spaces where people feel safe to exist, regardless of where they come from, where they live, or how they look. The ability to belong should never be conditional.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about identity. Not just who we are, but how we become who we are. I’ve come to understand identity as something we build: through the places we come from, the communities we choose, and the ways we allow ourselves to appear in the world.
These forces are always in conversation, shaping how we understand ourselves and how others understand us in return. For me, that understanding begins with where my family first learned how to belong in this country.
Where We Come From
My family immigrated to the United States in 1975, searching for economic opportunities that weren’t available to them in socialist and communist Yugoslavia. Like so many immigrants before them, they followed a familiar path and landed in Little Italy in the Bronx.
Little Italy wasn't just a neighborhood. It was a diaspora enclave: a place where people intentionally recreated cultural, social, and economic environments from home while learning how to live in a new country. Like Chinatown and other ethnic enclaves across New York City, it preserved language, food, traditions, and shared values while people navigated life in a new country.
By the 2000s, after many waves of migration, the neighborhood had evolved into a multicultural community inhabited by Asian, Puerto Rican, Hispanic, Black, and Albanian residents. I was fortunate to grow up coexisting within that density of cultures on a single block.
Growing up there meant growing up inside intentional community building.
Every summer, my father organized Sunday soccer games with our Balkan community at Sunken Meadow Beach on Long Island. Families from Montenegro, Kosovo, Bosnia, and Albania reunited week after week to picnic, barbecue, and swim all the while newer generations integrated with the old. I never wanted to miss a Sunday at the beach with my dad and our community.
I learned early that identity isn’t only inherited; it is nurtured collectively. It is protected and reshaped through shared culture, mutual support, and the comfort of being surrounded by people who understand your story without needing it explained.
Belonging, I realized, was something people built together long before I understood I would one day try to build it myself.