On June 22, I marked 57 years since I arrived in this country. I came in 1968 — a turbulent year to be thrown into the chaos of American life and politics.

The Tet Offensive still haunted Americans who had lost thousands of young men. The assassinations of Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King were fresh wounds. And disillusionment was rising quickly as Chicago braced for the Democratic Convention.

It was a lot for a teenage girl — barely interested in politics — to take in.

My country hadn’t joined the Vietnam War, a fact I later realized many Americans didn’t even know. My reluctant move from a peace-loving nation to a war-hungry one was met with sympathetic condolences. Even my teachers expressed dismay.

It felt as though I was leaving calm waters for a stormy, volatile shore.

To ma

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